Braving Boys

Click on image!

Had I not just won this in a giveaway, I’d be buying it, because, well, it’s awesome, isn’t it? This print is going to be perfect for guiding me as I continue to try to be a good mom to my boys, and I’ll probably be framing and displaying it smack dab in my kitchen (or maybe another room, haven’t decided yet), so I can keep myself on track.

You like? Click on the image, and you’ll land on the etsy shop of Chrissie Grace, the wonder woman who made this, and you’ll also have the good fortune of seeing all her other inspirational work. The I Believe print is a favorite of mine, and I love, love, love the checkbook covers. You’ll see when you arrive just how rockin’ this place is, and I bet you’ll want to treat yourself (or a loved one) to something grand (yet totally reasonable in price). You can also try to win some goodies by connecting with Out of the Blue Delivered on Facebook — lots of giveaways there, (it’s where I won the print pictured above).

Writes Chrissie about herself:

I am a stay-at-home to four beautiful children. I am also an artist, author, and poet.

“in His grace” is full of whimsical art inspired by the word of God. 25% of all proceeds go directly to CBC Seminole, a local foster and adoption agency.

You can read more about my everyday life and projects on my blog at:
http://www.chrissiegrace.blogspot.com

I got the nicest email today from Danny’s second-grade teacher.

Dear Jacki,

Danny wrote an incredible story today!!  Can you please type it up?  The other students want a copy of it!!  He told the class he learned how to write from his mother!  Good job, Mom!! WOW!!

Danny, the bashful writer (well, not really)

The Snake Surprise
By Danny Donaldson

One day, our class snake got out of his cage. Mrs. Omer sent me and Perry to go get it, and we looked around and couldn’t find it, so we went to tell Mrs. Omer, and she said, “Go look again!” We found him, and he dashed away faster than light. We saw which way he went, and he led us into the woods.

We looked everywhere, and we were going to give up, but we couldn’t find our way back. So, we had to keep on looking. We saw something moving in a tree. We looked in the tree. Boom! An owl flew out of a tree like a jaguar and scratched me with his claws on his legs. We kept on going.

Soon, we came to a little hole, and we looked in it. Still, we couldn’t find the snake. A different snake jumped out like a lemur on my head. I took it off, and it looked like the class snake, but the class snake didn’t hiss, so I knew it wasn’t our class snake. I threw it down, but it followed me. So, I let it sit on my shoulder. It was my buddy. So was Perry. Perry found a cave that led to a light. We went in it, but it was just a flashlight. We went back out, and we saw Kevin run with our snake. That is why he wasn’t in the class yesterday. We caught him easily. He threw the snake up and escaped and caught it. He ran away again, and he went in the cave where we saw the flashlight. There was a path where we didn’t see it. We followed Kevin. There was a password slot, but I knew the number was 11793978901. It was right! I got in, and I saw him. The path led back in the woods. Soon, we were far away from school.

Then, it became night, and we were tired, and we lost Kevin. We heard a noise in the woods. It was Kevin without the snake. He said, “Wahaha, you don’t know where I hid the snake, and you will never find him.” Perry and I said, “Oh, really?” We found it right away. It was in the cave. We picked it up, and it was as slippery as goo, water, and Gatorade. I picked it up, and we got it back and celebrated with joy. We had a lot of cookies and Gatorade. It was a festival.

It was the best day ever, and I mean it. Bye!

P.S. It wasn’t goo, Gatorade, or water. It was a snake!

Following the mechanics of 4th grade expository writing, 9-year-old Joey wrote a four-paragraph essay for his Nana.

My Nana Rocks
By: Joey Donaldson

Do you have a family member who rocks? I do. My Nana rules the school. One thing that puts her at the top of the list is that she’s cute. Another reason why I think my Nana is so spectacular is because she is super strong like a lion.

Whistle! Whistle! Here comes my never-cuter Nana. One thing that makes her look so spiffy is her short haircut. One time, she thought of getting a little trim, so she got in her shiny, silver SUV, raced off to the hair salon, and returned home with a shorter ‘do. When she got back and paid me visit, I said, “Is that my 30-year-old Nana?” You’d never know my Nana is actually 63 years old. She looks as young as a spring chicken. Maybe it’s her red-hot lipstick that makes her look like a supermodel. Sometimes, my Nana can get a little frazzled by her treacherous dogs and her endlessly whining grandchildren, and on Thanksgiving Day, well, she was pretty upset. My cousins and I were playing with a super big bouncy ball, and I launched it up as high as I could, causing the humongous ball to zip across the kitchen counter and crash into a plant, which flew in the air and then smashed into a pure white and yellow deviled egg. My Nana knew what to do. She sprinted to her bedroom, smeared on some lipstick, and returned refreshed and looking as cute as a button. The best part is none of us got in trouble! As you can tell, my cute Nana rocks!

