Pitter Patter

The other morning I heard the little pitter-patter of feet coming down the steps.  I glanced at the clock--6:05 AM???  What???  No one was due to get up for another hour.  I sighed deeply as I realized my uninterrupted quiet time was about to get interrupted.  The Big O walked in, rubbing his eyes, saying he was 'hungy'.  I wasn't surprised, as he had not appreciated our lunch and dinner menu the day before.  First I told him he couldn't get up yet and that he needed to go back to bed.  Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew that it wasn't going to happen.  No, such attempts never work.  I am not even sure why I tried it.  Thinking about the hunger pangs that must have awakened him, motherly guilt replaced my own pursuits and I poured him a bowl of cereal.

Then I heard more pitter-patter... What in the world???  Another early bird???  I turned to see who the culprit could be and was met with a little pair of legs carrying a large pile of clothing.  Held to the gill were baseball pants, shirts, socks, belts and hats.  I suppressed a smile as the J-man dropped the load down in front of me--the load of new uniforms that he had received at baseball practice the night before.  As it had been too late for him to try them on when he'd gotten home, we had promised him he could try them on this morning.  It reminded me of the time he came into our room at 3:00 in the morning before his first t-ball game, dressed and ready to go.  Guess I should be glad that he hadn't gotten up any earlier this morning.

His eyes shone with the anticipation of trying on all his gear as I stared at the mound of uniforms and wondered where the days had gone when one uniform was more than enough?  Where were the days when rec leagues were more than enough and competitive leagues hadn't gobbled up the simple life?  I would have never thought we would have had a seven-year-old on such a team, yet it was inevitable, I suppose in a boy-filled baseball-crazed home.  Inevitable for a seven-year-old that had spent all last year tagging along at his ten-year-old's brother's competitive games.  Inevitable, that eventually you have to make the switch and play the game by the newly-acquired rules.

I had to admit, it was hard not to get caught up in my little man's excitement.  For the next hour, my proud seven-year-old tried on every one of his three uniforms for me, not once, but TWICE.  He told me a total of ten times about the scrimmage and games that were coming up, what time they were at and where they were going to be.  He had myself and the O vote for our favorite uniform.  We discussed #32 and how he wasn't that crazy about it but that it was Uncle Trent's favorite player on the Red's so it couldn't be all that bad.  We discussed ankle pants vs. knee pants.

Other discussions took place in my head.  Stress mounted as my mind was pelted with questions like, 'What if he shows up to a game wearing the wrong uniform?  What if we can't find his blue shirt on blue uniform day?  What if the washer eats one of those brightly colored socks?  What if my extremely absent minded seven-year-old leaves one of those hats clear across town at the McDonald's playland?'  

...What if... 

Then the what ifs were squashed with the realization that my born-organized husband had taken care of such details like a well oiled machine during last year's baseball season for my ten-year-old.  He could handle it.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, the O stood on the sidelines--all starry-eyed--filled with great awe and admiration.  I could understand O's infatuation.  I too, was mesmerized by my no-bigger-than-a-minute seven-year-old.  Sure, three uniforms still seemed a bit much to this practical-minded mom, yet I couldn't help being completely impressed and in love with my little guy's newly acquired threads.

The pitter patter of baseball season...a little boy in pinstriped pants with hat engulfing...a heart swelling and overflowing with the pride of being a part of a team...smiling from ear to ear.  Beginning with the pitter patter of little feet and ending with the pitter patter of a mama's heart taking it all in.

So much more than a Kodak moment...but for now it'll have to suffice...  

and in a month I'll let you know how our laundry bill is holding up.

Jeremiah's Season

I am going to start with my little t-baller and reminisce over his t-ball year. That would be our six year old, Jeremiah. Now, you might be thinking, for crying out loud it's just t-ball. Like it matters! Well, yes and no. Yes, you are right, in the fact that it is just t-ball. And no, you are wrong, because Jeremiah had a set of coaches that determinedly decided to put there all into this t-ball team and make it matter. Jeremiah is our third boy and we have seen a lot of baseball seasons come and go (many of those seasons played in a church league) and we have never been as impressed with a set of t-ball coaches as we were with these guys.

First of all, their organization was impeccable. We usually got two lengthy, detailed emails a week. They sent email reminders about practices and about games, even though we had a game schedule. They sent a follow up email about each game. They were the kings of communication. It was great.

Secondly, our team was the Twins and they had a little cheer we did at the beginning and end of each game and practice: 'Twins! Twins! Twins!' They even ended each email with this chant. I loved it.

Thirdly, these guys grew up playing Lyndon baseball and they wanted each of our little guys on the team to have the same great experience that they had had growing up playing baseball there. So, they put their hearts into it.

Fourth, they had some awesome techniques for getting our kids to run through the bases and actually play the positions they were at. Most of the t-ball teams we played, all the kids would run after the ball when it was hit rather than playing their spot, resulting in mass chaos on the field. Our team didn't do that though; they actually taught them how to play their spot. Incredible.

Fifth, they were so positive and used positive reinforcement with everything. It was great. They also got to know each individual player and really worked with them on their baseball skills.

Sixth, and most importantly, they made it fun. They were a fun group of guys that wanted the season to be the best it could be. At the end of the season they gave each player a baseball signed by all three coaches with the name of the team and the year on it. They said a little bit about each player. These coaches reminded me that every little bit of influence you have counts, even when it is 'just' t-ball (or 'just' preschool, or 'just' _________--you feel in the blank). When you give it your all it makes a difference and you turn something ordinary into something extraordinary.

