I started this blog when Jack was a year old. There was this rough idea to write a book about being a stay-at-home Dad with a toddler, and the blog would not only be a way to maybe promote or create interest for it, but also showcase my writing for potential publishers. I don't know. The idea seemed valid, and it would also help me to practice writing and give some permanence to my thoughts and experiences.
The book never happened, but the blog was a wild success. With my immediate family members and a few strangers who stumbled upon it while probably searching for ways to buy diapers online. But I think -- next to my wife and of course Mom, who checked it every day even when I was only posting every month or so -- it was the most useful to me. An outlet for my thoughts and experiences, a place to work through the adventures and occasional stress of being a parent (of first Jack, and then also Kate), a way to write down things that I didn't want to forget.
My Mom printed out all of them; that was nice. Emily had them collected into an oversized book that I keep by my bed; also great to have. (I'm going to need to look into getting a Volume 2 published, which will be a little bit thinner.) And I hope they'll live forever on the Internet, entertaining future online readers who are looking for great deals on diapers.
So why stop? There are multiple reasons. One is that they're no longer toddlers, shuffling around and drawing pictures of rainbow faces and monkeys and dogs and stick figure adults. They're basically little people, and it feels a little too familiar or intrusive if I talk about Jack walking home with a girl or Kate's mini-dramas with her friends. They're 13 and 11, and before I know it he'll be in high school and she won't be far behind.
The second, kind of sadder, is that I don't see them as much as I used to. Crazy to say, but I used to see them after school every day, and there were daily trips to the grocery store, the YMCA for swim lessons, and organizing and scheduling playdates. Now there are sports practices or gymnastics classes at a minimum, but also kids disappearing from view shortly after getting home for homework (more than there used to be), video games (way more than there used to be) and other online pursuits -- games, texting with friends, Instagram and SnapChat. We can and do limit these things, but then what? Jack doesn't want to sit and do a craft project anymore. Kate only rarely has any interest in drawing a picture.
It's easy (but not entirely wrong) to blame the smartphone. If they didn't have that distraction -- the lure of always being able to interact with their friends, or watch a funny video, or whatever -- perhaps I'd see them a little more. But I think back to when I was Jack's age. If I didn't have a soccer practice, it isn't like I hung out doing crafts or playing games with my parents. I watched TV, read books and comic books in my room, talked on the phone with friends. Between school and dinner, and dinner and bed, the bulk of my interactions were when we watched the same TV show. OK and cards and board games, but less and less as we got older.
So the blog is done; long live the blog! I'm not fully comfortable writing soul-baring pieces about the kids anymore, but I've still got a dozen years and hundreds of past posts (654! Wow) to read through when I need a reminder of what it was like having these little people crowd around me to play, or help them to paint, or throw a ball in the backyard. It seems like only yesterday. It seems like an eternity ago.
When they get home today, I'll give them an extra hug, and they'll look at me kind of funny like, Dad? What's up? And I'll say, you know, I was just taking a trip down memory lane, remembering what it was like when you were little. And Jack will probably shrug and Kate will probably roll her eyes. And then they'll disappear off upstairs to whatever, and I'll have to work to get them back to do something that they used to have to work to get me to do.
It would be nice to tie this all up in neat bow, but that's not going to happen. I miss those days, and yet, I've seen so many great new things occur. Jack taking an interest in things he used to have no use for, like girls. Kate doing things I used to not be able to fathom her doing, like back handsprings or burying her nose in a book at the breakfast table. They're not the little kids they used to be. I'll blink and they won't be the bigger kids they are now.
Who knows what the next week, month or years will bring? Blog or no blog, it will happen. Somehow I'll keep writing about it, even if it's only in my head.
Thursday, November 15, 2018
Monday, April 16, 2018
Baseball and Softball
It's another April, and another Spring baseball season for Jack. He's aged out of Little League, so it's all new: a private team, rather than a "town" sponsored team, with fewer "Dad" coaches and organizers, more money involved, and kids from a wide variety of area towns. Jack played on this private team last Fall, but it was all sort of rushed and haphazard; over before we even thought much about what was going on.
Things are also different for Kate, who had me as her baseball coach for the same local Little League last spring, albeit a lower, younger level than Jack. We knew that would be her last year, and didn't hold out much belief that she'd play at all this year. So it was a big surprise to us when she said she wanted to play in a local Softball league this spring, one that a number of her friends played in last year -- and that she and all of them are doing this year.
Jack had a couple of games last Sunday, but it was so absurdly cold and unpleasant that the portion of my brain that registered it has already switched off. So the season truly began -- for both! -- on Saturday, a day that dawned bright, and clear, and sunny, for the first (and last) time in quite a while.
