In Writing

I'm not sure if any one of us is ever really taught or trained properly for relationships. Especially the married/long term, commitment filled kind. There’s something about the piece of paper, that is so, well…permanent. It’s in writing. A contract. The wedding is fun and great, but ultimately you are legally bound to one another. Is this natural?

I like to think that successful, happy relationships are plentiful and that we all had the chance to witness our parents and grandparents, our neighbors and friends as they thrived in these relationships as we were growing up. As the years roll by and the generations mesh into one another, it seems like less and less of us make it through to the end. I often wonder how my own children will view a long term relationship as they go to enter into one of their own, if they so decide.

I have always questioned whether we, as human beings, were meant to commit to one another for our ENTIRE ADULT LIFE, from a physiological stand point. From the beginning, I felt somewhat uneasy at the prospect of it as a child. Fairy tale endings did not make sense to me and definitely felt like they belonged in the fiction department. I always thought that I personally was doomed traveling down that avenue. My parents had a tumultuous relationship and divorced when I was a teenager. My grandparents had a great marriage that lasted 65 years. I think that some of both rubbed off on me. I knew that I wanted to marry and have kids, but somewhere deep down inside, I thought I had some kind of a defect. Too flighty, too fickle, too wishy-washy.

After the age of  22 or so,  I remember latching on to any man that paid attention to me beyond 3 or 4 weeks, as long as they didn’t seem too needy. I would have married three or four of them if they would have asked (and a few did), because I really wanted to get the technicality out of the way. I figured there had to be more than one soul mate out there for everyone. How could there be just one? Some part of me felt that I was not capable of marriage, but to get what I wanted in life it was necessary.

Despite my misgivings, I did it anyway. I did it because I met a man who really got me. I loved him and he really dug me. We had, and still have, a chemical connection that I can’t describe fully in words, but it is the strongest force, next to the love that binds me to our children, that I have ever felt. It still feels that way. Stronger than the day I married him.

That all noted, it does not mean that he and I live in perfection. He and I are challenged all of the time with the question “How are we are going to keep it together?” Almost every day.

We have our defined roles. We both work hard at our jobs. I do a lot of shuffling of the kids, while he runs his own business. If it has to do with the dump, the lawn, the exterior of the house or the electrical, it’s all him. If it has to do with school, our homes interior or any type of shopping, it’s all me. We never really discussed this, it just happened that way.  He hates when I put things in the garage just to get them out of my way and I can’t stand the way he chews his food sometimes.

My assessment of my husband is that he resembles a modern day ‘Archie Bunker’. Curmudgeon-like at times, pessimistic for the most part, and very grounded. He makes snap judgments about people (and is almost ALWAYS right) as soon as he meets them. He is conservative with his money, yet surprisingly current and somewhat liberal on most social views. He is very funny. A big teddy bear. Endearing. You either love him or you don’t. He hardly ever raises his voice. He hardly ever calls me by my first name. He hardly ever gets drunk.

 He is 6’3”. I am 5’2”. I snore when I sleep and have a tendency to swear like a truck driver. He sleeps soundly and peacefully and is a man of few words.  When I do snore and wake him up in the middle of the night, he nudges me gently and whispers in my ear, “You’re snoring, roll over”, and then never mentions it the next day. I am up in the clouds and he has his feet firmly planted on the ground. I am the balloon and he holds the string. And when I am in flight mode, he reminds me to come on back down to earth, in the gentlest of ways.

I often say with all seriousness, that without him, we would be homeless. I would offer up ‘the farm’ on a bet, while he would never even think about it.

I weigh 35 lbs. (honestly, 40 lbs.) more today than the day we got married, yet he would swear to you that I could still fit into my wedding dress, and of course, I am not going to challenge him.

I hear other people tell me how they stay up all night with their boyfriend or husband talking about this or that. We never have. We could never talk all night, but sometimes we just make eye contact and we instinctively know how each other feels. He tells me all the time that I am pretty (something that still makes this 43 year old woman blush like a school girl). I think he is handsome and I love the way he smells just naturally.

