Spring Sports, Round 2

I think we're getting into a pattern with spring sports, friends. It's one reminiscent of my youth and one that I'm happy that my kids will know: Spring is for baseball and softball!

 

This year, my Ella and Summit were on different teams. She played softball and he did coaches pitch again. My dad coached with Matt's help, and, in all honesty, it was a great season all around.

Summit was still the youngest on the team, but he did really well. He loves baseball. Actually, he loves sports. I see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. It's no big surprise, though, as he comes from a long line of sports fanatics. It's inherited. One day he, too, will drive his wife bananas with the obsessive game watching and overtly loud cheering and booing.

This was Ella's first year in softball, and I am so grateful that they created the teams for the girls this season. They had so much fun. It's awesome to see little girls learning how to play, and even more hilarious to see them roll their eyes or put their hands on their hips when they get frustrated or to cross their arms and completely turn their backs to the coaches if they don't like what they have to say. Attitudes, like fashion sense, are innate, and this season showed just that.

Go Vipers and Threshers!

Maybe Not the Weight Gain

There comes a time in every woman's pregnancy where she wonders exactly what the hell she was thinking when she decided it would be a good idea to have a baby. Any lady who denies this is lyin', pure and simple. And, there a good number of reasons to have at least a small spell of buyer's remorse with pregnancy. Perhaps the most prevalent cause of this state-of-mind is the very idea of how, exactly, a woman is to take a very large being from inside of her and see it outside of her, particularly when there is no exit that really seems appropriately large enough for the being to pass through. My friend, Carolyn, provided an analogy that has stuck with me for months now: it's like building a boat in your basement. Yep. Or my dad's comparison to a snake eating a pig backwards. Awesome, right? These images have stuck with me, unfortunately, and they have me sweating more than August in South Carolina.

Of course, there also comes a time in every woman's pregnancy where she's just desperate enough to look past the logistical nightmare of extracting a baby through her very small exit... When she tires of trying to tell the difference between panties that are wet with sweat or wet from an overly leaky bladder... When sneezing and squeezing no longer provides protection... When she notices that what she imagined to be a bull in heat panting is actually her own now normal breathing... When the term "It's a jungle out there" refers to what may be happening south of the old baby belly, but she's unsure because she's been unable to see "out there" for quite too long of a time... When the thought of going to sleep at night, an experience that once brought so much excitement, becomes so dreaded and uncomfortable... When the 9-month-long rehab plan becomes just too much to bear... When the idea of destroying the woman at the OB's office who takes her weight becomes a lovely fantasy... When Tums and Metamucil are all-too familiar staples in her daily dietary intake, and the thought of doing without either one is enough to set her off in a tail-spin of tears...

When it gets to this point, a woman decides that the only way out is gonna have to do. And, rather than fretting over the unimaginable pain that will come with labor...and, I might add, the weeks that follow, because, let's be real here, things don't just go back to normal; there is a tricky little healing process involving warm water and iodine in squirt bottles and an obsessive fear of bathroom...the woman decides that being pregnant has seriously run its course. Time's up for the little one who's, by now, taken to hanging posters of her favorite band inside of her mama's uterus. Real life awaits.

Real life. For Baby, whose world is no longer warm and cozy and protected. For Baby's siblings, who now have to share their worlds with yet another. For Mama. For Mama's nipples, which become inverted at the very idea of the super-fun breaking-in period when milk comes in and Baby learns to nurse. For the engorged (it's as bad as it sounds) and leaky boobies that replace the leaky bladder. For the laundry, oh my goodness the laundry, that seems completely impossible for one very small human being to create. For even less sleep. For Daddy, who better figure out how to deal with Mama as quickly as possible for the sake of everyone. Ahhhh. Yes. Real life.

But, a beautiful life. And so worth it. The buyer's remorse disappears. The fear. The wet undergarments. The jungle. The sobriety. The weight gain. The heartburn and constipation. They all become worth it in the end. Well, maybe not the weight gain, but the rest of it is worth it.

Skinamarinky Dinky Doc

Yesterday, as I was finishing up my "Finding the Happy" blog, my kids put on this performance. Last night, as the day was winding down, I learned about the passing of one very remarkable Americana musician, Doc Watson. Matt and I danced to his music when we were falling in love at MerleFest, and we played his song, "My Special Angel," for our first dance at our wedding. His music has a special place in our lives, and, were it not for that music...these little ones might not be here right now. So, with that said, I dedicate this song to Doc. Rest well, kind sir.

Finding the Happy

In light of my big, huge rant yesterday, I realize that some of my pals out there may think I've lost my mind and that I'm one big angry mess. Well, while that may be partially true...I'm not completely destroyed. I know that there is a whole lot to be thankful for. I have awesome kids, a great husband, and a nice (albeit small) home. I have a wonderful family and delicious friends. But, everyone reaches a breaking point. Everyone. I think it's a damn shame when we feel forced to keep so much frustration bottled up inside, so I was merely letting out some of that pressure...trying to let my people know that they aren't the only ones who feel like they might explode some of the time and that it's okay to vent.

