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.

Photo: JSmith Photo, Flickr

My boys can be very dramatic at home. Joey just told me yesterday, “It’s not so fun to clean the boat, mom. I’d rather spray sunscreen right in my eyes!” For those who know just how much he hates sunscreen, this is a pretty powerful statement. Is it safe to assume, then, (given the flair for exaggeration) that Joey and Danny might shine bright in drama camp?

I think so.

And that’s why I signed them up for a one-week, all-day theater experience. The director of things told me that lots of kids are dramatic at home. It’s because they are comfortable. The key is making them just as secure on stage. So that’s my wish for this week: that my boys find drama just as fun while standing before an audience as they do performing in private quarters.

Today was Day No. 1 of Drama & Musical Theatre, and it seems all went well. Joey is now channeling Fabian, Danny is Troy, and they both will practice lines all week for a performance on Friday evening. They’ll also sing and dance. I can’t wait to witness it all, especially after Joey’s reaction as we pulled up to camp this morning:

On the outside of the gymnasium where we checked in was a sign that read, “Welcome to The Hall.” The school is called Oak Hall, so this makes sense. But Joey put his own spin on things: “Welcome to Hell,” he announced, hesitant to attend this week’s festivities.

Hell, it was not. Danny’s first-uttered words at pick-up were, “Mom, I liked it!” And Joey already has several of his lines committed to memory: “Yeah, I’m nervous too! Even my teeth are sweating!” and “Hey, Duke! It must be hard finding shoes that fit those two left feet!” He delivers his words with emotion and enthusiasm, and he hasn’t once complained about a trip back to “The Hall” tomorrow.

And so.

The show goes on.

And I’m not in the least bit disappointed that the package I opened from Joey contained something I’d already owned for several years. Nope. I found it entirely sweet that my 9-year-old boy wrapped up all by himself my little pink laptop and power cord and had the present waiting for me on the kitchen table the morning of my big day.

Even better, though, was the card he made.

“Happy Birthday, Mom, I love you,” he wrote. Then he described me, in list form:

nice
funny
awsome
sweet
beautiful
good
good at everything
smart
helps a lot
is very cute
has a good attitude
healthy
skinny
not fat
awsome at losing pounds
a good person
good at her job
greatful

Laptops, yea, they come and go (and maybe come again!), but cards like this one, well, they have real staying power.

Thank you, Joey. I love you, too!

Just

the

two of us!

Summer 2010

Someone asked me the other day how my summer is going, and I responded that’s it’s going great, because most times, it’s pretty darn swell. We stay up late, sleep late, and we’re dabbling in piano, tumbling, and drama. We’ve been to the beach, the pool, a few lakes, a movie, and we’re headed for football season come August 1. What’s not to like about a flex schedule, plus all sorts of fun stuff? OK, so my boys don’t love my mandatory reading and writing, but it’s not that much, really, and I think they might even secretly like it.

So, yea, summer is going great. But it’s not entirely peachy and, so, it seems only fair that I confess another truth about these 70 unstructured no-school days:

My kids are making me crazy!

Here, my friends, is what is driving this momma mad:

Stop it, Joey! Stop it, Danny! Stop it, Joey! Stop it, Danny! All day long.

Can we get a toy? Can we get a toy? Can we get a toy? Buckets of cars, trucks, Lego, action figures, Webkinz and more are stuffed into our playroom and boy bedrooms, but there is apparently still a burning desire for one. more. Ben. 10. Guy.

Do I hafta? Do I hafta? Do I hafta? Do I hafta go to the pool? Do I hafta ride my bike? Do I hafta go outside? Aren’t kids supposed to like this stuff?

Just a little bit longer! Just a little bit longer! Just a little bit longer! Just one more TV show, one more Wii challenge, one more computer game. Who exactly bought all this electronic gear, anyway?

Then there’s the whole issue of listening. Sometimes, they do it. Most days, is seems, they don’t.

At risk of sounding like a whiner, I’ll stop there. And I’ll morph this post into something positive.

Yesterday, I asked my Facebook friends for a little insight. I wrote in my status update:

Why is it that my kids can be so perfectly behaved for other people but so rotten for me?

Sixteen comments came spilling in, several of them claiming “love” as the answer.

Huh?

