Remembering September 12th

It was September 11th yesterday which brings out a storm of social media posts, articles, and broadcasts focused on remembering. The trending hashtags on Twitter were #neverforget, #remember911 and #WhereWereYou.

As I have for the past eighteen years, I thought of that morning that I stood inches from my TV screen as my two year old watched Blue's Clues on a different TV and my eight month old napped. I thought of the confusion, the sadness, the anxiety, and the pain of that day. I thought of the fear, of the rage, and of how the rumors swirled of what building would be hit next. I thought of the frantic phone calls to my husband who was in DC and the sickening busy signal buzzing in my ear time and time again. I thought of the ways I pleaded and bargained with God to bring my husband home. I thought of the moment I heard the garage door open and how I felt gratitude and guilt that my family was intact all at the same time.       

In the days, weeks, and months that followed that day, I remember that as each moment passed there became an increasingly stronger awareness that for Americans there would always be a sense of "before" and "after". Even when questions still abounded in our hearts and in our heads, even when we weren't exactly sure of who was responsible for this evil, even when we hadn't assessed all the damage and the actual numbers of lives lost, we knew that we would be irrevocably changed by this one bright, cloudless, spectacularly beautiful September day that in an hour's time became so shockingly dark.

My kids have heard the stories. They have seen images of the crumbling towers, the burning Pentagon, and the smoldering wreckage in Pennsylvania. They have heard of Americans jumping out of buildings. Of families clutching photos of loved ones and of the death of ordinary men and women just going about their ordinary days.

As I woke this morning there was a sense of relief that we had made it through that day again. At least for those of us whose families were unharmed that day, we could choose to go on from here and tuck that sadness away until the next year. But as I scrolled through social media today I noticed a different post. It urged us to remember September 12th.

It occurs to me that I do often think about the beauty that followed so closely on the heels of the brutality in those days and weeks and months after the tragedy, but I'm not sure I have accurately emphasized that to my children. And what a tragic mistake it is to leave out the details of September 12, 2001. Of September 13th or October 20th or December 1st or of any day in the weeks and even many months that came after September 11, 2001.

On September 12th the contractors who were finishing our basement pulled into my driveway flying an enormous American flag on the back of their truck. I was watching my two young nieces along with my little boys because their daycare at the State Department where my sister-in-law and brother-in-law worked was closed. I can picture so clearly those mens' fallen faces, the way we shook our heads in sadness at each other, and the way one of them leaned down to greet the children with a sweet smile and broken English.

I remember going to the local nursery to pick up something and how the woman behind the counter and I looked each other directly in the eyes. We said nothing but gave each other a sad, intentional smile. Later that week I went to Party City to buy supplies for Joe's third birthday which would be in a few weeks. At the cash register little yellow ribbons were sitting in a dish. I pinned one to my shirt and grabbed tightly to the hand of the employee to say thank you. In the days that followed we watched children play on the swingsets in the backyard and listened to the deafening silence of the skies above our houses, suddenly absent of the planes we were used to hearing coming from the airport only five miles from our neighborhood.

Those are not unique or new stories. But I'm afraid they are stories we forget to emphasize in our quest to make sure that the acts of that day are remembered. If I want my children to live in hope and faith then they absolutely have to know the ways that we lost those things and they have to know how hard we worked to find them again. They have to know how hardened our hearts were in those first hours. And they have to know how we went about softening them. They have to know that there was no way we could have done it by sitting scared and alone in our homes.

We pulled close to each other. We trudged through all of that sadness to find our hope again by loving strangers as well as friends. We smiled at each other. We slowed down in the grocery store check out line. We looked each other in the eye. We held each other's gazes. We were gentler and kinder. We loved each other so well.

Those of us who have faith in Jesus and have learned how He will bring beauty from the ashes, don't just magically feel it. We have to work hard and be intentional to find it.

The details of that horrific, historic morning of Tuesday, September 11th are worthy of our focus and our remembrance. As worthy are the memories of many, many Tuesdays that followed. We are required to share all of the stories - from the fall all the way through to the rising. Those Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Saturdays for weeks and months taught us that we could believe in the words of Psalm 27:13.

"I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living."

We saw the horror. We saw the pain. We saw the fear. We saw the grief.

But we saw hope and love and light and compassion and community. We saw a faith tested and a faith restored because we watched as the goodness of the Lord sprung up from the most horrific scenes we had ever witnessed.

I'll never forget September 11th. And I will never forget September 12th.

Field of Dreams: A Baseball Mom's Trip to the LLWS

I am one of those people who takes sports very seriously. Perhaps, too seriously. But to be honest, I have zero shame about it.

