If You Don't Leave, You Can't Come back...

Here is the thing. If you leave without making a big deal out of it, then you are able to sneak back for a visit every now and then, right? It's been several weeks since my "final" blog, and in that time, an unbelievable amount of life has happened. At first, I continued to construct the blog in my mind, even though I wasn't writing it. It was a relief not to have to take the time to actually write it down. But the last few days, I missed it. Not the result or the feedback, which is what I expected to miss, but the act of putting it all into words. So over the summer, I've decided to jump back into the blog. I don't know how often. I guess I'll just see if anything interesting happens...

Today was the last day of school. The last few weeks have been a blur. 2 baseball tournaments, 1 softball tournament,a play, 2 dance recitals...and an exchange student from Paris. The last was by far the most rewarding, but I'll save that for another day.

This morning was not unlike many recent mornings in our house. After letting Little One and the Boy stay up way too late, their grumpiness was overwhelming. I thought I had prepared for this...you know, it's always my thought process that being totally prepared insures a smooth morning. Why do I never learn my lesson? When you have a 12 year old boy and 10 year old girl involved, mornings are never smooth sailing...

The Boy had to wear a shirt and tie for Honors Day. I had the shirt ironed and the tie and belt and shoes laying out....what I didn't expect is that the pants that had fit 2 months ago would now hover somewhere around the ankles. A year ago, The Boy would have said "they're fine, Mom". Not anymore. Out came the ironing board and a search for the proper fit.

Little One was having her Field Day. This required athletic shorts and a t-shirt. You'd think this would be easy....you'd think. Thankfully, she had laid it all out on her bed the night before. Unfortunately, the hair was not cooperating.Coupled with the fact that she could not find a library book that should have been turned in a week ago, she was a mess.

Normally, I roll my eyes and shake my head, and we head out the door at about the same time each day. But this morning, I was suppose to have breakfast with 2 friends to celebrate our last morning in lower school drop-off line.I hadn't let myself think about this too deeply...after all, a few weeks ago I had witnessed The Senior graduate from college. The fact that I would have 2 middle schoolers next year hadn't settled in. But if there was a way to find humor in this, these two would find it...so I was determined to be on time.

As I dropped them off and watched Little One enter the building for what would be her last time, I wasn't sure what to feel. Happy? Relieved? Sad? Not really any of the above. During our breakfast, my friends and I managed to discuss everything BUT this ending, so I was still left to ponder it throughout the day. I picked the kids up from school, and we were all strangely quiet. We headed to our traditional Last Day of School meal at the Pub near Grandma's. This has been a favorite with the kids since they were toddlers. The Husband joined us....and as I looked around table, I was once again reminded of how fast is all goes. The boy looked over and winked at me, like he was reading my mind. "Late bedtime tonight, right mom?" Well of course. Little One continued to plot out our next few days.

A few days at Grandma's house is always the cure for everything...I've been at this road in life before, but I won't be here again. It's an interesting place. I'm not really one to sit still and reflect...I'm usually planning my next step...But today, it's worth taking a moment to take it all in....

The last day of school is also the first day of summer....

"Promise me You'll Never Forget Me, Because if I Thought You Would, I'd Never Leave"....Pooh

If you've followed the saga of Brett Favre over the last few years, you'll understand the analogy I'm getting ready to make. A couple of years ago, Brett tearfully "retired" from the Green Bay Packers. Said he was too old to play. Said he had no more to give.....A few months later, after the smoke had cleared, he changed his mind. Most people were ecstatic (Ok, not his team, but that is another story). He came back and played another year for the New York Jets. At the end of that year, he again declared his retirement...once again emotionally saying that it was time....But a few months later, he stepped off a helicopter in Minnesota and became a Viking......After a terrific season (Ok Brother-In-Law, except for the last play of the season)..he has alluded to the fact that he is finished. But this time...nobody really paid much attention. No tears. No begging....kind of like "who cares"....

And so it goes for this blog writer. After proclaiming my retirement several times before ,I came back. The first time, it was because The Boy called me a quitter. The second time, it was because I missed the daily feedback from my hilarious, anonymous readers. But this time it is different. If you follow the blog, you've noticed that I haven't been posting as often. It gets harder and harder after a year to come up with fresh ideas. I've found myself completing an entire post before realising that I already wrote about the same thing last year...

