Actual Snuggle time

We got Kate a loft bed a while back, and that sort of put an end to us snuggling with her before bed. For a while. But at some point recently she wanted to revisit it, so Emily and I clamber up there into her bed before she goes to sleep and lie down with her and chat a little, just as we used to and probably did with Jack until he was almost 12 (occasionally still do, what the heck, time will come soon enough when he wants no part of us. Her, too.).

During football season, Emily does most of the bedtimes for Kate, but I get Wednesday and Friday, when there's time. So a little while back she introduced me to the process, which is pretty awesome.

First, she climbs up into her bed, and I stand patiently by the light switch as she arranges her blankets, pillows, and stuffed sleeping friends. When she gives me the go-ahead, I turn out the light.

Second, I climb up the ladder, all along worried I'm going to miss a step or brain myself on the ceiling.

I manage to lie down next to her, where we then take turns asking each other questions. Sample: "What's your favorite Christmas song?" "What do you like best about our living room?" "What is your least-favorite Halloween candy?" Sometimes answers lead into further questions, but there's usually some interesting insights into Kate's mind and her day.

After the questions are complete, Kate says, "OK, actual snuggle time." At this point we stop talking and close our eyes. Within a few seconds, she does a big yawn. I generally follow with a big yawn of my own.

Then she says, "Good night, Daddy." And I say Good night, Katie. I love you. And clamber down the ladder and close her door for the night.

Last Little League games

It was a month ago now, and my memories are rusty. But I took notes, planning to write about it one day. And that day is now, since tomorrow Jack will probably have his first post-Little League baseball games. So I've got to get this down before it slips away.

Most of Jack's final Little League summer was played at different, larger fields. Some of the kids at age 12-13 are just too big. Lots of home runs, and then you want to give the kids the opportunity to lead and steal bases. So Lyon Park, where all of his home Little League games up until this season were played, was mostly silent. We missed it.

But we scheduled games there the last Saturday and Sunday of the summer season. Not ones that counted in our League standings. And neither team was particularly strong. But everyone needed those games, if only so we could say goodbye.

It rained Saturday morning. It really looked like we might not play at all, which would have hurt. But the rain stopped, the fields were OK. Kids arrived and jogged out to right field to have a warmup throw and catch. Like always.

At the start of the game, kids clamored around Coach Pete. "Who's starting? Am I starting?" Everyone wanted to know, everyone wanted in. "Jack's starting," said Pete, like he'd decided it right there. Maybe he did.

Jack pitched shockingly well. As in, he gave up a double down the line on the first pitch and then proceeded to get 3 outs with just 3 pitches. More of the same in the second inning, though a few more pitches in striking out two. The last one was on some kind of off-speed pitch. Curve ball? I didn't know anyone had taught him one. I asked him about it later. He said, I just threw the ball slower.

He had another 1-2-3 third inning, came off the mound with a big smile; as happy as I'd ever seen him. Slapping high fives with teammates and grinning. Not sad because it was ending, to quote Dr. Seuss. Happy because it happened.

Had a nice hit in the game, too, and the Pirates won big. We stayed a for a bit to watch the younger Pirates team play.

On Sunday, the Pirates stomped another opponent. Half the team, it seemed, hit home runs. Saying goodbye to the park they'd played at for years. When the game ended, we really said goodbye. Barbecue, cupcakes, kids running around and playing. Then we had a parents versus kids wiffle ball game, something we'd never done before. It was a beautiful, perfect day. In every way.

There was a little more Little League baseball. Went down to Myrtle Beach and played a tournament against some really good teams. Were competitive, but not the best team there and lost our first playoff game. And that was it.

But even then there were moments. Like the pelting rain delay that interrupted the game. Kids forgot that it was a close, tight game and remembered they were kids. They ran the bases in the pouring rain, set up a bowling alley with paper cups and baseballs, got soaked, went back to rooms, changed into different clothes entirely before we could finish the game. That rain delay might be one of my main memories of the Myrtle Beach experience. Kids running around having fun.

At the post-game huddle, I was remembering something that Coach Pete had said to the kids a year or two earlier, at the beginning of the season. These will always be your teammates. Whatever baseball comes next, whatever happens in your life. These will always be your teammates.

I miss it, but I remember that, too. Little league games are over, and they will be missed. But baseball isn't, and neither are teammates. And neither are memories, like the one of Jack's huge, happy grin when he came off the Lyon Park mound for the last time.

