#SOL20 D8 (One of) My favorite Baseball Players

Jacob loves baseball. When he was three, he had an invisible friend named Baseball Player. He's been playing since pre-school and he's had some ups and downs. His fielding is always great. His hitting more inconsistent. No matter what, though, he never complains about playing baseball.



This year he's playing with a new team, a team a little more intense than the ones from years past. This team will go to out of town tournaments, and he's going to have practice three times a week, plus games. It's a commitment, this team.

Yesterday they had their first scrimmage. Jacob was nervous. So nervous that he said to me, "Mom. I'm nervous about today." Anyone who lives with a 12-year-old knows this admission is big.

I took him to the game yesterday and could tell he still had the jitters. He sat out the first inning, and in the second he got to pitch. The pitcher's mound is Jacob's happy place. As soon as he threw his first strike I could almost seem him visibly settle in.

A few times he looked over at me, checking in. Grinning the whole time.

The rest of the game he played outfield (I found out later he told his coach he wanted to stay in the outfield the whole game). Every few minutes he'd glance over at me and the look on the kid's face made the upcoming craziness of this season worth it.

I'm so grateful for the lessons he's learning too. He's stretching outside of his comfort zone. He's learning how to play with a new team, even though many of the boys he played with in the past. He's learning how to face new challenges, how to handle his nerves, how to fly.

And I can see him gaining so much confidence. It's a good reminder that as a parent, part of our job is to let our kids face hard things head-on. To get out of their way and let them feel nervous.

Basketball season is officially over

Justin, the youngest of our family, played basketball again this year.

It was quite a season. He had wonderful coaches and played with a scrappy bunch of 4th graders. They ended up being the season champs, and came in second during the tournament.

This season was hard for Justin. He's not the fastest kid on the team. He's not the most aggressive. He doesn't have a lot of awareness of the game.

But, man, does this kid have heart.

All season all he wanted to do was score. After every game, as we walked to the van, once we were away from the other kids, he'd look at us with his eyes full of tears and say, "I just want to score." We'd remind him of all the ways he contributed to his team -- the wicked picks, the rebounds, the smart passes, the defensive blocks, the forced jump balls (this kid. He dominates jump ball).

But he's 10. He measures success by points.

So, here we are, the last game of the season. There he stands, under the basket, right where his dad has coached him to be. He jumps up and grabs the rebound. And he's wide open. It's like a movie -- all the kids were somewhere else and he has a clear path to the basket. Justin shoots the ball straight up to the basket.

And the damn ball went above the net, above even the backboard. It balanced so, so, so gently on the top of the backboard. It wobbled just a bit and THEN sunk into the net.

I went crazy. I jumped up. I yelled. I cheered.

The ref blew his whistle. The basket didn't count. The backboard acted as interference (or something like that...I don't get technical here).

I was still cheering. Other parents looked at me and said, "oh, it didn't count."

"I don't care," I shouted. "This is his first basket and I'm celebrating."

As the ref made his call, parents started boo-ing (which, yikes, but also, yes!). Even the other team's parents booed. It was as if everyone in the gym knew how much Justin needed that basket.

The game continued. In the last few minutes of the game, the score was tied up. A minute left, our team was losing by one point. Justin leaned over to his coach: "If they'd counted my basket, we'd be winning."

In the end, Justin's team was runner-up. It was a heart-breaker, but also a totally awesome game. It was evenly matched and his good buddies got to win.

As we walked to the van, Justin turned to us, his eyes shining. "That was awesome. I scored. I know it didn't count, but I scored."

#SOL20 D5 Wrestling

These two pictures capture exactly the season of life we're in right now. It's practically WWE around here. When we're approaching bedtime, the two boys will say, "Mom, can we wrestle?" I know it's a stalling technique, but I also realize that there's some really important bonding that's happening too. 

So usually I say yes. Most of the time, the boys can't wrestle for more than six minutes before someone is insulted or hurt or outraged (it's usually Justin, the youngest). Last night the boys headed to the basement to wrestle. Emma looked at me and said, "How long till someone's crying?" We both made our predictions, and then she headed upstairs while I stayed downstairs. A few minutes later we heard the boys fighting. 

"You jumped on me too hard!" one of them yelled (at this point, it doesn't even matter which). 

"Well, you shouldn't have been playing with me," the other shouted, unreasonably. 

Suddenly, I received a text: 

But, before you go believing it's only a boy thing in our family, let me present you with this, a picture of the twins going at it just as hard as the boys do. 

At the center of it all, as you may have noticed, is the middle boy. The rascal. the instigator. Jacob is always at the center of the noise in our home. It's almost like he's a magnet, drawn to the chaos. 