We got Jack a ride to his games (which started at 9 a.m.) early, with another of the team's parents. He told us later he'd given Jack a bacon and egg sandwich from McDonald's that Jack ate so quickly he had to check to make sure he'd actually given it to him. Note to self, make sure Jack has enough food at breakfast time. Emily and I drove up in time for the games, enjoying the sunshine.
A while back I'd said I could keep the scorebook if necessary, and that indeed happened. Jack was the starting centerfielder and batting 9th, just like his number. He had a colorful new Westchester Academy jersey, predominantly red; his color.
For most of the two games, he played centerfield or right field. He was remarkably busy, which is both good and bad (would be nice if fewer of the opposing team's outs were long fly balls to the outfield). But he ended up catching 5 balls, and after one of the later ones I saw one coach turn to the other and say, I wish we had three of him. Something I'll remember, I think. It wasn't perfect (one he turned the wrong way on and it was over his head, another he couldn't control, so 5 of 7 on the day), but a very good day, and included a one-hop throw to the plate after a catch. He's become a really good outfielder over the years, something nice to see.
Jack also had a nice hit (after a week where I reminded him about a swing element he'd been lax on), and late in the second game came in to pitch the last two innings. With two on and nobody out the manager went to the mound and pointed to Jack in right field. He later told me Jack did a little fist pump, Yes!, which I'd missed at the time. Infielders turned two double plays behind him, and he ended up throwing 2 scoreless, one-run innings. He did little fist pumps after a play was made behind him. Fun to see. Walked one, a giant who in his previous at bats had hit towering fly balls over three different outfielders' heads, including Jack. That at-bat included Jack lobbing a rainbow Eephus pitch that was pretty close to being a strike and amused everyone. After the walk, coach said "I have no problem with that." Definitely walked the right kid.
While I was pleased with the on-field performance, even better was Jack's attitude and emotions during the game. In Little League, everyone on the team had been his friend and teammate for years. Here he only knew a couple of the kids particularly well, but still brought good humor and spirit to the clubhouse throughout, smiling and joking and rooting for teammates (OK and some talking about the videogame Fortnite). When there wasn't enough cheering after we scored, the coach said, "Are we at a funeral?" Jack said, but not in a rude way, "Well, there is a cemetery over there" (there was). Coach said, "I'm glad that somebody was paying attention."
The doubleheader ended without wins, but in good spirits, and we drove Jack and a friend back home. Where we had just enough time to get to Kate's first softball game, which she was getting a ride to with another friend. From Gymnastics class. It really does take a village.
Kate arrived wearing a pair of crazy mismatched socks; her friend's were also a somewhat garrish color. I snapped a picture which is the image I'd remember from that game: the two girls looking taller than you'd have expected in their colorful socks. Kate not wearing her visor, just as she never wanted to wear her hat in baseball. But when she did put the visor on, she pointed out "I can still scratch my head!" So she wasn't thrilled to wear it, but liked it more than a hat. I'll take it.
She started at first base, which was surprising, since you want the person who's best at catching the ball there. The team hadn't even had a practice yet, and Kate and I had only tossed it around a couple of times in the yard. She's much better at catching the ball than she used to be, and in fact, she caught the balls thrown her way during the game. Had the game gone any longer, she'd have gotten to pitch -- something she'd said a week ago "I don't want to do!" -- and was now, however, really hoping to do; upset when the game ended too soon for her to get the chance. Next time.
At the plate (batting leadoff!), she got two at bats, with a good hit to near short and a walk. Scored the first run of the year. On the bench, she joked with her friends, took her visor off as soon as she could, complained a little about her cleats (hand-me-downs, after buying a new helmet, glove and bat, we had to draw the line somewhere). After the game, they had a practice. She was clearly starting to run out of steam near the end; had been a long day, especially for a girl who had never exactly loved the sport. But she was still smiling and of good cheer.
That's what I'll take away most from the day, which ended with them both going to see a school play with friends; a really long day for both of them. Not the hits, or the catches, or the pitching (or the desire to pitch). But the smiles that were there at the beginning of the day, and during the games, and when they fell into bed relatively late at night. Neither one will play baseball or softball all their lives. But as long as they're enjoying it, hopefully it will continue for both of them for years to come.
Things are also different for Kate, who had me as her baseball coach for the same local Little League last spring, albeit a lower, younger level than Jack. We knew that would be her last year, and didn't hold out much belief that she'd play at all this year. So it was a big surprise to us when she said she wanted to play in a local Softball league this spring, one that a number of her friends played in last year -- and that she and all of them are doing this year.
Jack had a couple of games last Sunday, but it was so absurdly cold and unpleasant that the portion of my brain that registered it has already switched off. So the season truly began -- for both! -- on Saturday, a day that dawned bright, and clear, and sunny, for the first (and last) time in quite a while.