It is well known among my friends that my general well-being and outlook on life in the fall is completely dictated by the Texas Longhorns football team. If at all humanly possible, I will not miss a minute of any of the games my kids play. Sports are on my tv all day, every day. If I don't have a dog in the fight, I will pick a team. Futhermore, I will choose a random player on said team to be my favorite and cheer and pray for him as if I birthed him from my own body. Give me all your high school basketball games, your National championship games, your 7 game series, your Sunday at Wimbledon, and your 18th hole at the Masters. I'll take them all. I might be a complete weirdo about it, but I will own my weirdo-ness. My name is Jenn and I love the sports.

Of all of those many contests though, there is perhaps no sporting event that has grabbed a tighter hold on my heart than the Little League World Series. Every August I am glued to ESPN watching teams from eight regions of the United States and eight countries around the world compete in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. It is, in my opinion, the best sporting event in the history of history.

Of course, it might be because my three boys each played Little League along with travel baseball every year. It could be because my husband was coaching Little League with his high school buddies when I met him and continued to coach our boys over the years. And it could be due to the truth of the words of James Earl Jones to Kevin Costner in the movie, Field of Dreams:

"The only constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good and could be again."

I mean:

This year there was a little something extra added in to make the LLWS better than ever. For the first time in 25 years the team from Virginia represented the Southeast region at the LLWS. Even better, that team was made up of 13 boys from my VERY OWN LITTLE LEAGUE, Loudoun South. Friends of mine had kids on the team. Little brothers of some of my boys' teammates were taking the field on national tv. News helicopters flew over our town's practice field and reporters showed up at our local restaurants' watch parties.

So basically for most of the summer our little community has been pretty much like this:

So it was that along with my son, Joe, who was not due back to college for a few days, I decided it was time to knock an item off the bucket list. We donned our Loudoun South gear, buckled into the car, and took the four hour drive to Williamsport to watch our very own boys play in the US semi-final game last week.

As we walked into the gates and saw the field from the top of the hill, I kept my cool and remained calm about the whole thing:

If that photo doesn't accurately convey my feelings, just know that on the inside I was pretty much like this:

The grass was perfectly green and spectacularly manicured. Big and little kids alike were sliding down the hill beyond centerfield on pieces of cardboard. The boys from Japan were taking on the boys from Korea in the International Semi-final on the field below.

Again, you can see that I was totally nonchalant about it:

My heart raced and my eyes filled. It was absolutely delightful. We walked around and ran into some of our Loudoun South peeps, including a friend who was one of the assistant coaches. I hugged him like he was my long lost brother and asked how he could possibly be walking around like a regular guy even though he was now clearly a very famous and legendary baseball coach. Where in the world was his bodyguard?

We hit the gift shop where we bought a Southeast tshirt WITH THE NAME OF OUR VERY OWN TOWN ON IT.

Later we grabbed a hot dog and some M&Ms and wandered over to the media area where Joe, who is a broadcast journalism major, spotted one of his heroes, Major League Baseball analyst, Tim Kurkjian.

Then as luck would have it, we ran into a local DC news reporter who asked if we'd like to be interviewed about the community's excitement about the team. Joe was all in because he doesn't get nervous, but I was a little unsure. Then the reporter told me that he was stunned that Joe and I were mother and son. He had been sure that we were brother and sister.

After the reporter got over his COMPLETE SHOCK AND AWE he said, "Cool. We'll talk to Joe about playing for Loudoun South in the early days and then to you about the baseball mom perspective." 

At that point, I thought long and hard about it for about 3.5 seconds, threw my M&Ms and diet coke on the ground, sidled right on up next to the microphone, and was pretty much like this:

Despite my charm and stage presence, as it turns out Joe's interview was aired on the 11 o'clock news that night and mine was cut out.

Let's just say, I played more of a . . . um . . . supporting role. 

Hey Channel 9:

No big deal. We were here for the baseball, so we found our way to the stands and watched the rest of the International game. I put on my "throwback" Loudoun South baseball cap and proceeded to snap way more selfies than a grown woman should.

With a little help from some friends who spotted us and saved us some seats we ended up making our way to sit only a few rows behind our Loudoun South parents for the big game vs. Hawaii. I was thrilled to hug and congratulate some friends and listen to all the amazing stories of their experiences in Williamsport. The game didn't start out so great for us as we ended up down 8-2 pretty early, so some would have thought this would be a blow out. Our boys have no quit in them though and before we knew it they had clawed and fought their way back to tie it up.

Unfortunately, things started to get a little dicey again and our boys were down a few runs. At that point, Joe says to me, "Little Henson is warming up in the bullpen."