And so today, on this lovely Thursday, I'm saying good-bye to my readers. This time, without drama or hesitation, because when it is time to go, it is time to go...I've enjoyed every minute of writing this blog, and I am full of appreciation for all of you who took the time to read it. Thanks to all of my international, cyber-space friends from Malaysia, Afghanistan, Italy, France...all of you who for some reason were interested in what The Boy, Little One, The Senior and Big Sis...not to mention The Husband......were doing on a daily basis. You disproved The Husband's theory that you just typed in "Bore me today", and up popped my blog...

Thanks to my immediate friends and family who read and commented on a daily basis. Remember, I am still here even if the blog is not...

And lastly, thanks to The Husband, who allowed me to "frame it out" my way......You will forever be my 'fodder'...

Love,

C'est La Vie Girl

On Not Being the Cat Waiting for the Bird...

I was looking out the window this morning at our cat. He'd finished his breakfast and requisite morning scope of the neighborhood, searching for a second meal.Finally, he settled into his favorite spot...underneath the big tree in the back yard with the bird feeder. He will wait there all day long, silently staring up at the feeder for any sign of a bird. Now I have never seen him actually get one (and I hope I never do), but it doesn't stop him. He sits there day after day hoping to land a big catch...

Rewind the weekend a bit, and I was chastising myself this morning. As previously discussed in this blog, I am the middle child. What comes with this is an annoying tendency to constantly defend anything and everything. Charles Manson? Probably abused as a child. Hitler? Must have been ill. Sadaam Hussein? Bad mom. See? I can bring up an excuse for anyone. And I often have. The Husband often refuses to have a discussion with me for this reason. And to be quite honest, I can often annoy myself. I will be having a conversation with someone, and the voice in my head says "Why do you insist on doing that?".............However.....

I noticed this weekend that I have been doing it less and less. The Boy is on a new team this year, one filled with people I don't know very well. The Husband said I must be social and friendly. I must not sit and read a book. So I have tried. But what I have noticed is a tendency to "sit and wait for the bird". What I mean is, do you ever notice how many conversations tend to revolve around gossip or criticism? How many times that instead of discussing something positive or hopeful, it is easy to fall into a cynical or even critical way of talking. I was thinking about it this morning, and I think it is the result of lazy conversation. It's just easy to fall into the habit of complaining or criticizing something. For example, we played a very early game this weekend. We had to be at the field at 7:30, which meant rising at 6:30. Granted, our boys had just returned from their DC field trip and were tired...but come on...they are 12. It's not like we were throwing them out in the fields to work or something. They were coming to play baseball...and if you are on a travel baseball team, surely that is exciting. But instead of focusing on the fact that it was a beautiful day at the park, we all seem to be complaining about being tired...hungry...concessions stands...whatever.

Fast forward to yesterday and Little One's shining performance in her play. I found myself commiserating with a friend over some minor issues.....we had been set painters for the last few productions, and with 8 kids between us, we both have a tendency to need organisation. Unfortunately, in the local theater world, this does not always happen. But after the show was over, and the new Director was thanking everyone for their help, I felt a wash of shame come over me. Good grief, these people had just spent months putting on a major production. One that we are fortunate to have in such a small town....and all I could do was find the problems..."wait on the bird"...

I'm gonna work on this. I need to get back to my "middle child" syndrome, because in the end, I'd rather be defending than criticizing. I'd rather lift up than put down. And often times, all it takes is one person pointing out the good...and then everyone else follows....

Until tomorrow...and good words and thoughts for everyone....

The Story of the Lady Who was Hushed at the Ball Field

The names in the following story have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent...


Once upon a time, it was a beautiful day at the baseball field. A dad was coaching his son's travel ball team, and all was going well. The son was pitching, the team was playing well and winning. But as was often the case, the dad was being a tad bit hard on the son. Now...it must be said that the dad was a pretty good coach, and besides a little bit of sarcasm which was unnecessary, he was very good with the other players. But if the son messed up, he was likely to hear about it, often in a voice that could be heard 3 fields down...