July 4th

Jack and I were under the weather on the 4th of July. He had a bad head cold, I had a head cold and a cough. So while Emily and Kate went to the pool, a barbecue, and fireworks, we had our own 4th of July celebration.

We watched Jaws. Jack had never seen it; we had long wanted to show it to him but figured it made sense to wait until he was a little older. I covered his eyes at the Ben Gardner part and the severed leg floating down to the bottom of the ocean, the parts that scared me the most when I first saw it (at age 7). He was really riveted during the last hour or so -- maybe not so much the USS Indianapolis story, but the whole back-and-forth with the shark attacking the boat.

We played a round of Mario Kart, something we used to play back when he was younger, then drifted away from, and now do again on occasion.

We ate a living room picnic dinner of pasta with meat sauce, leftovers, on chairs in front of the TV. Jack had water in a blue cup, I had a red gatorade, we each had cupcakes -- blue for him, white for me. Very patriotic.

We played cards. I taught him gin rummy, which he immediately took to, especially after winning the first game. Big smile. "This is great, let's play again!" We played Blackjack, which is lacking something with only two people and no money, but we went through an entire deck anyway. Played about 10 hands and I think we split them 5-5.

We watched a little of the Macy's 4th of July celebration on NBC. I'm not sure I ever watched it before. Wow was it terrible. Pop stars doing karaoke versions of songs you've heard every 20 minutes on the radio. Yeeks.

We dug out some sparkler fireworks that we've had for a couple of years. Went out on the back deck and lit them and ran around the yard. Well, walked fast, neither of us was at our best. But he lit mine with his and I lit his with mine and they sparkled and burned and we smiled.

At around 9 p.m., shortly before the town fireworks were to start, we washed up, closed all the windows, turned on the air conditioners, and went to bed. When I checked on him 15 minutes later, during the crashing and explosions of the fireworks less than a mile away at the high school, he was fast asleep.

Another baseball blog?

This is another baseball blog. Or is it?

Jack had a baseball game today, and it was fairly typical. In three at-bats he had a base hit, a groundout, a fielder's choice that got a run home. His team was up 7-3 entering the 6th and final inning. At which point they handed him the ball and asked him to close it out.

A couple walks, a couple hits, a couple outs, and a couple of miscues later, it was 7-7. He struggled and was worked up; at one point the coach went out and seemed to be leading him in some breathing exercises. They got the third out and Jack stalked off the mound, obviously upset. We went down 1-2-3 in the bottom half of the inning and Jack went to the mound again. Started out strong -- got the first two outs on a strikeout and a little popup to him -- but then he got only a piece of a hard grounder back to him, and another miscue or two later in the field and they'd scored 2 runs and were up 9-7 and feeling happy. Jack and his teammates stalked angrily to the dugout, but I did hear one kid say, confidently, "C'mon, guys, let's hit!"

I saw Jack on the bench, downcast or frustrated or angry or all three, his coach talking to him. It's a scene I've seen during several pitching outings this year, either because he struggled with his control, gave up too many hits, or had too many errors made in the field behind him. But he'd be the third batter up this inning, so he'd at least get a chance at the plate.

First batter hit a ball to right center that went for a double. Second a single that made it 9-8. Jack came up, and the friend I was sitting with (one of his travel coaches, and who had worked with Jack on hitting just this week) said, Perfect time for a walk-off home run. I kind of smiled and said, yeah, OK, we just need a hit.

First pitch was a ball, maybe the first two pitches. Third pitch was a high strike, and Jack put a good swing on it. The ball soared in the air, high and deep to left. Seemed to hang up there forever. It was over the left fielder's head, landed on the warning track. As close to a homerun as he's ever come. Giddy, I looked to see the tying run score, except the runner on first had help up about 10 feet off the bag, unable to gauge -- I guess? It was strange -- whether it would be caught. Jack was in his back pocket (The first-base coach had to yell at him to slow down). That runner only made it to second.

Next batter had a hit to right center, and the game was tied and Jack was on third. There was a break in the action for some scoring discussion (the next batter had left the game early, and they were determining if an automatic out should be called; it was), and I noticed Jack on the third-base bag, doubled over, in exhaustion or emotion or I'm not sure. He'd score the winning run a few pitches later on a grounder to first; close play at the plate but he slid in and the catcher couldn't hold the ball and his team had won.