Little Henson is the little brother of a kid Joe had played Little League with about eight or nine years ago. I knew Little Henson when he was 3 or 4 years old playing in the dirt while his older brother was on the field. Now, he was about to pitch on prime time ESPN. When he trotted out to the mound Joe and I pretty much lost our minds.

This was a high pressure situation and I couldn't help but think of this kid as a mere toddler. Then that "toddler" went and pitched two scoreless innings. LIKE A BOSS. 

In the end our boys battled their little rear ends off, but ended up losing 12-8. They held their heads high and handled the loss with grace and hope for the next game. We hugged and high fived our friends good-bye. Joe drove us all the way home while I slept in the back seat since I had worn myself slap out by cheering and worrying about all those kids as if they were my very own flesh and blood. 

Without question, our day at the Little League World Series was one of the most fun experiences not only of this summer, but perhaps of any summer. I've been to Fenway Park where I watched Big Papi hit a homerun. I've watched the Washington Nationals from the fancy suites. And still, there is no venue I would rank above Lamade Stadium in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. It is truly a field of dreams.

A note to the boys of the 2019 Loudoun South Little League team:

At end of the day, it wasn't the beautiful field, the electric atmosphere, the bright lights, the famous reporters, or the Major Leaguers in the booth that made our day. Above all else, it was the thirteen of you.

You - with your big hearts and your big fight. You - with your humility and charm and perfect manners on tv in front of millions. You - with your support of each other, your fierce determination, and the ferocious way you went about your business.  You - who inspired our family to sit around the kitchen and remember stories of plays and errors and triumphs from the boys' days playing Little League. You - who made us shake our heads in wonder and smile and clap our hands in delight when we spotted you on tv.

It was you, boys. As the days of summer started to fade, I decided to bring the first Little Leaguer whose cleats I tied tight and whose basehits I cheered to one last ball game before he left for college. And it was you who gave us one of the most memorable and fun experiences that we have had together in the twenty years I have been his mama. Oh boy, did we have a day.

You lived out the dreams of so many right before our very eyes. Thank you for doing it so well. Welcome home, kiddos.

Photo Credit: George J Puskar

Baffled Behind the Plate: Things I Still Don't Get After 15 Years as a Baseball Mom

School is finally out here in Northern Virginia which means we've officially started Summer Travel Baseball around these parts. Summer baseball is similar to Spring baseball except that it involves significantly more sitting in traffic on I-95, more fast food, more sweating, and more overnights in Hampton Inns where I lie awake wondering if we might have embarked on a scientific breakthrough because it seems like my son is growing a new strain of bacteria in his cleats.

It occurred to me as I sat at the sixth game of the weekend at a field in Rocky Mount, North Carolina that this was my 15th summer of watching at least one of my kids on the diamond. You would think it would follow that I would be an expert in baseball knowledge. Surely, I've seen every game situation and strategy, every type of coach and umpire, every manner of fan, and every  level of ball player. There couldn't possibly be a single rule or circumstance surrounding the game that would confuse or surprise me at this point in my life, right?

Wrong.

At just about the same time as this thought entered my head, there was a call on the field that left me looking pretty much like this:

The good news is that I wasn't alone in my confusion. I'm not throwing anybody under the bus, but in my experience there can be an equal amount of bewilderment during certain situations in a baseball game by both moms and dads, and even coaches and umpires. (Don't tell anyone I said that.) Thankfully, there always seems to be at least someone who eventually figures it out or at least speaks forcefully enough to convince everyone. In general, I just nod my head and pretend I understood all along. But here's the thing about a whole bunch of rules and circumstances involving America's game:

So if you find yourself only a few seasons or fifteen seasons into being a spectator of this game and you still seem baffled at times, I'm here for you. I'm going to give you my most up to date list of things about baseball that I still don't understand and likely never will after 15 years of watching the game. They are things that have surprised me and confused me. They have left me shaking my head in wonder and sometimes just plain flat out frustrated me to no end. Some of these things have been explained to me over and over and I'm still in the dark.  Here goes.

READ THE REST HERE.

Moving Mountains

I have prayed so many prayers for you. Late at night, early in the morning, while I'm running, while I'm driving, while I'm drying my hair. I prayed each and every time you were sick whether with a stomach virus that landed you in the hospital or with a sore throat when you were away at basketball camp. I've prayed on each first day of school whether you were clinging to my leg with tears in your eyes or bounding out the door to pick up a friend with barely a wave good-bye. I've prayed when you've been on snowboards and on wakeboards, in airplanes and on ski boats. I've prayed for every tryout, every night out with your friends, every SAT test, and every single darn time you were at the foul line. So. many. prayers.