I got a bit teary-eyed this year at the last game, knowing next year Jeremiah would be moving on to a different team and it would be all up in the air again--what team he will be on, who'll be his coach... We will be facing uncertainty again. But then God reminded me that uncertainty is good. It keeps us relying on Him as we wait to see what He has in store in the next season of life.

One last funny thing about all of this. Jeremiah turned six in June--he could have gone either way in terms of which league to play in. He could have 'played up' in coach pitch or he could have stayed a second year in t-ball. Jeremiah has been playing baseball with his older brothers since he learned how to walk, so as you can imagine, he is a pretty good player. Yes, in all respects he probably should have 'played up'. But we loved his coaches SO MUCH, and we just couldn't part with them, so we decided to play down. Maybe, if he plays professional baseball someday we'll get to tell the story about how he 'played down' in t-ball! Ha! :)

His Debut

You would think watching the first t-ball game for your third son would become old hat--that it would lose it's excitement since you have been there and done that with your two older sons. But it doesn't. Jeremiah had his very first t-ball game yesterday and it was so exciting, so fun and so precious. He has been waiting and waiting for this moment to come. Yesterday afternoon he could hardly contain himself as he asked me twenty-five times if it was time yet.

When he took the field, you could tell that he thought he was hot stuff. His face was one big smile. He actually made two outs and he is still talking about it. Watching the younger ones in their events is all the merrier because the older ones can share in the joy of cheering them on. For me, that is a priceless family memory--sitting together as a family and supporting and encouraging each other in our events.

This morning he came downstairs already proudly wearing his baseball hat. The best part of watching my boys play baseball and other sports is watching them do something they love. When they can't suppress the smile on their face you know they are operating in their 'sweet spot'.

By the way, there was a little boy on the other team that Sophie and I wanted to take home with us. He was the smallest one on the team. His shirt came down to his knees and he had on skinny little black jeans. His hat engulfed his little head. He was beyond cuteness. If I had had a camera I would have taken a picture of him.

My Daughter the Teacher

Today I went to lunch with a friend. Eric was on a conference call in his office when I left. So, I put Joshua and Sophie in charge until he was done. Now, Joshua had some reading to do and Sophie kind of took over the 'being in charge' part. She loves to be in charge. And she decided they were going to do school while I was gone.

All year long she has been 'teaching' my four year old preschool. My four year old, at this point, is getting rather tired of doing school. You should see his expressions when she yells, "Jeremiah, it's time for school!" He stomps into the school room, muttering things like, "Oh, great!" Recently, she has gotten Owen in on the action. Since it is still all new to him, he actually sits there and participates. It's a trip!

Well, today while I was at lunch, she called me three times, asking me if 'her students' could do this or do that. The second phone call entailed asking me if she could give her students a bath. What in the world? What in the world? Where in the world is your father? No, you cannot give them a bath!

So...I get home later and find out the 'why' behind wanting to give them baths. She decided today was 'picture day' at preschool and wanted to get them all fresh. Since I said no to baths, she put that really stiff hair gel all over their hair--you know the kind that makes it hard and crinkly like straw. Jeremiah has this infatuation for this pink shirt right now--it used to be Joshua's...um, like last year. So it is about two sizes too big. But he soooo wants to wear it. So I guess he picked it for 'picture day'. Check out the shots--they are hilarious:

Nice stance:

This one is particularly nice:Even some graduation pics--she was on top of it.

An action shot--with some illuminating light in the background. Nice touch.Student #2, before hair gel:Student #2, after hair gel:Yep, that's our O Factor!And let's not forget the teacher:

Soph, you make me laugh...i almost laughed about 'Picture Day' as hard as I laughed about Cafe Disco.

Love in Action

Have you ever had one of those rare moments where you catch your child doing something completely kind and loving to another sibling? I experienced that yesterday and it melted my heart.

Monday, Jeremiah had hernia surgery; thus, he cannot jump, run or rough play for two weeks until his incision heals. Ha! Try telling a four-year-old boy that he cannot do these things! Especially one with older brothers. Since Monday, I have become the ultimate Joy Robber and the bearer of bad news as I remind him over and over that he --basically-- cannot be a boy.

So, yesterday we went to the Y so I could get a run in while Eric is out of town. The kids go to the Adventure Center while I work out. They love going and it is usually the highlight of the day--unless you are a four-year-old who has just had surgery. Jeremiah was downcast to say the least. Here he was at an Adventure Center with instructions to not adventure. I was basically rubbing his face in the fact that he is not allowed to run or jump. Suffice to say, as I left him there I had extreme 'Mother's Guilt Syndrome'.

My guilt spurred me to rush through my workout. I couldn't really enjoy it since I was concerned about how he was coping and concerned that he would be tempted to rough play anyway. So imagine my surprise when I picked up my children, totally expecting to retrieve a long-faced four-year-old, but instead was met with absolute contentment! Jeremiah had a paper airplane in his hand and was completely immersed in flying it. I looked around, noticing that every child his age was doing the same thing. As we were leaving, my oldest child--Joshua--filled me in. He explained that he was worried about Jeremiah running and jumping so he had made him a paper airplane to keep him occupied. After making him one, all of the other children had wanted one too. So he spent a large part of his time making the younger kids paper airplanes. (Later that evening, I learned he had watched over Jeremiah the entire time, making sure he didn't get rowdy).

Wow. I am blown away by this tender, protective act of love exchanged between brothers. No, this is not yet what characterizes my children in their relationship with one another. But it is something I desire and pray for daily. I got to see a glimpse of that prayer answered yesterday. I saw progress. It felt good.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth." 1 John 3:18

PS - I feel like I need to tell you this. I broke up a fight between brother and sister while I wrote that last paragraph. :)