I remember celebrating as politely as I could -- it's hard because all his friends and their parents (our friends) are on opposing teams, and you know how conflicted their emotions are, because you were there three days ago -- high-fiving Emily, watching the players walk through the line saying good game and then going to their post-game huddles. Jack looked gassed; I'd learn later that 1) he'd got his knee stepped on by the catcher and had a bruise, and 2) he slammed his helmet after scoring in jubilation and got a comment from the other coach about it. I'm all about sportsmanship but knowing how bad Jack had felt just moments earlier about being responsible for blowing the lead, I'm sure his reaction was just unbridled emotion.

More even than I thought. In the huddle afterward, I could see he kind of had his face in his shirt. When it broke up, he grabbed his stuff and lit out for home. I caught up to him at the edge of the park, said Jack, hold up. He had a wide-eyed, hollow look; drained, overwhelmed. He said it was all just too much. Just too much. I put my hands on his shoulders, talked him down, said, You want to go home? He said yes. And we did.

The pressure, the emotion of blowing the lead, the emotion of delivering the big hit that was key to winning the game, scoring the winning run. Everything. Jack's been playing baseball a long time, but on the travel team, most of his teams, there are so many really good players, it's usually not all relying on him. Every once in a while, but not often. Not as much pressure, not as many big moments, not as many highs and lows as we'd had in the space of 15-20 intense minutes of baseball. He'd lost it, he'd won it, he'd had a meltdown and come as close as he's ever come in a game to hitting a home run under as much pressure as he's ever been under. On a baseball field, anyway.

It's just baseball, of course. But it's also life, because you're on display, trying to do your best, and a whole lot of people you know are watching. It's a lot for anyone. It's especially a lot for a 12-year-old kid.

At home, with an ice pack, and after huddling on his bed for a little bit with his Mom talking to him, and after a shower, he'd come down. I talked to him, told him I was proud of him. Told him he'd faced a lot of pressure and handled it and responded. Asked him what he was thinking before his last at bat. He said, "I was just raging...I went up there wanting to hit a homerun." He very nearly did.

Later that evening, we played Super Mario Kart on his Wii gaming system, as we'd done years and years ago, when he was 7 or 8, probably, maybe younger (I'll check the old blogs). Before he knew how tough baseball could be, and how it's full of highs and lows, sometimes all at the same time.

Game ball

My writing is pretty infrequent these days anyway. It's that time of year when work and baseball season tends to command a lot of time. And when the baseball games are bad, like Jack's last Thursday, I'm even less likely to want to write. Sometimes I write about them to get them off my chest. Sometimes I just fret and don't sleep well.

But last night was the baseball game was good. So I'll write about it, because you have to savor the good ones.

Jack's team was playing probably the best team in the league; seemed to have the most talent and hadn't lost a game yet. He'd been playing around the infield (he and three other travel baseball kids are the best players on it), but hadn't pitched yet. So we were a little surprised when they took the field and he went to the pitcher's mound to start. It was his first baseball start since, I don't know, maybe ever. Maybe once a couple of years ago. Rare.

He looked tall out there. Shot up an inch or two in the last couple of months, and kids just look bigger in baseball uniforms anyway. He started out a little rough, walking two of the first three batters and then giving up a bunt hit. But he settled down and got out of it with just one run scoring, striking out a couple of batters. Little fist pump as he got the last one.

Retired the side 1-2-3 in the second. Another little fist pump. To me when he pitches it's always a win when he finishes an inning without struggling and maybe getting replaced during it, so I was feeling pretty good.

Third inning it was back around to the top of the order, and he surrendered a hit on a little popup and a walk. The three best hitters on the team were coming up; all friends from his travel team. But he got one on a soft liner to second, and another on a swinging strikeout. Then he faced his buddy James, who he's been on a team with since Tee ball. I'm pretty sure it's the first time he's ever pitched to him in a game (in the first, James had the bunt). Got to 3-2, and then James fouled off like 4 in a row. I'm not sure I'd seen Jack throw 5 strikes in a row before, so I was concerned. But he struck him out swinging and got out of it.

I figured that would be it, but he pitched the fourth inning, too. Bottom part of the order and he got them all. You can only pitch four innings at this level so I knew he was done, and he got high fives from all his team and coaches coming off. He'd never pitched four innings in a game before.