Today, I've focused on the good stuff...looking past the things I so desperately want to change or improve upon or have control over...I've sought out the humor, because, as we all know, life is way better when we're able to find the happy. So, here are some of the things that I appreciate about my life on this day:

• My kids. They know I've got a lot going on...and just when I thought that they might kill each other from my lack of focus on them, just when I thought that they don't hear a thing I tell them or that they haven't absorbed a thing I've tried to teach them, they go and make me a book about the ways they think I'm special. And, if having your kids tell you that you're exciting, loveable, loyal, adorable, a good reader and cook, in addition to being pretty when you know you look like a humpback gorilla doesn't put a smile on your face, there's no hope. P.S. I am aware that the 16 was crossed out to make 15.

• Ella's rendering of Matt on her dry erase board. Um? Awesome.

• Summit playing his version of Adele's 'Rumor Has It' on the guitar and singing along. Off-key never sounded so good.
• The dog being on her best behavior while I gave her a flea bath. (That could have ended up one of two ways.)
• Getting to actually speak to Ella's neurologist's assistant on the fourth call this morning rather than getting her voice mail for the fourth time. And, it's good that I did, seeing as how she lost my message from 8 a.m. How about that! Neurotic behavior has its rewards.
• Boxing up all of our winter stuff to make more room in our bedroom closet. (The house BETTER be sold by the time I need sweaters and jeans again. If it's not, I'm abandoning ship.)

• Listening to Ella explain to Summit why it's not a good idea to put an ice pack in his underwear. (Why couldn't he figure this out on his own?)
• Having the good sense to know what not to wear while I'm carrying an extra humam in my body. Being in a bathing suit is quite a challenge when pregnant, and I'm really thankful that I didn't look like this at any of the Memorial Day celebrations that we were part of this past weekend. Clearly Tori Spelling didn't get the memo. (Monokinis are not pregnant lady friends.) In Summit's words: "That is inappropriate." Yes, my little man, it is.

 

See. I do know that life isn't so bad. Do I expect to have more freak outs before this baby comes? Absolutely. Do I know that I'll find myself miserable and annoyed and angry? Sure. But, I know where the happy is. I know what's important.

a major rant: not for cry babies

because i'm not one to shy away from the truth, i've got to be completely honest here. i am freaking out. freaking out. despite the fact that i'm a few days away from being 9 flipping months pregnant, the world in which we live has been a ridiculously exhausting, emotionally challenging, mind bending rollercoaster. and, frankly, i'm freaking over it. i've done a damn good job of keeping the peace, keeping a smile on my face, keeping up a happy demeanor for everyone to make sure that our world is stable and normal. however, i have reached the end of my rope. my breaking point is here, and i am broken.

i'm having a baby in a month. a baby. a beautiful baby girl. i love her. i adore her. i can't wait to meet her. and i am completely unprepared for her. completely. unprepared. and i'm pissed off about it. i have no room for her. no space for her. not a single drawer for her. she will live in my room. her belongings will be minimal and stored in a tupperware container that can be easily removed from sight in the event that someone wants to see our house in the very unlikely chance that they may make an offer. i have not a single stuffed animal for her. not a single blankie for her. not a single idea for a nursery or something that i would hang on a wall for her, something that i would give her one day, many years from now, to let her know how excited i was for her arrival. how prepared i was for her.

this house. this freaking house has been on the market for 5 months. 5 months ago, cleaning and perfecting things weren't such a challenge. 5 months later, the case is not the same. i'm tired. i hurt. i'm sick of making things perfect in the unlikely event that today will be the day that someone actually wants to buy this pain in my ass. and with each passing day, there seems to be less room for the things in our family. there's less room. and there's less appreciation for how much i am required to do to maintain the dwindling amount of space that we have. i should be going through the attic, finding things for the baby. if i could fit in the attic, i'd have no room for the crap i need to pull out. i should be going through all of our things, the kids rooms, the closets, packing up the non-essentials. i should be minimizing the stuff that we have now, perhaps putting it into storage to make the house appear more spacious and less full... i wish i had the energy and patience and time to do this stuff. i should have some help to accomplish these goals. i should. i wish it were important to someone other than me.

i also have two other children to take care of. ella and summit need me now, maybe more than ever. their world is about to be turned upside freaking down, and they know it. i can tell that they're nervous. i can tell that they are having some internal stuff with everything that is going on. there is a lot of pressure for them to deal with that, having a mommy who is tired and stressed out, a home on the market, and a life that is not so easy. it's not fair for them, and i'm so anxious for them.