Yesterday, I had a bad day. A really bad day. I am not quite sure why, but I did. I have had these types of days before. I began to question everything. All kinds of things started to go through my head: “What am I doing?” “I really suck a this.” “What are we going to have in common in 6 years when our kids are both gone?” “We are so opposite from one another.” “Do we have what it takes?”

And then…he reminds me. As I lay in a heap in my bed, suffering from my ‘bad day’, he comes into the room and wraps around me. He comforts me and reassures me. He reminds that he and I are a team. We don’t lie or cheat, because we respect each other. He has never called me a name in anger. Never. Not once. I wish I could say the same about me in regards to him.

We are not perfect. We brush by each other. We sometimes don’t consult one another when we should. We sometimes don’t pay attention to each other’s needs. We forget and need to remind each other to be a couple. But we are in it together. He never reads my blogs and I don’t go to his softball games.

What he does do for me is something that is rare. He stays. He appreciates. He loves and cares for me and our children unconditionally and is respectful. I adore him, even though he can certainly piss me off like no one else can. As we are now in the 17^th year of our marriage, he reminds me that change is inevitable and we will weather it together. We will grow together. Grow old together.

I once read an article written about a couple that had been married for 70 years. Now both in their late 80's, the interviewer asked the couple what the secret to their marriage was. The wife responded with “We never fell out of love with each other at the same time.”

Not perfect. There are no guarantees.

So, if someday he is on this earth without me, someone remember to show him this. He knows, but sometimes it’s just nice to see it in writing.

Adam and Eve, Adam and Steve, Eve and Genevieve...

Facebook and YouTube are great. Seriously, I think they are great. They have brought this great big world around us in for a closer look. We can stay connected with family and friends through messaging, inviting, fundraising, posting, even the act of 'liking' in ways that we never have before. We can see pictures. We can watch videos. We can even see videos of energetic kittens and dating profiles gone bad, sweet marriage proposals and memorable father daughter dances, that otherwise we would not know that they actually happened or existed.

In the last two weeks I have happened across two videos through the facebook page of a friend and via yahoo news that I must address in my blog. Reluctantly I must do this, but with all the passion and determination that I have in my heart. To NOT address such an issue, would go against every fiber of who I am.

One of the videos is of Pastor Charles L. Worley of Providence Road Baptist Church. Located at 3283 Providence Mill Rd, Maiden, NC 28650. The video which you can search for on YouTube if you like, was posted to the church's website dated May 13, 2012, calling for the concentration and ultimate death of "queers and homosexuals." He speaks casually of loathing baby killers but finds no guilt in calling for the deaths of homosexuals. I am shocked that Pastor Worley believes that it is acceptable to kill anyone, given that he is a man of God. He explains that once quarantined, homosexuals would die off, because (light bulb) they can not reproduce. I wonder what Pastor Worley would like to do with the heterosexual population that keeps breeding these homosexuals.

The second is a video, which was filmed at the Apostolic Truth Tabernacle in Greensburg, Indiana (and can be found on their website, as well as on YouTube) is of a little boy standing up at a microphone singing at his church. He sings in front of the entire congregation "the Bible's right, somebody's wrong" twice before referencing "Romans one, twenty six and seven" and concluding with the line "ain't no homos gonna make it to heaven". A man who appears to be the Church's pastor Jeff Sangl, can be seen standing behind the child smiling as he listens to the performance. The congregation erupts in laughter and cheering. Just so you know, on it's own website the Apostolic Truth Tabernacle says "our doors are open to you regardless of your background or where you are on your spiritual journey." Wow...sign me up.

Now, let me give you my take on this. After all, this is my blog. I am not sure how it will be received, but in all honesty, I am not sure that I really care.

 I will address Christianity, because I am a Christian, these people in the videos are 'Christians' (or what I believe to be 'Extremist Christians') and in no way is this meant to claim that other religions do not experience the same issues, it's just what I know. Those who believe that they know the bible best and say that homosexuality is a sin, will say things that sound like this:

 "It says it, in the Bible, that Man should not lay down with another man." (Actually it refers to mankind, which can be construed in many ways).