In his last at-bat he had a solid hit to left, knocking in a run and putting another at third. Then he got caught in a rundown long enough for that run to score; just what he was supposed to do. Played the last two innings at short, his team won 5-1. I saw him get the game ball at the post-game huddle, his teammates clapping.

There were little moments, between innings and after the game. I saw him and a teammate doing a little dance to the between-innings music. Walking back to the dugout with his game ball, he was tossing it lightly in the air. Saw a friend of his from school giving him a hug after the game, I think he was glad they'd beaten the team they beat (which ironically enough they were teammates on the previous season).

I saw his coach after the game, said congrats. He complimented Jack and said, I talked to him before the game. Said I heard you were down after the game last Thursday. So what we're going to do is send you right back out there -- you're starting tonight. And he did great.

Jack and I walked to the car later, him smiling with his game ball. In the parking lot of the pizza place when we picked up dinner, he showed me how he adjusted his throwing motion after the first inning, when he was a little high on a lot of pitches. Then we went home, ate pizza, and he did his homework, like any other night. Baseball or non-baseball.

A fun night. You've got to enjoy the good ones.

The Zoo

A school vacation staple used to be going to the Aquarium, or (less often) the zoo. I love animals, and while they're not in their natural habitats and maybe their lives aren't the greatest, I think of it as a way for kids to get to know and admire/appreciate animals in ways they otherwise wouldn't. Maybe this particular animal's zoo life will in some way benefit other animals in the future. Or maybe I just want to believe that. I don't know, it's complicated.

But I like seeing animals and the kids have always liked seeing animals. They're not as young as they once were and we're not as apt to go, but there was a bonus vacation day and it was a really nice one, so at the last minute I said, "Let's go to the Beardsley Zoo." And so we did.

Kids played the road sign alphabet game on the way. I think they made it to H before getting distracted. Jack said to Kate matter of factly, "The game is a way to get you talking about something else."

We ate lunch (got a late start, and getting to the zoo at lunch time didn't seem wise or economical) at Burger King. While I waited at the counter for the food, kids found the table. As always. Burger King made the plastic backs of its seats look so much like cushions that Jack threw himself into one with a crash. "Ouch!" We ate chicken fries.

Got to the zoo, parked, paid. Kids grabbed a map and sat down on a bench together, poring over it. "First we'll go see this...and then this...then we'll come back here to see this..." I stood patiently; could have watched them plan their day together for hours.

The first thing we saw might have been the best thing: the prairie dogs. They were on top of a hill with little burrowed holes in it, and it was hollowed out underneath with clear plastic tubes that kids could get inside and see the animals up close. Jack and Kate both popped in and out and up and down the tubes, grinning and laughing and waving at the prairie dogs. I took pictures. Jack used his phone to take pictures, something that obviously was a reminder they weren't little kids anymore. But we stayed there for a good 15 minutes watching the prairie dogs, and laughing.

Along the way there were these wooden structures with painted otters or peacocks or whatnot, and there were holes cut out for kids to stick their faces through. There were boards where kids could stand against them and compare their "wingspan" to that of an eagle, or condor. Too old? Nope, they did all of them.

We saw tigers prowling about their habitats, pig-like creatures sleeping in the sun, farm creatures snorting at hay and troughs. A leopard with a long, active tail. We saw wolves that looked a lot like our old dog Max, yawning and lolling in the sun. A giant anteater. A red panda that was a highlight (which explains why it took us about half an hour to find, walking circles around the Rainforest exhibit before finally stumbling upon it).

There was an old carousel, which we all rode; Kate on the panda, Jack on the gorilla, me on a horse of some sort. I don't remember the music. I remember trying to get pictures because I wasn't sure I'd be able to remember everything. And finally we'd seen everything, and went to the gift shop where Kate bought a bag of colorful rocks and Jack a bag of colorful magnets. I'm not really sure they had anything to do with the zoo, but that's what caught their fancy.

And then we came home, and I wrote this blog, in hopes that I'll never forget what we did when they were young.

Wiffle Ball

Jack and his friends from school participated in a wiffle ball tournament last week. It's a fundraiser for the local sports team, a chance to get a bunch of kids running around together (which they'd be doing anyway) while a bunch of adults cheer them on. Jack had been coming off a week with a variety of sports and school and band activities, so I was a little unsure how much energy he'd have for what figured to be a late night of running around.

I needn't have worried.