so, what would i expect to be happening? i don't know. but, i know i'm tired. i know i'm sick of putting on a happy face all the time. i am sick of doing it all on my own. i am too far invested in the selling of this house to turn back now. too far. and there's not enough space for us as it is. we have to get this over with. we have to. we have a baby coming. i'm torn up about the fact that she'll have her first baby things in a damn tupperware container. that sucks. sucks. sucks. it breaks my heart. i should have prepared better. this house should have been sold before she was conceived. i should have known better.

on top of all of this, matt wants me to drive two and a half hours to asheville to see bob weir tomorrow night. seriously. i need to buy a baby swing, and he wants to spend money on a concert? seriously? he expects me to go hang out at a show with a bunch of wasted hippies. me, stone sober and huge, trying to protect my belly from stumbling drunks, and completely exhausted? seriously? does that sound like fun for me right now? thanks for the consideration. i'll sit this one out.

and then there's my mother. she's worried about me. she doesn't know what's wrong. for real? how can she NOT know what's wrong? how do women NOT understand instinctively what may be going on with another woman, specifically their daughters? matt wants me to call her to let her know i'm okay. uh...no. i won't. because i'm not okay. sorry if she's worried, but i've got a little more to think about than if my mom is concerned about me. if she wants to stop worrying, i have a few suggestions. i'm sick and tired of basically doing all this by myself.

while i'm certain that many people would not ever think of posting something so raw and un-pretty, i really couldn't think of anything else to write. i suppose i could follow the age-old advice of "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." i suppose, but i didn't. i think it's okay, even good, to rant. women are expected to be perfect and beautiful and have it all together all the time. and, that's just not fair. it's not acceptable. life can be quite a bitch, and women letting it be known that their worlds are too heavy doesn't make them failures. it doesn't make them bitches. it makes them honest.

the end.

Pretend...

...I'm a mermaid, and you're a merman...
...this toothbrush is a magic wand...
...this board is a magic ride...
...the water is full of blood...
...you have to rescue me...
...the pool is way deep in the ocean...
...we have to go to the queen and king's castle and free all the slaves...
...I was a human...
Turn me back into a mermaid...
...I can free them with my smash...
Turn me really strong...
Turn me really big...
...now we defeat the queen...
Give me all the power...
...now you have all the powers...
...now we have it all in the whole wide world...
...you saw me defeating her like crazy...
...I turned into the evil king...
Bwahahahahaha...
No!...
Smash!...
Pow!...
Hahahahaha!
...I got knocked out...
Nice try...
Why are your lips purple?
Snap out of it.
...you turned back to normal...
...but I really was the evil king...
Pretend it was the morning.



This is the conversation between my Ella and Summit yesterday in the pool. Can you imagine what it looked like to them? Do you remember? To live in a world where imagination is so true...it's the time of their lives. Do you remember?

His small hand.

These past couple of days have been tough. Really tough. I don't know how it got to this point, but when I realized it had, it brought me to my knees.

Yesterday morning, it hit me. As my little boy, my little guy, my Summy Poopers slipped his hand into mine on our way into his classroom. His small hand. That small action, which has become so commonplace, so much like home...it reached up for mine as it has every time we've ventured into his school for the past three years...and it pushed forth a million and a half heart flutters, a million and a half heart aches. It was the end of the road. The end of his time in preschool.

I'm not one of those moms who likes to drop her kids off at school. First of all, I don't like waiting in car pool lines. Most importantly, I love taking the time to walk them inside their classrooms. I love it. When Ella started kindergarten, that was one of the hardest parts for me...knowing that walking the kids to class is frowned upon and that it would end that brief moment of every morning that I loved so much with her. But, it made me cherish it that much more with Summit. And, so, every day I've walked him to his classroom. It's a small space of time that belongs to just him and I. A small walk that we have with his hand in mine and us just being together. I relish in that moment. And, I relish in watching him write his name to sign in and telling him "I love you" one last time before I leave him for preschool and hearing him say it back to me. So small, but so big. So sweet.

I know next year I won't get those. Today, my baby boy graduated from preschool. From beginning to end, the experience was perfect. Along the way, he has made some super friends, and had some super experiences. I couldn't be more pleased with how well he was taught and loved by all of his teachers, especially Mrs. Dawn and Mrs. Dani, who were Ella's teachers three years before Summit. Truly, they are outstanding. Outstanding. I will miss them as much as Summit has told me he will.

But, I'm so happy for him, so proud of all he has learned and all the ways he has developed. The director, Jane, said this moment was bittersweet for us parents, and she couldn't be more spot on. I feel today like my heart has been torn into a million pieces for the moments that I won't get back...but I also feel so very fortunate to have a child who is growing into such an amazing person.

Congratulations, Summit! I love you the most!