OR

"God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve" (I find this so ignorant). Eve majorly messed things up, remember? Plus, with a divorce rate of 50%, we heterosexuals on the whole, half suck at it.

OR

In places like Leviticus and Corinthians it refers to 'Effeminates' (today's translation: gay men) as being evil or that they 'shall not inherit the Kingdom of God'. If you believe God created all people, then he created gays and lesbians, too. I personally have never met a gay person who I would consider evil. I will say that I have witnessed many a "Man of God" who is evil. And our court system has seen them, too. Repeatedly.

In Corinthians 6: 9-10 it goes on to list others who will not be accepted into the Kingdom of God:

*Revilers (those who use abusive language)
*Drunkards (I think we all know one or two. Some of us were actually raised by one)
*Adulters (No definition needed)
*Idolaters (those who commit false pagan worship or worship a creation of an image of a deity, prophet, saint, etc.)
*Fornicators (40 year old Virgins, you are safe)

Most of us are screwed.

And of course, none of this is really a big deal, because all you have to do is ask for God's forgiveness and you are in the clear. (Get ready, more sarcasm) It's like some kind of disclaimer: I am not supposed to do these things, but if I do, God will forgive me.

So, what on Earth is the big deal then?

Just in case you are not already aware, do you know what else it says Leviticus? No eating pig meat. No wearing of two different fabrics at the same time. No tattooing. No charging interest on loans, No having sex with a woman while she has her period.

Let's move on to Corinthians. In 1 Corinthians Chapter 14 Versus 34 and 35 it says:

"Let your women keep silence in churches, for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience as also saith the law. And if they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands at home: For it is a shame for women to speak in church."

Well...there goes the Christmas pageant. To hell in a hand basket.

Do we really want to pick and choose what we want to take from the bible and follow? I will tell you right now, gone are the days of church suppers, coffee hours, Sunday school gift baskets and a crap load of fundraising dollars if you tell the great majority of women they can no longer speak in church. You might want to have an athletic cup handy, too, just as a precaution.

The Bible was written and miraculously survived, literally through hell and high water, over the course of 1500 years. It has been translated and re translated and translated again. It has over 40 different authors, ranging from fishermen to kings. Authors who saw burning bushes, seas parting, apparitions and heard voices. Snakes and Donkeys talked. References are made to natural drug use in it's purest form and wine that flowed. Anything that man touches can be flawed. Anything.


If I am going to believe anything, I choose to believe this:

And the Lord said unto Moses, Come up to me into the mount, and be there: and I will give thee tables of stone, and a law, and commandments which I have written; that thou mayest teach them. And Moses rose up, and his minister Joshua: and Moses went up into the mount of God.

— First mention of the tables in Exodus 24:12,13

The Ten Commandments say:

1) Thou shalt have no other gods
2) No graven images or likenesses
3) Do not take the Lord's name in vain
4) Remember the sabbath day
5) Honor thy mother and father
6) Thou shalt not kill
7) Thou shalt not not commit adultery
8) Thou shalt not steal
9) Thou shalt not bear false witness
10) Thou shalt not covet

Why don't we just start there. Let's not tell two consenting adults what they are suppose to do or not suppose to do with their penises or vaginas anymore. It's none of our business. And this certificate of marriage that man has created, should be viewed as unconstitutional as long as any living person is denied access to it. We are all created equal. We have no right to deny someone access to their own happiness.

Many people throughout history have suffered through discrimination, and still do. Native Americans, Women, African Americans, Those that suffer with mental illness or who have disabilities, just to name a few. We have come a long way in recognizing our rights as Americans living in this country. Please, let's keep moving forward.

I believe in God. The God I believe in loves all of his children. All of them. Even you if you want to twist and misconstrue His word, He will forgive you. But wouldn't it be better not to have to ask for forgiveness? Wouldn't it be better to just worry about all that you are doing to live by His word. I bet you He would be proud of you, if you did.