Yes, love. The general idea is this:

You’re “safe” Jacki; they know that you will love and forgive them no matter what! Other people — they’re not so sure, so they are going to behave the way you’ve taught them to. / Melissa

What perspective, and just what I needed. Now, I’m not saying they won’t still push my buttons, and I won’t ever yell so loud I give myself a headache, but I really think this is going to help me. When they behave for others, I’ll know they really are listening to all I’ve taught them. When they misbehave for me, I’ll know my unconditional love for them is what allows them to display the raw and uncut versions of themselves. It’s no different, really, from how we all act — a little better in pubic than in private.

OK, this may sound a bit strange, but thank you, Joey and Danny, for your misbehavior. I had no idea how well I was loving you. And now that I know, I think our summer days might get a little bit better.

And no, I’m not buying another toy!

Listen up, boys!

Writer Abigail Thomas offers on her blog various assignments for writers — budding writers, experienced writers, any writers, really. She sets forth a task, and the writer writes. Today, I grabbed this assignment:

Two pages of instructions to the child

Here’s what I wrote in my black and white composition book that I’m calling my summer journal. I write almost every day with my boys, who are penning their summer journeys, and while they wrote about boating and building a basketball hoop, I filled two pages with instructions to them. Here’s what I wrote:

• Listen. How many times have you heard that word?
• Follow the rules. They are meant for your safety, or someone else’s safety. If there’s a rule for something, it means someone has tried doing things another way, and it didn’t work out so well. Mostly, anyway.
• When someone says, “Stop,” please stop. Right then. Not after you pester a few more times.
• Love. It’s so much easier than hate.
• Be honest. You’ll always be in less trouble for telling the truth than if I discover you have lied.
• Admit when you are wrong. Not many people can do this, so you’ll be a winner if you do. Plus, you’ll feel so much better about yourself in the end.
• Aim for peace in everything you do, not conflict.
• Find something that helps you cope with life — talking to someone, a jog, a good book, singing (Danny!) — because there will be lots of bumps in the road. Getting over them is key.
• Be your own person. Don’t copy what you think you like about someone else. Just be you.
• Don’t bully, and tell us if someone is bullying you, so we can help you nip it in the bud right away.
• Don’t hit, punch, bite, or harm in any way another person or animal. Even the teeny, tiny grasshopper you think would look nice squashed on our back porch. Just leave living things alone. Please. Even though I’m aware that you are boys and that’s kind of what you do — squash things.
• Tell us everything. We’ll love you no matter what.
• Learn to take care of yourself. Example: Master the chore of laundry before you leave for college.
• Try new things, and finish what you start. If you don’t like something, don’t go back for more. But don’t quit midstream.
• Pick nice friends. If your radar says someone is a little shady, listen to it.
• Listen to your gut. If it tells you something isn’t right, it probably isn’t.
• Eat healthy most of the time. I know you love bunches of candy, and ice cream, and cookies, and cake, but use them sparingly, because what you burn off your little bodies now won’t disappear so fast when you are something like 40. Believe me. I know. Oh, and healthy food keeps you, well, healthy.
• Exercise as much as you can, because it’s good for just about every part of your body.
• Wear your seat belt, because it just might save your life. Oh, and I’m sorry I’m keeping you in the backseat until you’re 12, even though I was up front as a wee one (and without a seat belt, too). The back is just the safest place for kids, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you sit near the airbag and it hurt you.
• Wear helmets. And mouth guards. And whatever safety gear is recommended for all the sports that worry me so.
• Don’t cheat. It’s never worth it.
• Always work your hardest. It’s always worth it.
• Don’t tattle unless someone or something is in danger. Translation: Try to settle your scores all by yourself. You’re old enough to do this now.
• Rest when your body needs it. You’ll know when this time comes, because you’ll be cranky and crabby and little red lines will appear across the whites of your eyes, just like they do for Daddy.
• Wash your hands after the potty. Magic soap is OK, but real soap and water is my preference.
• Brush and floss well. Trust me, you don’t want to pay the dentist for more than cleanings. Dental work is expensive. Way expensive!
• Clean out your ears. That wax is yucky.
• Cut your nails. I know you try to get away with growing them long, but it’s not attractive. Promise.
• Keep your hair tidy. I realize you want it long and hanging in your face, and swirled here and there, but a clean, short cut is so much more impressive, and it helps you see better, too. Remember that lady in Publix, Joey, who complimented you on your nice, short haircut? My point exactly.
• Help others. It makes them feel happy, and it will soothe your soul, too.
• Say please and thank you. Always.
• Write thank-you notes. I mean real notes with your beautiful handwriting, pouring out your gratitude.
• Speak when someone speaks to you. I’m talking teachers, and other kids’ parents, and, well, not strangers who make you feel uncomfortable.
• Never approach someone’s car, or accept a ride, or agree to anything unless your dad or I tell you it’s OK. Joey, I am so proud of you for walking in the rain that day, even though a neighbor had offered to bring you home.
• Know your address and phone number.
• Stick up for your family members at all times. There’s safety in numbers, and we are a strong 4!
• Before you take any action or make any decision, ask yourself if it’s worth it, and determine what the consequences might be if you move forward. Regret is a horrible thing.
• Learn from my mistakes, and Daddy’s mistakes. That’s why we tell you stories about hiding glasses in the bedroom closet in first grade and the horrible vision that may have resulted from not wearing them — so you see what a silly thing it was to do.
• Find a job you love. That way, it won’t really seem like work.
• And remember this key instruction: No matter what, no matter when, you can always come home.
• Oh, wait, one more thing: Don’t ramble on. Just get to the point. Like I clearly did not do in this post (hey, I had to write two pages, just following the rules). OK, I’ll stop instructing. You start living.