If you’ve ever seen a lion pounce or show its power, then you can imagine the strength of my Nana. The girl can do 20 perfect push-ups at one time. Once, I jogged down to her house, and she was relaxing outside in her favorite Gator chair. When I stepped onto her driveway, I challenged her to do 20 push-ups. She said, “Bring it on!” She got down in her push-up position, and I said, “Ready, Set, Go!” She smiled at me and did 10 push-ups in five seconds. I was astonished. Then, before I knew it, she was done. She did 20 push-ups in 10 seconds. I gave her a high-five, and I saw her biceps pumping, so that told me she was really fit and strong. I guess she has proven she is one powerful person. Yep, she sure is. She’s even pretty mentally strong. S-E-I-Z-E. “I got it. It’s diagonal!” My Nana is like Einstein at word searches. One day, I came home from a day at school, and I had to do a word search, so I asked my brilliant Nana, “Will you help me?” She said, “Sure, Cupcake!” The first word was “fragile.” One second later, my Nana had it. “It’s on the third row, on the top of the page,” she told me. I joyfully responded, “Thank you!” In five minutes, it was all done. WOW! That was fantastic. I had a hunch she was feeling exhilarated. Not only is my Nana a whiz at word searches, she is basically smart all around. It must be because she reads a lot. One time, she read a whole book in one day! But that’s a subject for another story.

Give me a, “N.” Give me an “A.” Give me an “N.” Give me an “A.” What do you have? “NANA!” My Nana is cute. She is strong. She is the total package. My Nana is Rock-tastic!

Merry Christmas, Nana!
December 2010

Joey, No. 91

He was choked up. I saw him fight back the tears. But when we walked away from his very last tackle football game of the season on Saturday night, Joey told us, like he’s done a thousand times, that he doesn’t really like the sport at all, that he will likely never play again.

Well, maybe if he can play defense only, he’ll consider it, but mostly, he’s done with the game.

That’s fine. I don’t care if Joey plays again or not. What I care about is what he got out of the past three months.

Joey got an education in the fundamentals of football and a lesson in commitment — there were days when he wanted so badly to quit, but he toughed it out, finished, and earned a Pop Warner medal and trophy.

Joey got discipline, criticism, and praise. He got first place almost every time he ran laps with his 30 teammates, and he got to hardly ever come out of the game. He got knocked down, he got $5 from Dad for every game tackle, and he got bumps and bruises. He got the nickname “Big Bird,” he got skilled at football drills, and he got accustomed to playing in sweltering heat, and then, in the finger-numbing cold.

Joey got good at football, he got a passion for watching pro games on TV, throwing the ball in the yard with anyone he could recruit, and trying to tackle me in the grass, the living room, even the aisles of Walmart. He got to experience the thrill of team comraderie, he got to yell and scream in huddles, he got to be team captain.

Joey got a game jersey and wore it to school every Friday, he got dressed up for Halloween as a football player, and then, one week after scoring a bag full of trick-or-treat sweets, he got tears in his eyes when football came to an end.

I saw them — the tears.

And that’s how I know that somewhere deep inside his big body, Joey realizes football was not so bad.

I suspect he knows it was actually pretty fun at times.

He just won’t admit it.

That’s OK.

Because I know.

Yes, that's a black-ish eye, but not from football, just rough play.

Let me preface this post by telling you that my 9-year-old kid has not yet been fully uniformed and padded and protected and knocked around on the football field, and, yes, of course, I am scared to death that he will soon be jolted around to the point of tears and serious injury, but so far, he’s just been conditioning his big-boy body for a season of tackle football.

By conditioning, I mean he’s been running, jumping, racing, weaving, bear crawling, crab crawling, sitting up, pushing up, attacking dummies, and then doing it all over again. And again. Then one more time. For two hours. Sometimes more.

Almost every day, Joey is soaked in sweat and fatigued to the point that he can’t fall asleep. This is tough stuff — the hardest he’s ever had it in life. And here’s what I have to say about it all:

So far, I love tackle football.

It’s not the hours on end I’m sitting on a field overrun with ants that nibble constantly on my ankles. It’s the not the 4PM dinners we’re eating to prep for 6PM practice, or the rushed night-time routines when we return home at, oh, 8:30 or 9PM. It’s not my messy vehicle, the dirty clothing, the relentless reminders that Joey must lose 2 pounds if he wants to play in the first game.

Nope.

None of that makes me terribly happy.

It’s the way Joey works on that field that fills me with joy. He might complain at home about this sport that he chose (the first one he’s ever picked all by himself!), but as soon he as steps those cleats into the dirt and grass with 35 other boys, he becomes a man. No whining, no slacking, no eye contact with mom and dad. The kid just digs deep, and he works. And when he comes home, after he takes his long, hot shower, he has a certain bounce in his step. It’s not like he’s announcing that he’s enjoying himself, but I see it. And it’s something pretty special.

I keep telling Joey how proud I am of what he’s doing, and I’m guessing he’s going to get sick of hearing it. Like, soon. So I think I’ll shut up, watch from the sidelines, and simply marvel at what football can do for my child.

Monday starts conditioning with gear — that means pads and helmets, mouth guards, chin guards, everything. Maybe then my tune will change, and I won’t be so thrilled with what football can do for my guy (think: bumps, bruises, and brain boo-boos).

For now, though, one week into our new team sport adventure, I am encouraged, inspired, in awe of the baby who rarely participated at playgroups, the toddler who kicked and screamed at gymnastics class, the boy who refused team sports until last year, when we finally nudged him to try basketball.

Proud.

That’s all.

Just proud.