Dear Paige

***A few weeks ago, the Our Lady of Sorrows Academy baseball team decided to forfeit it’s Arizona Charter Athletic Association state championship matchup game rather than face off against Mesa Preparatory Academy, which features a second baseman named Paige Sultzbach.  Our Lady of Sorrows claims it is against their school policy to play Mesa Prep, because they do not believe in mixing sexes and sports.

Dear Paige Sultzbach:

You don’t know me, but I just wanted to write you a note to say three simple words: “I support you.” Three more words that I feel compelled to also add are: “I am sorry.” I am sorry on behalf of those who do not understand how their actions can affect others.

Yeah, three words, or more accurately six words, are NOT going to cut it.

My father was a baseball coach. He coached Babe Ruth baseball to 13, 14 and 15 year old boys for 37 seasons, from 1969 - 2005. In the late 70’s, my observation of baseball included such things as goofy boys with long hair that barely fit under their baseball caps, a family of people that gravitated to one another anchored by their love of the sport and one memorable game in particular that included an uninvited streaker, who I caught a glimpse of as he darted across the baseball field wearing only a vibrantly colored neck tie before a hand was quickly cupped over my eyes by one of my Dad’s assistant coaches. In that decade, we also all witnessed the first girl, Cindy, to try out and be drafted onto one of the teams in the league.

My Dad’s stance was that just because a girl had never played on one of the boys’ teams before that did not mean she was not capable of it. Secretly, deep down, I don’t think he appreciated it, but he had the common sense not to share that with me. Of course we had softball for girls. But NOT baseball for girls. Only boys played baseball and they were much more highly regarded for doing so.

Gutsy, courageous. Even back then, I knew just how ballsy she was.

I remember sitting on a swing at the playground as she took her first at bat. Her long, stringy, chestnut hair down to her waist. Her tall, slender shape. Her calm, yet awkward stance at home plate.  It was a pretty controversial moment. I admired her and thought she was pretty cool, yet I remember feeling sad for her. I was sad, because it was not “normal”, the sight of it making me feel all of a sudden inferior. It felt uneasy. Some people in my small suburban town where elated over this new development, but others met it with criticism, whispers and heated debate over many a dining room table.

Shortly after that, my mother, a softball coach, started the first town softball league for teenaged girls, because there wasn’t one for those of us who wanted to play over the age of twelve and play for the town we lived in. I know that Cindy was the catalyst that set this in motion. My mother saw a need, not to mention my softball career going no further. The prospect of me being all washed up at the age of twelve, surely motivated her. That also took some fortitude. I remember my mother complaining that they refused, at the time, to let her use the Babe Ruth name, because it was for boys. She met with some resistance, mounds of paperwork, rallied for support and formed a league anyway, under a different name.

For the record, I am the last woman on this earth to go out and burn my bra (the gravitational ramifications of this would be the embarrassment of a lifetime) but I do believe we have a problem. Not the scream from the rooftops, in your face type of problem, but a serious issue, nonetheless. Yelling, protesting, occupying is not in order here. If I were to occupy something, I would take over something sensible. Like an outlet mall.

 I digress. Something must be done.

My suggestion is that all teams that are in the Arizona Charter Athletic Association (and any others that are interested in equality) should make it an active mission to recruit girls to play baseball. Not coerce girls into playing in order to prove a point. They need to look for talent in girls. Those girls will need to make the cut, be able to play up to the standards of the team (or probably better in order to really prove herself), just as the boys do. If a team such as Our Lady of Sorrows, has a policy that prohibits co-ed sports, that is fine for them, let them. Let them have their beliefs. But it does not necessarily prohibit them from playing other schools that do not have that same policy. By refusing to play another team that has a player that happens to be a girl, how does that violate their own policy? If you read that policy it does not violate it at all. What they did by forfeiting that game was make a statement. An anti woman statement. Once there is a girl on every team that they must face, Our Lady of Sorrows will have no choice but to forfeit every game, which may require them to take a better look at their own rules. Keep your school policy exactly the same, if you wish, just don’t force it on other schools who do not have the same beliefs.