Most often I suppose I was praying for God to make the path easier. I wanted Him to get all the obstacles out of the way. I wanted Him to protect you from harm and help you get what you want. I have tried really hard to pray simply for His will to be done and for you to rise up to meet it, but generally I throw in what my will is for your life. You know, just in case the Creator of the Universe needs some ideas on how things should go down for you.

I suppose, in effect, I've asked Him to remove mountains. And I am certain He has done so a million times over. I'm sure that He has protected you from things I cannot even imagine - things that I never even knew to mention.

But what I have seen as I look back on your eighteen years is that so many times, He did not remove the mountains. He left them there - big and looming and seemingly impossible to climb.

But your God is so much wiser than your mama. When I prayed for Him to give you an easier path, He instead gave you courage and wisdom and confidence and faith. He left those mountains right there and then He let you figure out how to go up against them.

And you have figured it out. You've never backed down. You've changed your mind, set your path, and followed your heart, even when I winced and worried and fretted. Time and time again, in a zillion different ways, I've watched you stand right up against the mountain. You've found the way up and kept climbing. And often times you stared that mountain down. You've juked it and gone around it before anyone knew what was happening.

You've gone up against some pretty big mountains even when your mama was cowering in the corner saying, "Don't do it!". Thank goodness He made you braver than me.

So after a whirlwind of a senior year, we've arrived at graduation. We'll laugh and cheer and celebrate you and your friends and in two short months we'll send you off to Tennessee where you will start the new path God has for you, literally in the shadow of the mountains.

And your mama will continue to pray. I will pray that you will know that I am forever your biggest fan and that I believe in you - not only because I'm your mom, but because you have proven that facing a mountain is perhaps your favorite place to be. You are worthy of our faith in you.

But I know that there will be challenges, so I will pray that when you are far away and things seem hard and you feel alone that you will look up at the mountains in the backyard of your university. And that you will remember how many of them you have conquered already. And that you'll know that the sky above them is the same one that your mama sees and that the God who created them is the same One who has been there all along. And I hope that when you need to be brave that you'll be absolutely clear in knowing from whom your strength comes. And I pray that you will ask Him for it because He never has and never will fail you.

Keep climbin', kid. I love you to the mountaintops and back down again.

"I lift my eyes up to the mountains -

Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord.

the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip-

he who watches over you will not slumber."

-Psalm 121:1-3

Dear Baseball Season . . .

Dear Baseball Season,

Listen, we need to take a break. It's just time. I'm not saying forever, but dude, it's November now. Stop telling me that we could just travel down 95 and find a warmer ballpark. I will not be swayed - even by the promise of a Sonic down south that sells a perfectly mixed fountain Cherry Vanilla Diet Coke with flawlessly crunchy ice. And really, Baseball, isn't that just running away from our problems? We both want better for each other, don't we? 

I'm not liking the person I've become with you lately. She is grouchy and cold and shivering with her shoulders all scrunched up to her ears. She is huddling down, wrapping herself in a blanket and rolling into a ball in her Dick's Sporting Goods folding chair. She is a shadow of her former self. You see, one has to learn to love herself before she can love another. And this girl with her hood pulled tight around her head, her face chapped red and her teeth full of baseball dirt? She's starting to look like the Unabomber - not the fresh faced, smiling, pony-tailed fan you used to love.

READ THE REST HERE

Hey, Nineteen

Today is my firstborn's 19th birthday. Last year on his 18th birthday, I wrote about all the ways he has made me better since he showed up at 5:25 am on October 6, 1998. He was then and continues to be irrefutable evidence that the Lord gives us a child as a gift, but also as a teacher.

Last year, the future was uncertain. He was in the midst of writing essays and filling out college applications. My heart was anxious and in constant prayer that God would make the way clear. That he would handle disappointments with grace and trust. That he would keep his eyes fixed on God and believe that He would make the path straight.

Today he will spend his birthday away from us for the first time. With new friends in a new place. I won't make him cinnamon rolls for breakfast. We won't go to his favorite restaurant for wings and cheese fries. I won't watch him open gifts.

And yet, in a shocking development, I did not wake up with an empty, anxious heart due to the absence of him today. Instead my heart is full of so much gratitude, so much peace, and so much joy. But the overriding peace I feel today is an immeasurable trust in the way the Lord has and will continue to love us through every change, in every season.

Today if there comes a moment when I feel his absence too deeply, I'll do what I told him to do if ever he felt homesick. I'll remember that even though we aren't under the same roof today, we both fell asleep last night under the same moon, we woke up under the same sun, and we are breathing in and out under the same sky. Better yet, we are held by the same God who has proven time and time again to love us more than we could ever deserve.