Right now the kids are ruining my couch, annoying the neighbors and wreaking havoc in the basement. I know, though, that before I'll be ready they'll be heading out and making noise somewhere else, so I'm trying to soak it up. And to remind myself that the couch can take it.

#SOL20 D4 Memory Lane

I cleaned out the garage this afternoon and discovered a stash of photographs my mom had given me this summer. The pictures from my 8th grade graduation caught my attention. Wow. So many thoughts. I showed this picture to my daughter and she said, "You like ... kind of ... geeky."

She's not wrong. I was kind of geeky (or pretty geeky).

In our defense, floral patterns were all the rage at the Fashion Bug that year, which was the main place a 13 year old in Findlay, OH could buy a fancy dress in 1990.

It's funny too that when I look at this picture, I remember feeling that crazy blend of insecurity and overconfidence -- I was sure I was fat. I was positive my bangs were just right. It reminds me to be gentle with myself and to be so patient with my own daughter who is just entering this phase. 

I love seeing the young girls in this picture with me. I'm still in touch with all of these girls, women now. I love keeping track of their accomplishments. This picture, taken 30 years ago, feels like another lifetime ago and yesterday. Time is so funny that way, isn't it?

#SOL20 D3 Hello, March! Let's check in!

A dear colleague and friend shared this tweet from @heyamberrae with me this morning and I thought it was the perfect way to slice. Don't you love when people bring something into your life at just the right moment?

The highlight last month was ... how can I pick just one? Connecting with good friends, collaborating with amazing colleagues, creating space for hard conversations.

This month I want to feel ... more connected to my kids and husband. 

I'll be over the moon by April 1 if... our school levy has passed and my life can resume normal programming. 

One thing I'll regret not doing in March is ... embracing the here and now in Florida (re: buy the bathing suit and take the cover up off. Get in the pool).

I want to give myself permission to ... take more risks. 

If I get stuck, I'll remember... it doesn't all happen at once. But it never happens if you don't start.

#SOL20 D2 The Perfect Punctuation to a Long Day

It's been a long week, and it's only Monday. We didn't say good night to the kids until 9, at least 30 minutes later than I like. I had a meeting tonight. It rained all day. Nobody liked dinner (again). I need to stop and get gas tomorrow morning on my way to work - which means I need to wake up 15 minutes earlier. I went to Walmart for egg rolls because they are the only place that carries the egg rolls we like and they were out.

But finally, the house is quiet. Nobody needs me. I walk into the kitchen, reach up to my hiding spot, and pull out my treat, the bright spot of my day. And there they are. Waiting for me.

Samoas. I love this season, between winter and spring, when these little treats find their way into my life. These cookies taste especially delicious because a friend dropped them off on Saturday. She knows they're my favorite and after a hard week (it's been a bit of a month...that's for another post), so delivered these to me (get you a Mindy, who brings you emergency cookies).

#SOL20 D1 - 12, One Month From Being 13

My daughter is almost a teenager. She is 12, one month away from 13.

Last week, I was working at her school, and I happened to be there during lunch time. I have learned (the hard way) that she does not want a surprise drop in visit from mom. What used to make her day, now has the potential to ruin it.

So, I texted her. I could see her across the cafeteria, huddled with her friends, eyes all trained on their phones.

Her head whipped around. I could see the blush creeping across her cheeks from across the room. She scowled, slowly shaking her head. Telling me with only a little body movement to Stay. Away.

And then I made such a rookie mom mistake. I acted like I cared, like it bothered me a little bit.

I've noticed over the last few months that suddenly, I am mortifying. At the beginning of the school year, she wanted me to meet her at the office instead of at lunch. Now, I laugh too loud when we're at restaurants. I don't use the right kind of chapstick. Usually, these things just roll off my back. I retell them to my girlfriends as we commiserate about all the pent-up hormones that haven't found a release yet. Plus, I remember being 12, one month away from 13. I remember when everything my mom did I found simultaneously irritating and assuring.

But still.

It stings a little when you know you have to let this brave being venture the world, alone when she wants to be, but fully present when she needs that too. I've read all the books about how this is her figuring out who she is separate from me. I've taught kids this age. I've studied child psychology. It's all normal, I tell my friends when they struggle, and myself when I forget.

I'm comforted by the fact that her long-legged self still wants a kiss each night before she goes to bed. She wants me to look over her homework. She likes when I pick her up from track.


Honestly, it's not my ego that hurts. I realize it's a mourning of the passage of time. I'm excited for this sweet girl to be a teenager. I can't wait for her to get older, to watch her bloom into herself. I like each stage of her life more than the one before. Yet it also means I have to let something go. I have to let this 12, one month away from 13 girl be mortified by me, to give her the space to chart her path.