I have a 12 year old daughter that I am very proud of. I truly believe, if put to the test, she could beat the crap out of most boys her age because she is strong and determined. She is driven to be her best, at whatever she does. She is athletic, fast, strong and highly motivated, yet small. God forbid the person that stands in her way. Sometimes, even I as her mother, am tempted to get the hell out of her way.

The other day my daughter told me that “chivalry is ridiculous”. “If I want to open a door or put my coat on, I have two arms, I can do it myself.” I appreciate that. I am somewhat thankful for that as I see the tide continuing to change. We can’t truly have it both ways, unfortunately. I believe in practicing respect toward all people you come in contact with.  

Paige, please don’t let Our Lady of Sorrows influence your feelings about yourself or your abilities. Take that fuel and use it to fire your love of baseball, or criminal justice or education, medicine or auto mechanics, whatever it is. In your time, Our Lady of Sorrows may not take the field with an opposing team who proudly includes a girl on their roster, but with your grace under pressure and important influence, maybe in my daughter’s time, they will.

And that team will be better for it. We all will.

A Clear Day With Foggy Weather

Complaining. We all do it. Some of us more than others. Saying  "I hate to complain, but..." is kind of just like saying "I don't like to gossip, but...". Both are self serving, but we do it anyway.

I complain, mostly to myself, or my husband, and no one else.  Usually about life's small annoyances.

I hate laundry. So I often talk to myself in a very 'postal' kind of way while doing laundry. For some reason that makes me feel better. I could either take out a gun and start using my Tide bottles for target practice, or I can just ACT like I am going to. By telling myself I most certainly could, if I wanted to, it quells my desire to throw each little skivvy and every grass stained knee or pen streaked tee, out on the front lawn. The thought of my husband and children going out into the world unlaundered keeps me in line. After all, I still want people to come to my cookouts this summer.

I listen to complaining often. I manage a dental practice and I often hear patients coming in off the street lamenting about things like: "The traffic is terrible" (It's really not that bad - we live in a very small New England town, a car in front of you going the speed limit usually equals "traffic") or my PET PEEVE: "This weather is awful" (really, what's so awful about it? Without rain, we are dead, no water, get it?) OR "Why is my bill so high?" (because your employer elected to take the cheapest dental insurance possible). Complain, complain, complain.

Dinner. Also a pain in the butt. When I get home from work and I am prepping to get my kids to their prospective activities, dinner seems like a major inconvenience. Everything under the sun has been baked, crock-potted and stir fried. I have no imagination left in me. I make the same old tired thing week after week. Chicken...Chili...Mac and Cheese... Even breakfast for dinner has lost its lustre. Can't we just lobby to cut the American meal plan down to two per day? Three balanced meals is so overrated.

Segue to food shopping. That just sucks. A small container of blueberries is $3.99 for Christ's sake! A good loaf of bread is $3.69 and will be almost gone in the shake of a lambs tail to the tune of two days worth of lunches and toast on the fly for breakfast.

I swear we could do it all day, everyday. Complain. I know people, that I truly believe, want something to go wrong, so that they can complain about it. You know those people. They make complaining an art. It's annoying and ridiculous and who in their right mind wants to listen to it?

Last month, my petty ramblings stopped. I no longer mutter to myself while folding jeans and pairing socks. I happily go to the grocery store and now buy extra food. Of the low sodium variety. Because I am cooking for a friend in trouble. Unthinkable trouble. A sick child. Not with the flu. My friend's 16 year old daughter, Brittany, was just diagnosed with level 4 Lupus. The most serious and aggressive form of Lupus.

Now, you hear Lupus and you think, "She'll be fine, Lupus is not fatal. (fact: Lupus can be fatal)" or "Hey, there are kids out there with cancer, those kids are REALLY ill." Well, tell that to Brittany who as we speak is undergoing a chemo treatment to hopefully send her Lupus into remission. The Lupus that is attacking her kidneys. The Lupus that now has her on 30 pills a day. The Lupus that may send her down the road to dialysis. Tell that to her parents. Tell that to her two younger brothers. Who are worried about her. Not just any worried. Mind numbing scared. Heartbroken.