May 30, 2003

He didn’t arrive into the world until 11:05 PM on May 30, but we’ve been celebrating the kid all weekend long, and we’re still hours away from that glorious moment seven years ago when Danny arrived in all of his whopping-big glory.

It started with a platter of cookies delivered to the boy’s first-grade class on Friday, followed by a road trip right after school pick-up to an Orlando hotel. Danny loved the Marriott Courtyard outdoor pool, and the yummy Carrabba’s dinner out we enjoyed that night, too. Bright and early the next day, we were at the gates of Magic Kingdom, where Space Mountain, Thunder Mountain and Buzz Lightyear were favorite rides, and the day spent walking (and walking and walking) wore us all out. We refueled, though, with some trail mix and a stop at the hotel, before heading for another great dinner (plus free birthday dessert), and a nighttime adventure back at the park.

AI's Aaron Kelly

We rode all the faves again, and ended the night at midnight, just after big bro Joe spotted and was photographed with American Idol’s Aaron Kelly.

Sunday brought more adventure — lunch with one grandma and a big gift (an iPod Shuffle for the guy who loves music), plus dinner and more gifts with another grandma, aunt, uncle and cousins.

“How do you feel about your birthday weekend?” I asked Danny at the end of his official special day. His response: “Good, terrific, awesome, fantastic!” Those are his sparkle words, he told me. Indeed, they are — the words he’s learned in class to spice up his writing.

I’m not sure I could have said it any better. The weekend was, in fact, good, terrific, awesome and fantastic. How fun it is to be the mom of a 7-year-old!

The birthday boy!

Happy Birthday, Danny.

I love you.

The season is over, and boy, was it fun. Joey scored several touchdowns, pulled lots of flags, and improved lots. Danny pulled a few flags, too, ran his little heart out, and reveals that games were so much better than practices because of the snacks. He thinks he might be headed for a career as a professional snapper.

Photo: ashleigh290, Flickr

I just can’t tell him no, that cute little 6-year-old of mine, who challenges me every morning to swim 10 more laps than I did the previous day.

It all started with 24. Danny was home sick, and he came with me to the neighborhood pool where I’d planned to clock 20 laps. I jumped in the water, and he set himself up on a lounge chair with a towel. “Do 24!” he instructed, and I did. It was a nice push, and I felt pretty darn accomplished after my workout.

Still sick the next day, he was poolside again. “Do 30!” he declared. And so I did 30. It felt good.

Happily, Danny got better, and he eventually went back to school. It doesn’t matter if it’s a sick day, school day, or weekend, though, because the boy keeps barking orders — 40, 50, 60, 70, and today, I swam 80 laps. It took me an hour to finish, and while I tell Danny I might not be able to keep going up and up and up because of the time commitment (I do have a job, after all), I just can’t seem to refuse him. I guess it’s because I want him to see me accept the task. We like the “never-give-up” mantra in our house, and well, I don’t want him (or Joey) to see me quit or otherwise blow off an opportunity for exercise. My wish is that one day, when faced with something they think they can’t conquer, they remember their momma, chuggin’ through the water, swallowing mouthfuls of chlorine and hanging onto the side of the pool, sucking wind.

There are other reasons I don’t quit: I like having a goal, I like the motivation, and swimming like a crazy person is making me more fit — my biceps are better, my body feels more toned, and soaring through the water has been a great diversion from the running blues.

How far will I go with these laps? I’m not sure. But I do know this: I’ve got plans for 90 tomorrow.