To backtrack for a minute: the boys had spent the previous couple of days tossing around team names, colors, etc. They ended up settling on an adult-suggested Killer Bees in part because they were going to wear all black with these black-and-yellow Port Chester baseball caps. One parent ordered them yellow wrist bands and the Killer Bees were born. Jack spent some time demonstrating a Killer Bees dance where he pretended to stick his "stinger" out. Buzz.

To Jack's great credit, he gave the whole event the right amount of both effort and humor. He played hard, but didn't get worked up when things didn't go the team's way. When he pitched, he looked focused but happy. He mixed in a couple of crazy throws, including a behind-the-back pitch that I'm pretty sure didn't go for a strike but was cool anyway. When a teammate pitched, he repeatedly went to the mound to talk to them. Later, I asked him what he was saying to them. He said, "Well, I just said, 'Yooouuu got this....it's all on youuu getting this batter out....YOu can do it...'" Motivational speaking by Jack.

They won a game, and he did a little high-stepping dance with his arms flapping, a bumblebee flappy dance if you will. They lost, and he pretty much looked just as happy.

It was a late night. There were some organizational glitches, I think, and lots of time between games. But the last game, at like 10 p.m. (we'd been there since 5 p.m.), there was Jack still bouncing around, jumping against the cushioned gym walls to stay loose, coaching his friends. "Yoooouuuu got this...."

I didn't think I could enjoy watching him play wiffle ball so much.

Painting

Kate stayed home sick today. A cold has been traveling through the household, and with her its manifested in a couple of late-night nosebleeds, so we kept her home today. So what was nice was she was home but actually feeling fine, so we could do some fun things.

First we cleaned her closet. May not sound fun, but is because it's kind of a trip down memory lane. Backyardigans stuffed toys. Baby, her first real doll. American Girl accessories. Other stuffed toys through the years. Clothing, too small, hand me downs too large, or forgotten -- "That's where that was!" We emptied it all out, then divided it up: tag sale. Save with special things. Back in the closet in a neat way to be enjoyed a day or week or month from now.

We found old sneakers that are too small, Halloween costumes and accessories from yesteryear, old backpacks from 1st and 2nd grades. Small closet! But big with memories.

After we finished going through everything, we put the good stuff back, other stuff away. Cleaned her room up brand new so we could spend the coming days filling it up with more things we'll probably sort through again next year, or the year after that.

Painting is a regular activity when we're both home and not busy. I got out one of my old Port Cester Youth Baseball League t-shirts -- the usual choice, and indeed she specified it -- for her to wear. She got out the paints, the brushes, the paper.

She painted me and her, her with a sweep of hair, me with my dog-ear side pieces. I painted the whole family ("Don't forget Riley-boo," she said), her with yellow hair, Jack with spikes brown hair, Emily with a smile, me with stubble. She loved it, though she pointed out, "Mom's hair isn't yellow." Well, it's close.

Then we cleaned up the paints and set the pictures aside to dry.

Katie

Katie spent some time last weekend building a gym in our basement. It was a modest amount of construction; just setting up an area to work out, with her as personal trainer. There was a (low) balance beam, mats for yoga and somersaults and cartwheels, and another area with a giant exercise ball. And of course a cashier, where we dutifully paid our $1 fees.

I think her signs were the best part."Kate's workout sessions! Come see me!" "Free notepads!" "Free massage!" And my favorite: "I help get workout-y muscles!" She had another welcoming pets, which incorporated the reality that we keep Riley's crate and some of her chew toys downstairs: "You think I don't have dog toys and cages?" read the sign. "Yeah I do!"

I'm a healthy guy, so I signed up for a session. Kate texted me when it was my turn (way more professional than yelling through the house). I went downstairs, paid my $1, and she walked me through a bunch of exercises. She was very encouraging at the things I couldn't do: touching my toes, somersaults, balancing on the balance beam. She had a natural ability to make me feel OK about my athletic limitations. Yoga was the best part. As we finished each exercise, she said, "Good!" and breezed us along to the next one.

At the end, I got a free hand massage. This involved sticking my hand in a bucket of plastic art beads. Very soothing! I also got a free notepad (as promised!) which I believe was already mine, but that's OK.

Put Kate to bed that night. We sat in my room, at opposite ends of the bed, each with a pillow up. Kate said, "Do teacher reading." She explained that this was when the teacher would read a page, then hold up the book so the class could see the pictures. So that's what I did. Teacher reading. Then it was bedtime, and I kissed her goodnight and put her to bed.