My friend has faith and hope. Her family is courageous. She and her husband are strong. Brittany is fighting hard. They all look into the future and feel that something positive will come out of this experience. They don't look at this hand that are being dealt and complain to people about it. I am sure they have had their moments of despair, but outwardly they realize what good would complaining do? Besides, why put negative energy out there? We need positivity. I am amazed at their fortitude and their ability stay happy, while in the depths of a black hole that is most certainly the worst time of their lives.

What good does complaining do?

As a parent, the worst thing in the world has to be a child who is sick. Not just any sick. A sick that scares you. A type of sick that gives you nightmares. The kind of sick that brings people into your daughter's hospital room in HAZMAT suits. When we assess our own lives, does it compare to that type of 'really bad'? So, your checking account is overdrawn and the toilet just backed up for the third time this week. Are your children happy and healthy? Are your loved ones OK? Are your parents alive? What if they were not? I dare you to picture it.

Now...I dare you to complain about the weather.

Down With Blogging

Recently, someone I know commented that he would never blog. Or could never be a blogger. He felt that even more than sex and money, people want recognition and that the act of blogging wreaked of wanting desperately to be recognized.

Some voice their opinion that the act of blogging is for the self absorbed and is all about self promotion. Or that bored housewives and busy working mothers, instead of diving head first into a wine or xanax induced haze, take to their laptops amidst piles of laundry and the latest school fundraising form, to reinforce their value. To be heard out loud.

Some of that maybe true. I like to be validated. Some of it may be false. In addition to finding solace in my laptop, I often drink wine while blogging anyway.

I will say, however, that I want money more than blogging. Offer me a substantial amount of money and I will throw my laptop out the window.

I definitely want sex more than blogging. Maybe just not right now. Later.

Anyway, to set my record straight (and only mine, as I would never generalize) blogging is a forum in which I feel we can reconnect with others around us. To the contrary, writing what moves you, motivates you, interests you, angers you, bewilders you and scares you has almost nothing to do with recognition. For me, a very controlled person and self admitted control freak, it is a way to add vulnerability to my life. I want to tell others how I could possibly be screwing things up at home, so that when others make mistakes,  they can be assured that they are not alone. There is nothing more isolating, than screwing up by yourself. There is also no greater triumph than doing right by those who love and respect you. So it is just as important to share the triumphs.

Not that blogging is for everybody. It is not.

But how is it any different than a man sitting around a fire with his friends strumming his guitar and singing? Or an artist at an art gallery showing her work? Or an actor on stage? Or a chef preparing a meal? They are all looking for recognition too, aren't they? But is that their #1 motivation for doing what they do? I don't think so. It is for the purpose of creating, expressing, and touching that chord inside each one of us that says "I get it" or "I feel it."

That is why I personally blog. What can become frustrating, is when those who are closest to you, have no interest in what you do. Those that know you sing, play the guitar, act, write, play a sport, sew, roller derby, blog, etc., and never care to even experience it with you. If you care about someone as a friend or love someone with all of your heart, not taking interest and/or having discussion about what they love is actually the more self-absorbed act, isn't it? You don't have to mention it everyday. Just once is fine. Mention it and talk about it just once, for a few minutes, if that's all you can afford.

The reason I blog is two fold. I enjoy that common thread that runs through all of us. The one that goes right through our emotions and makes us human. That thread is the ultimate worldly connector. It goes through almost everyone despite your age, sex, race, sexual orientation, religion or social status. I am addicted to that feeling of camaraderie in that we all have similar experiences and feel similar feelings. If you do not feel that way about others on even a small level, then my heart weeps for you. In a world that grows increasingly more technical and the overwhelming reports of families feeling isolated from the rest of the world, with Sunday dinners a distant memory, and  family game nights in short supply, I live for the connection. Without that connection, we lose. As a human race, we may actually be losing.