Anyway, on with our story...There was a runner on first. The son threw a pitch which was hit back to him very hard. He fielded the ball cleanly and turned and fired it to second, in time to get the runner. The boy who hit the ball was very fast, so a double play was never in question. Now, most of the fans were shouting congratulations to the son...but suddenly the dad/coach yelled "Son, you have to be QUICKER with the throw!!!." Well, at least 3 people in the crowd said "Oh no...he made a good play. No way they could have had the guy at first."....Now , the mom, who up to know had been sitting quietly minding her own business, was troubled. She knew that it was normal for the dad to be extra hard on the son...and she knew it was probably wise to stay quiet...but a voice inside her said "speak up". ...So the mom called out quietly to the dad...And in a calm voice which could not be taken for anything but concern, she said "Hey, he did throw it quickly...............". But before she was allowed to finish her thought, the dad shouted out "__________, (insert name of mom)....HUSH!!!". Well, a sudden hush flew over the stands. One of the dad's yelled out "He's a little testy today" in order to allay the total awkwardness of the situation. The mom turned to another mom and said "Did he just tell me to hush?" Whereupon the whole group of mothers burst out laughing. Because of course, none of them had ever heard this comment....at least not since they were 5.....and certainly not from their husbands....Later in the game, another mom attempted to tease the dad/coach about his behavior. His reponse? "Does Bobby Cox's (Atlanta Braves Coach) wife yell out to him?".....................Hmmm. See, now the wife understood...she had not understood that he was a Major League Baseball Coach.......SHE THOUHT IT WAS A 13 YR OLD TRAVEL BALL GAME!!!!!!


Well, hush she did. In fact, she had no conversation with the dad the rest of the game, and from what I hear, she does not plan on having any with him for several days...


So what is the moral of this story?......I'm not sure yet. Somewhere in the ball field etiquette rule book , there must be a rule about spousal disagreement. Something along the lines of "If the dad yells too loudly at the son, the mom is allowed to intervene"....

Until tomorrow...

--

On Being Glad about the Big Return

The Boy comes home later today. This puts a smile on my face. He will most likely be tired and grumpy after a week of sharing a room with 3 other boys, but who cares? Tonight he will eat us out of house and home and beg to stay up late...and I will be thankful for 'life back to normal'.

Little One declares that she didn't miss him, but 2 nights ago, she lay in bed crying because her teeth were killing her after a 'braces adjustment". "Stupid Boy" she declared. "Stupid Boy what?" I asked. "He's not even here". She didn't answer, just laid there crying. "Do you miss him?"....."NO!"................."Maybe just a tiny bit?".......and there it was...a tiny, tiny nod of the head, so subtle that it may not have been visible to any other human eye besides her mom's....Minutes later, she denied the whole thing...

Last night, The Husband and I had a 'date night' at the Olive Garden. With Little One along. "Just pretend she isn't here" said The Husband. Now, what does the fact that I was unbelievably thrilled about this date tell you? Two things. I don't have very sophisticated culinary taste.....and I am always thrilled not to have to cook. The nice things about these dates is that I hear things from The Husband that may normally go unnoticed. Major things. I mean, it's not that we don't talk or communicate on a daily basis....but with 4 kids, several businesses, baseball, softball, dance, plays....sometimes the only things we cover during the course of a day is "Do I have any clean socks?" or "Do the Braves play tonight". So the chance to sit down to dinner together and chat about random "stuff' is nice. Last night, I learned a few new things...but the funny thing about The Husband is that he always swears he has told me these things. And I swear he hasn't. "You just don't listen to me" he says. This could be true, but I refuse to admit it. The fact is, The Husband has a tendency to be tad bit critical...so it may be true that I occasionally tune him out. But last night I was listening, and I fill like I acquired several weeks worth of information. This makes me happy. In fact, the only down-side of the evening was that I forgot my leftovers...which will make lunch so much less exciting today. (Not to mention the fact that The Husband chastised me the whole way home)

So today, as I await the "hour of return" for The Boy, I will be thankful for busy weeks and safe returns....

On Wanting to Tell Your Story...

I sat for awhile in the Principal's office this afternoon at Little One's school. I had a slight issue to discuss with him, so I was patiently waiting for him to finish up with someone else before I had my turn. As I sat quietly taking it all in, I felt a renewed respect for the school secretary. In the 20 minutes that I was in there, she distributed 3 band aids, ice, 2 tissues, took 5 phone calls, made 4 copies...all while talking to teachers and monitoring the Principal's whereabouts....amazing.