Bonus: The Lord saw fit to send my kid to a school where he will spend his birthday in a place called Happy Valley. Can't ask for more joy than that.

Happy Birthday, Kid. I love you so much.

"I give thanks to my God for every remembrance of you."

Philippians 1:3

Fake Daughter & Real Son Go Shopping for College

Image: mrcheckout.net

Well, we are exactly 16 days away from packing up my son and taking him to college. It's had me contemplating the differences in being the mom of a Real Son compared to the mom of a Fake Daughter. If you're new to my blog, I should tell you that in my real life I am the mom of three boys - blessed, grateful and fully in love with being the mom of three boys.

Still, I'm a girly girl, so Fake Daughter is a figment of my imagination who occasionally appears here in my writing. I have come to realize that the good Lord gave me sons because He knew I probably wouldn't be able to deal with a Real Daughter. As such, I have created Fake Daughter and made her perfect:  non-argumentative, yet opinionated, stylish and classy, tidy and helpful, smart and compassionate. Basically, a joy to be around every minute of every day. She agrees with me on all topics because she's fake and I made her up in my delusional head.

Anyway, as the two youngest Real Sons spent the past two weeks at basketball camp, this gave me some quality time with the oldest Real Son. I had set that time aside for college dorm room shopping so that - because his mom is right on top of everything - he will have the most successful first semester of college that the world has ever seen. These weeks together would be full of laughing and lunches, Starbucks and selfies. It was going to be awesome.

In preparation, I had read through 342 different articles titled "The 10 Things Your Kid Really Needs for College", "The 125 Things Your Kid Needs for College", and to be safe, "Don't EVEN THINK About Getting These Things For Your Kid for College". Also in the reading queue:  "The 10 Things To Say When Your Kid Leaves for College", "The 10 Things NOT to Say When Your Kid Leaves for College", and also, "Eleventy Billion Reasons You Should Totally Reconsider Leaving Your Kid at College"

I got in my full-on shop 'til you drop mentality and decided that we would hit Bed, Bath and Beyond first. A brand new one recently opened only a few miles from our house. (OH, THE LUCK!). Then we'd grab some lunch and head over to the mall for some new clothes. Later, we'd go to REI for a really good winter coat and boots because apparently Pennsylvania's weather does not mess around.

I was so excited about our day that I was about to come out of my shoes. Clearly, Joe was super pumped about it as well because when I gave him the day's itinerary he said, "Sure."

I mean, that's what he said, but I'm pretty sure that on the inside he was all:

In contrast, from the get-go Fake Daughter was all:

(and so was Fake Daughter's Friend who spends a lot of time with us because she has a bad home life and I am a stabilizing force for her.)

When we got to Bed, Bath and Beyond, it was the stuff that Fake Daughter's Dorm Dreams are made of. There were strings of twinkle lights and bedazzled pillows. There were fabric covered bulletin boards and all manner of frames. There was twine that we could string above her bed with clothespins holding photos of her best friend who happens to be me, of course. We considered something called a Majestic Canopy, but decided that it was too pretentious. (Let's not forget that Fake Daughter is humble and grounded.) We have a vision. More or less this.

pbteen.com

Fake Daughter and I ordered monogrammed pillows for her bed. We looked at seven different comforter sets, made a pro and con list (with brightly colored pens on a notepad), narrowed it down with a commonly agreed upon criteria and, in the end, decided that we needed to go to Pottery Barn or maybe Target or maybe Home Goods or maybe all three. We just needed to stop for a quick bite to eat some organic salads and papaya infused green tea first. Then we'd simply need to hit a few or twelve more stores. I mean, this is a big deal. What kids don't want to spend hours on end shopping and making the most informed decisions they can about bedding with the woman who gave them life?

I'll tell you who.

Real Son.

Meanwhile back in reality, his first question as we walked into the new, clean, glorious Bed, Bath and Beyond was "Can't we do this all online?

He aimlessly followed me into the first section dedicated to future college dorm dwellers. I pointed out that "surge protector" was on at least 95 of the 100 "Essentials" lists I had seen which is about the most boring thing I've ever heard in my life.

He said, "Gotcha." and picked up the first surge protector he saw. It was white and plastic. I thought there might be a grey/white chevron fabric covered one, but no luck. Real Son also grabbed a package of Command Hooks. White and plastic.

Things started to look up as we walked toward the bedding section and I said, "What do you think of these two navy comforters? They're similar, but this one has a red stripe detail and that one is more like a grey stripe."

Real Son says "Sure."

"Sure what?"

"Sure. That one." He is basically pointing at the air.

Later I said, "You need a laundry basket. That blue one is too bright. I like the navy better. Don't you?