Blogging certainly doesn't save our whole great big world, but it may help make a handful of people's lives better and anything that can make just one person's life better has my stamp of approval. Just like a great song that may ease your mind or a homemade meal that warms your soul, reading the thoughts of others that touch you or make you think, offers solace and even rounds out the spirit.

For some, they look to their creative side and to the expression of it, to fill a void. Voids created by family discord or unfulfilled hopes and dreams. Voids that lost friendships or the death of loved ones, carve out.You may sit down and read a book or sing a song. I write. It helps me cope.

Since I started writing again, it has proven to be a really cool outlet for me. If you haven't found yours yet, go on that search for it. Despite what others may say or NOT say, it's totally worth the effort. If you say to yourself things like: "I have always wanted to take a cooking class, or learn a foreign language or travel or learn how to play the piano or take an art class or (fill in the blank)...then what are you waiting for? You certainly aren't getting any younger. Start now, don't put it off. Make the time, don't tell me you don't have the time. We always say we don't have the time, but we do. It's just an excuse to blame time for our small secret fears of inadequacy.

Just think of how inadvertently, your special thing may effect not just you, but the life of someone else. Life changers are not always propelled forward by big things. Little things matter.

So head on out your chosen path, whether its to take up aerial acrobatics or zoology. Blaze your own trail or flow right into the mainstream, or somewhere in between, what ever you are comfortable with. When you come across negativity or a downer or a naysayer ask them what their creative outlet is or how they fill their void. And then, if they have something, congratulate them for finding it. If they look at you funny and have no idea what you are talking about, then tell them how happy you are that you have found yours.

Don't Shoot Me

My 12 year old daughter loves basketball. She asked for a standing outdoor basketball hoop for Christmas this past year, which my husband and I assembled in the frigid night hours of Christmas Eve, in our sub zero garage. She loves the Boston Celtics. She has memorized the roster, the players’ jersey numbers, their stats, their favorite flavor of ice cream, etc. She has come a long way in three short years with her own technique. She is a fast runner, athletically built and enjoys playing as a team member. She is always high-fiving and patting other team members on the back to compliment their achievements. She is happy and upbeat, yet competitive.

Last week, my daughter was told during the half time of her basketball game NOT to shoot for a basket any longer by her coach. She was also benched for a quarter. She is the top scorer on the team. I don’t say this boastfully, it’s a fact. She was told to only pass the ball to her team mates when she returned in the last quarter of the game. Her team was ahead by 18 points, leaving the less experienced basketball team that they were playing, with only a few points on the board. She did exactly what her coach asked of her, and did so happily, as I believe she should. Maybe a bit deflated, but in the spirit of the team, she complied. However, tomorrow night, her team is playing an undefeated opponent, who boasts 43 straight wins over 3 seasons. Her coach also mentioned to her during this same half-time revelation, that for Thursday night’s game, he wanted her to “shoot like crazy”.

Last season, I sat in the bleachers amongst a few parents, who would get upset with the top scoring players on the team, calling them ‘ball hogs’. Mind you, these are players on the same team as their child. This was supposed to be an ‘instructional league’, they complained. How are their kids going to learn the sport when they don’t ever get the ball? I found these concerns to be overly exaggerated, at the time. Their kids did get the ball. Only nothing happened when they did. They would try, but not succeed often. My daughter was one of the players last year, short on successes. I cheered on the players that did very well last season, as well as the ones who didn’t, because I want to support the whole team, not just my kid. It’s the team my daughter belongs to and loves. I could never understand the point of view of the complaining parents. I felt that not one player was being slighted on that team, and chalked it up to those parent’s being secretly miffed that their kids weren’t the ones adding up all the points.

What have we done? Can we no longer see past our own DNA to realize that someone else excelling and earning most of the points during a game (or spelling bee, or chess game, etc.) actually motivates and teaches? Are we beyond reason enough to really feel that because one player is doing well, our children are missing out on some critical game winning moment.