When she stepped out of the room for a moment, in ran a little boy...I was guessing a kindergartner. Running down his knee was a tiny stream of blood. It was obvious to me, sitting across the room, that this was a minor scrape...a boo-boo as it were. But this little boy was not of the same opinion. He ran in and exclaimed "Excuse me!!! Excuse me!! I need some help!" Well, since I was the closest adult in sight, he looked at me. Now I had no idea where the band aids were kept, but his urgency made me want to at least pretend that I did....so I rose to my feet. As I did, the secretary came back in. "I need a band aid!" he shouted. Sweetly, she grabbed a tissue and instructed him to wipe it off. She sprayed some sort of anesthetic on it...to which he replied "It's feeling better already." She pulled out a band aid and began to apply it....and then it came. The question he had been dying to ask ever since he came in. "Wanna here how it happened?" ....Now I'm sure you think the secretary answered "Of course" or "tell me".....but no. She avoided the question all together and diverted him with a "You'll be fine". ....Now look...I didn't blame her one bit. I'll lay odds that she had heard similar stories at least 10 times today. I have no doubt that with only minutes to go in the day, she just couldn't listen to one more...



But the little boy was determined to be heard. You know that feeling when you have a story and you just have to tell it? And no matter what anyone says or how they try to avoid it...you find a way to get it out (This blog is a great way of accomplishing that)......Well, the boy began his story. And when the phone rang and the secretary turned to answer it...he just continued on, never even hesitating. In fact, he started talking to me as if I were somehow a worthy substitute for his attention. I could not hear a word he was saying above the din of the phone, teachers and all...but it didn't matter. All I had to do was nod my head and smile. When the secretary hung up the phone, she instructed him to head back to his class. He smiled and hobbled to his feet, putting on an Oscar-worthy performance as he limped out the door. The only problem was....he was limping on the wrong leg....



I thought about that little guy all afternoon. He made me miss my Boy. Day 2. Is this only Tuesday? I actually went up and stared at his un-made bed. I wondered what he was doing. I think tonight is the dinner cruise. Did he get the coach to tie his tie? Did he ask someone to dance? Is he getting any sleep? Is he having fun? All these questions I have. When I ask them out loud to The Husband...he answers like the school secretary...total avoidance, with a dash of condescension. "He''ll be fine". But even the Husband admitted to missing him. After all, he has nobody to throw on the floor and tackle...



So until tomorrow...or the next day...

On Being the Mom that Cried....

The Boy is off to Washington DC this morning with his class. We.... well, I....spent all last evening packing for this trip. It's very tricky to pack a week's worth of clothes, including a coat and tie for a dinner cruise, into a small suitcase. I am worried I have things hidden where The Boy won't find them. I spent 30 minutes giving him a rundown on where everything was, but he was distracted by the Braves game, and only paid attention when he heard 'Ipod' and 'DS'.

I tried to explain the importance of folding dirty clothes and putting the shampoo back in the plastic bag, but even as I heard the words coming out of my mouth, I thought, really? Why would he do on a trip what he does not do at home? I cautioned him about not over-snacking or over coke-drinking as I packed 362 quarters in his tote bag. I suppose I am the Queen of mixed messages...

His first words when I woke him this morning were "Do I really have to go?" The Boy is, after all, a major homebody. Now my answer to this was almost "Of course not!" But I caught myself. The thought of a week without my Boy is gut-wrenching....he is my personality-equivalent in the household. He is able to cheer me up, make me laugh...whatever....with just a look. But I knew that what he needed from me was a little push. So I launched into the annoying mom lecture on how this was the opportunity of a lifetime....many people never even get the opportunity to go on a trip like this...This was all that was needed. He totally tuned me out and started worrying about what he would be eating for lunch and who he would choose to sit with...

Our ride to the bus was pleasant. I reminded him about manners and kindness and good decisions, and he patiently listened. I asked if it would be embarrassing to hug me...and thankfully, he said "No Prob".

I had planned on staying until the bus drove out of sight....but it seems that this was not to be the norm for everyone. The Boy was a "bus-loader"...so he would be busy for half an hour. Should I stay or should I go? I watched several people go...I watched The Boy laughing with his coach and friends...and I decided to untie that apron string just a bit....

I called The Boy over and said good-bye. I wished him a good trip. He gave me a big bear hug and a smile...and I cried. I didn't mean to, but I did. He patted me and said bye. His friends said good-bye to me and added "it's ok, Mrs. M"......I know, it's ok....

I stopped for coffee on the way home. I listened to sad songs on the radio. I cried some more. When I got home, The Husband was still sleeping, somehow immune to all of the emotion. Little One slipped down the stairs and asked for breakfast....life goes on.

So today, I'll think about that Boy every minute of the day...I'll hope and pray that he is safe and happy....and I'll hang on until next Friday....