"Yea," he says grabbing the bright blue one.

At this point Real Mom is all:

In the end this is what we came home with after shopping trip number one:

After Bed, Bath and Beyond we found our way to food which was not organic and drink which was not infused with anything but carbonation and aspartame. Real Son was not made to go on hours and hours of shopping trips. He can take about 20 minutes in a store and then he needs to know where we're eating. In the next few days, I took additional trips to Bed, Bath and Beyond on my own. We ordered a coat from REI online. He did accompany me to the mall one day where we spend about 10 minutes buying him some jeans and the rest of the time eating burgers and sharing fries. 

For the remainder of those two weeks, we got some of his dental and medical appointments out of the way, he did some chores around the house for me, picked up his brothers at camp when I couldn't and worked on final paperwork for college. I didn't force any more bonding experiences or shopping trips. We went to some movies, ate some more food and basically hung around the house. 

I wouldn't trade this Real Son for all the Fake Daughters in the world. Our reality is not nearly perfect, but it's pretty sweet. Unfortunately, no matter how much we mamas try to grip tightly to our realities, we cannot control or manufacture the way they change and grow and even move away. It doesn't matter if I buy all 10 of the right things to send him to college. It doesn't matter if I say all 10 of the right things. In the end, my son will have to look to the God we taught him about and to himself to create his own, unique reality. He's going to be just fine.

Even without a monogrammed pillow.

Walk Off

(Warning, Dear Reader. This post is utterly indulgent and dramatic and sappy and full of emotional mommy moments. You might roll your eyes or shake your head or want to never read here again because GET A GRIP, LADY. IT'S JUST BASEBALL. I'm having a moment. A few moments from now, you can rest assured, that I will be yelling at this kid to hang up his towel, stop leaving his nasty shoes every where and get off the couch and walk the darn dog, for the love.)

As a volunteer in the pediatric cancer community, I understand to a very, very small degree what is a true, final ending for a parent. Although as much as I can try to empathize, can sit in a pew at a child's funeral, can pray and listen and hug a grieving mama, I will not ever really understand that ending unless it happens to me. I know that. And through all the feelings I've had as these milestones for my oldest come and go - the random tears while I'm at Subway about to order him the same sandwich he's always wanted or as I watch elementary school children cross the street or stumble on an old photo - I am consistently reminding myself that these feelings of loss and yearning for the past are temporary, not in any way truly tragic.

But feelings are feelings and moms have lots of them. I read once that you don't have to feel guilt about your sadness just because someone else has it worse anymore than you should shrug off feeling happy just because someone out there has circumstances that might warrant greater happiness. So I let the feelings come and then pep talk myself right out of them.

You can imagine the big bowl of crazy it has been to live with me lately.

So the ending showed up in heartbreaking fashion for my first boy's final high school baseball season. We blessedly were able to extend the season by a few games, take some road trips, cheer some amazing plays and hits, cross our fingers and toes, pray some prayers, high five and hug and marvel at how we held a team - one that very few outside of our players and coaches and fans thought we had a chance to beat - scoreless into extra innings. So when the end came with our opponent's victorious walk off hit and a final score of 1-0, I braced myself to watch my player's own walk off.

I stood near the fence, peering out over the dugout and I am astonished at how vividly I can remember certain moments and how hazy are others. I remember all the jerseys over all of the years. We had Braves and Rockies and Dodgers and Pirates and Red Sox and Loudoun South All-Stars. Eagles and Bulldogs and Eagles again. I remember a diving catch he made playing 1st when he was maybe eleven when he came up looking shocked that the ball was in his glove. I remember him tagging that crazy fast guy trying to steal 2nd in an All-Star game at a crucial moment when he was twelve.  I remember him botching more than a few catches and striking out more times that we can count as well. I remember the golden year he and his little brother played on the same team when Kyle was pitching and he whispered encouragement in his ear, patted him on the butt and trotted back to his position. I remember the fact that he desperately needed a haircut his sophomore year but refused because surely that would break his hitting streak. I remember the dirt stains that wouldn't come out and the smelly cleats and the falling asleep in the car on the way home from tournaments. I remember sending him out the door to climb in the truck with his dad for practice only to have him return seconds later to grab the oft forgotten water bottle off the kitchen counter. I remember how easy it was to pick out his voice among a chorus of boys shouting encouragement and silliness to their teammates from the dugout.

I could sit here for days remembering, but ain't nobody got time for that. There's a bigger game to be played now. Over countless baseball seasons, we saw him succeed and we saw him fail. There are well more failures than successes in baseball. This is why I'm grateful for the influence of this game in my boys' lives because this is what they will face in all of their future days.