Please. (And I say ‘please’ with all the sarcasm in the world.)

Watching someone who is better than you at something, is a fantastic instructor. A necessity in life. If you wallow in your own inability and refuse to watch and learn, then why don’t you just stick with something that you already know how to do perfectly.

Are we as parents so politically correct and soft, that we think by handing our kids a thing like a basketball on a silver platter, that that will improve their skills or knowledge of the game?

Sorry, it’s not that easy. Practice, both scheduled by coaches and on the player’s OWN TIME, are the key. Eating right, getting enough rest, strength training, repetition, and practice. And practice. And practice.

My Dad, a baseball coach with 37 seasons under his belt always said “A good coach practices until you get it right, a great coach practices until you can’t get it wrong.”

The coaches of my daughter’s team are doing great. They care very much for all of the players. They are patient and give careful instruction. They are giving a priceless gift to my daughter and her team mates. They are reinforcing what it means to belong to a team, while nurturing individual skills.

 Being a parent is not about just sitting in the stands and watching your child excel or not. It’s about rolling up your sleeves and learning something you may not be familiar with. At 5’2” the last thing I know about is basketball, but I will learn for my daughter’s sake, so that she can be the best basketball player she could ever want to be. And more importantly, I will encourage my daughter only as far as she will let me, to practice, learn, refine technique and run fast. I don’t want someone going easy on her.

I don’t want someone going easy on her. I will say it again… I REALLY don’t want someone going easy on her.

Will she be disappointed at times? Of course, but I think it will light a fire within her. I am counting on that as her Mom. Is being disappointed so bad? I say being disappointed and staying that way is bad.

If I were the parent of one of the players on opposing team from the other night’s game, I would be pissed.  More pissed then seeing my daughter benched for being good at something. That game was not a case of earning points, it was a case of being given points so that everyone could feel better about themselves. It is reverse cheating.

For those out there who disagree with me, I understand. ‘Fairness’, ‘equality’, ‘everyone gets a trophy’. I get it. I understand wanting every child to get a fair shot. But I don’t want my child to get a trophy unless she has earned it.

I will never approach the coach about my daughter being benched or her instructions to not shoot the ball.  It is his decision as a coach and I respect his choice.

What I have done is explain to my daughter how important it is in life that she choose to focus on things that she loves and that make her feel good and then to put her heart and soul into it. It can happen to be on the court or from the sidelines, but to never make apologies for being her best.

365 Days in a Year

What makes up 365 days in a year
If you're a wife and mother with busy career?

8,760 hours. 525,600 seconds...
Fueled with maternal instinct that beckons.

Ice and snow clumped to mittens
Wet socks and jeans
Are hung where the heat is
While hot chocolate steams

A working parents worst nightmare
The dreaded school break
The first few days are joyous
Then ibuprofen I take

Sleepovers, movies, board games
Uproarious laughter
Bonfires, manhunt, great memories
Are what I am after

The best at housework or
Culinary delights, I am not
But I'll be late to work to bring
The homework you forgot

Football, Basketball, Field hockey
Joints that need ice
Open houses, teacher conferences
Concerts and....LICE!!

Fevers, vomiting and coughing
To the vets with the dog
The laundry backs up
And the toilet is clogged

Rashes and whimpers
Teen attitude divine
The late night quiet
And a few glasses of wine

Dances, graduations
Ironing shirts, tieing a tie
Please wear a dress
Please zipper your fly

Volunteering, baking, glueing
Fixing, mending,
Lecturing, chauffering,
Observing and...Spending $

Summer vacations with sand
Shore and sun
Now, pose with your sister
This is supposed to be fun

Date night with my husband
To try and regroup
Cut short with a phone call
And a bout of the croup

Make each day worth it
in your beautiful mess
Take a moment to breathe
'Wag more, bark less'

At the end of the day
Or the week, or the year
For the love of my family
It's the reason I'm here


Happy 2012 to you all! May you and your family have a wonderfully joyous, healthy, prosperous and chaotic new year!