As there were in baseball, in life there will be those who are better than him. There will be those who are not. But if his first eighteen years are an indication, he will stay humble in success and hungry in the face of disappointment. He will keep swinging. He will pull himself up off the field, wipe the dirt off and hustle back to the dugout to await his next at bat.

As he came off the field he indulged his mommy and walked straight into her arms. He is not my pudgy faced tee baller any more. As shaving was not an option while the team was still winning, my little boy's whiskers scratched my cheek and he sighed and sniffed. Then he walked straight to his dad and did the same. And I knew.

The walk off of the field is not the ending. It is the beginning. It is time now.  It is time to walk on. The path is wide open.

I love you with my entire heart, #8. From home plate to the centerfield wall. I have loved watching you play and I am grateful every moment for the chance to continue to be your biggest fan. Walk on.

Rainy Monday Daybook: 5-22-27

For Today:

Looking out my window:

It's early and raining on and off. The sky has lightened since I work at 5:30 am, but I don't expect it to get much brighter. I'm so sad I missed snapping a photo of the family of deer who walked by earlier as my phone was upstairs. She and her babies don't seem to mind the grey day. I'm not a fan of rainy days, but today I think I'll take my cue from them.

I am thinking:

that nothing is going to get done around here if I don't pull myself away from poring through photo books and old computer files of my boys. I got an email that the senior moms need to send some early photos of their players to the parent who is creating a slideshow for the baseball banquet. That has led me down a rabbit trail of emotions and giggling and I don't know how to stop.  I found this one yesterday of the day we brought Drew home from the hospital. I feel like Kyle is looking at Joe with a "Dude, how do you think this whole thing is gonna work?" face. And as usual, Joe is just going to let both little brothers know exactly how things are gonna go down.

I am thankful:

for another chance or two to see our Varsity baseball team play. If you read this post on Friday, you know it was a "win or go home" game for them. The game was rained out on Friday, so we played on Saturday. One of the moms had to be away on Saturday, so she asked if I could text her updates, but to please not worry about it too much because she wanted me to enjoy the game. 

Well, as much as I intended to enjoy the game, I more or less endured it. It was a painfully close game. The Lovely and Talented Mrs. C. and I went to the restroom at one point and as we watched from the outfield on our way back to the our seats, our boys scored a run. So that was that. We never went back to our seats. No phones, no water, no snacks, no sitting. We stayed until the end. My sister-in-law took this shot of us, but you can't even see us because we were waaayyy out in right field. We are completely cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

I am thankful for getting to watch boys on both teams playing their hearts out. I'm thankful for a chance to win or lose again and for a chance to hang out with my straight up weirdo baseball mom friends a couple of more times. From now on it's all gravy. I will enjoy the fire out of these post season games.

One of my favorite things:

All the plaid and all the gingham and all the checks for spring. I have had a long time addiction to stripes which has changed into an addiction to plaid. There are some adorable tops out there right now. Here are some of my favorites.

Plaid Tie-Front Blouse

The tie front on this is so cute and it comes in three different color options.

Mixed Gingham Shirt

I have this pop over shirt in white and a navy/white gingham, so I don't need this one in my life, but maybe you do.

Madewell Plaid Tie Back Top

This one ties in the back. So cute.

Patchwork Plaid Bow Dress

I will definitely buy this for Fake Daughter. I have to apologize if you have a Real Daughter and then click on this because it appears to be sold out in the real world. But if you have a Fake Daughter like me you can get this in whatever size you want and come to think of it in Fake World it's 100% off, too. Isn't it going to be so cute?

I am wearing:

black and white striped pjs from Old Navy and a longsleeve black tshirt that says "Make Things Happen" which is not really my current mood. Last week was a blur of activity and I'm hoping to slow down this week. I might make a thing happen here or there, but not a whole lot of things.

I am reading:

I am slowly, slowly getting near the end of My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry which has nothing whatsoever to do with the quality of the book and everything to do with the fact that May is trying to kill me. It is a quirky, unique, delightful book. I definitely recommend it.

I am watching:

I'm not sure if anyone else in the world is still watching Grey's, but I watched most of the most recent season in the past few weeks on my iPad because Celtics basketball is on my real tv all the darn time and with all due respect to the rabid fans in my house, I don't care one iota about the NBA. 

I hate ironing with a passion so I don't do it until I have a huge basket overflowing with wrinkled clothes. Last week, I tackled that huge basket and ironed for what seemed like an eternity while watching Parks and Rec. It's hilarious. I've always loved Amy Poehler, but Chris Pratt and Aziz Ansari are also geniuses in this show. I am way late to this party, and I was simply giddy when The Lovely and Talented Mrs. C. reminded me that Rob Lowe shows up soon.

I am listening to:

I planted what seemed like 7,000 flowers in my front yard beds a couple of weeks ago, so I listened to the podcast, S-Town ,while I was digging and schlepping Miracle Gro around. It is wildly popular right now and I can see why. The story is compelling and the characters are fascinating. While you will definitely want to have in your ear buds (not suitable for little ears) and it's not a happy tale, I recommend it for a long road trip or getting through tasks which don't require your full attention. Great story telling here.

I am hoping:

For perspective this week. As I sat in the pew at church yesterday, after rushing in late from a basketball game, "perspective" was the word that the Lord laid on my heart. That along with "Watch it, Sister, because you are teetering mighty close to the edge of a gross amount of self-involvement." Ouch.

May is a crazy busy season for everyone and this May for my family is full of joy and excitement and chaos and a big ol' dose of "HOW IN THE WORLD IS HE ALREADY GRADUATING???" I am quite consumed with this senior year business, baseball season and my list of to-dos. I think the Lord gives us our own set of tasks each day and it's our job to follow our own path, but I also know He gives us the ability to avert our gaze to others and expects that we do so.

I am hoping to remember that there is a mom out there that isn't hoping for one more baseball game for her kid to play. She's hoping for just one friend for her kid to play with. There's a mom out there who isn't stressed over all the activities that go along with high school graduation because her son was lost to a terrible accident so he didn't make it to high school at all. There is a mom who isn't filling out medical forms and looking at housing options and paying bills for college because she can't afford to send her kid to school.

I'm hoping for joy in this season and a healthy dose of perspective. I heard Your message, Lord. I'm hoping to heed it.

I am learning:

that as much as I love to watch my boys play, I do have a limit. After the "this is so close that my heart is going to beat out of my chest" baseball game on Saturday, I went to two basketball games for Kyle. This is not what I needed in my life. A piano concert would have been a better choice. Basketball games are fast and physical and sweaty and chaotic. Most of the time I am able to recognize and deal with the climate that is quite different from baseball. I can abide some smack talking and some swagger because that's just part of the game once the players get to high school. But I'm learning that on certain days, it's all a little too much. And on certain days there is a kid or maybe there are two kids covering your kid and they're all up in his face and their lips are moving and you really want to think they're saying, "Well, hello, friend. Isn't this an enjoyable activity we've chosen this evening? Best of luck to you."  But they're not saying that. And sometimes there are fans on the other side egging that stuff on and you have to try really hard to keep your bottom in your seat and your mouth closed. I am learning how to do that from my son. Because from my view, for the most part, he keeps his eyes on his own teammates and his mouth shut. And as frustrating as it might become, the boy just plays. So I'm learning that although I may have a limit, the Lord equips our children for every challenge - even up in your face, defiant, threatening challenge. And we mamas must sit back and watch them meet those challenges. Play on, Son. You make me proud.

In my kitchen:

It might be dreary outside, but I got sunshine on a cloudy day because Nancy and I went to the Farmer's Market on Saturday and I stocked up on some juices including this Sassy Sunshine juice with orange, tumeric, ginger and cayenne from Greenheart Juice Shop. 

Post Script:

Have y'all seen these ladies discuss the ridiculousness of women's swimsuits? You must. Go. Now.

Shared Quote:

I've lots of friends who are grieving and I've learned from them how often they are judged on if they're "doing it right" . . .even by well meaning, loving, concerned people. So when I read this quote in the book I'm reading it stuck out to me. 

"People in the real world always say, when something terrible happens, that sadness and loss and aching pain of the heart will lessen as time passes, but it isn't true. Sorrow and loss are constant, but if we had to go through our whole lives carrying them the whole time, we wouldn't be able to stand it. The sadness would paralyze us. So in the end we just pack it into bags and find somewhere to leave it."

- Fredrick Backman, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry

Those of us who are trying to help the grieving? Perhaps we might just be open and willing to be a safe place for someone to leave their bag of sadness? Not so that we can swoop in to analyze it or fix it or dump it out and flush it down the drain, but just to be the somewhere that they can leave it.

A moment from my day:

I'm so grateful to get to wash this smelly thing again so that it will live to see another game. So grateful.

Closing Notes:

I'm a sucker for a good smelling candle so if you are as well, I want to share what is making me ten kinds of happy this morning. This Orange Blossom and Driftwood Candle by White Barn is a game changer on a dreary day. It smells like sunshine and spring and all the good feelings.

Happy Monday, Friends!

Prompts from thesimplewoman.blogspot.com

(This post contains some affiliate links and I will be compensated if you make a purchase after clicking on certain links.)