We got Jack a ride to his games (which started at 9 a.m.) early, with another of the team's parents. He told us later he'd given Jack a bacon and egg sandwich from McDonald's that Jack ate so quickly he had to check to make sure he'd actually given it to him. Note to self, make sure Jack has enough food at breakfast time. Emily and I drove up in time for the games, enjoying the sunshine.
A while back I'd said I could keep the scorebook if necessary, and that indeed happened. Jack was the starting centerfielder and batting 9th, just like his number. He had a colorful new Westchester Academy jersey, predominantly red; his color.
For most of the two games, he played centerfield or right field. He was remarkably busy, which is both good and bad (would be nice if fewer of the opposing team's outs were long fly balls to the outfield). But he ended up catching 5 balls, and after one of the later ones I saw one coach turn to the other and say, I wish we had three of him. Something I'll remember, I think. It wasn't perfect (one he turned the wrong way on and it was over his head, another he couldn't control, so 5 of 7 on the day), but a very good day, and included a one-hop throw to the plate after a catch. He's become a really good outfielder over the years, something nice to see.
Jack also had a nice hit (after a week where I reminded him about a swing element he'd been lax on), and late in the second game came in to pitch the last two innings. With two on and nobody out the manager went to the mound and pointed to Jack in right field. He later told me Jack did a little fist pump, Yes!, which I'd missed at the time. Infielders turned two double plays behind him, and he ended up throwing 2 scoreless, one-run innings. He did little fist pumps after a play was made behind him. Fun to see. Walked one, a giant who in his previous at bats had hit towering fly balls over three different outfielders' heads, including Jack. That at-bat included Jack lobbing a rainbow Eephus pitch that was pretty close to being a strike and amused everyone. After the walk, coach said "I have no problem with that." Definitely walked the right kid.
While I was pleased with the on-field performance, even better was Jack's attitude and emotions during the game. In Little League, everyone on the team had been his friend and teammate for years. Here he only knew a couple of the kids particularly well, but still brought good humor and spirit to the clubhouse throughout, smiling and joking and rooting for teammates (OK and some talking about the videogame Fortnite). When there wasn't enough cheering after we scored, the coach said, "Are we at a funeral?" Jack said, but not in a rude way, "Well, there is a cemetery over there" (there was). Coach said, "I'm glad that somebody was paying attention."
The doubleheader ended without wins, but in good spirits, and we drove Jack and a friend back home. Where we had just enough time to get to Kate's first softball game, which she was getting a ride to with another friend. From Gymnastics class. It really does take a village.
Kate arrived wearing a pair of crazy mismatched socks; her friend's were also a somewhat garrish color. I snapped a picture which is the image I'd remember from that game: the two girls looking taller than you'd have expected in their colorful socks. Kate not wearing her visor, just as she never wanted to wear her hat in baseball. But when she did put the visor on, she pointed out "I can still scratch my head!" So she wasn't thrilled to wear it, but liked it more than a hat. I'll take it.
She started at first base, which was surprising, since you want the person who's best at catching the ball there. The team hadn't even had a practice yet, and Kate and I had only tossed it around a couple of times in the yard. She's much better at catching the ball than she used to be, and in fact, she caught the balls thrown her way during the game. Had the game gone any longer, she'd have gotten to pitch -- something she'd said a week ago "I don't want to do!" -- and was now, however, really hoping to do; upset when the game ended too soon for her to get the chance. Next time.
At the plate (batting leadoff!), she got two at bats, with a good hit to near short and a walk. Scored the first run of the year. On the bench, she joked with her friends, took her visor off as soon as she could, complained a little about her cleats (hand-me-downs, after buying a new helmet, glove and bat, we had to draw the line somewhere). After the game, they had a practice. She was clearly starting to run out of steam near the end; had been a long day, especially for a girl who had never exactly loved the sport. But she was still smiling and of good cheer.
That's what I'll take away most from the day, which ended with them both going to see a school play with friends; a really long day for both of them. Not the hits, or the catches, or the pitching (or the desire to pitch). But the smiles that were there at the beginning of the day, and during the games, and when they fell into bed relatively late at night. Neither one will play baseball or softball all their lives. But as long as they're enjoying it, hopefully it will continue for both of them for years to come.
Monday, January 22, 2018
The Weekend
On Friday night, Jack had a couple of friends over to hang out in the afternoon. They drank Gatorade and played video games.
When they'd been picked up, I made us a fire. Emily got home, and we ordered pizza and watched a couple hours of the Goldbergs and laughed.
Saturday, Jack had a basketball game. We got back from that, and then piled in the car together to go to Kate's gymnastics meet. One of her best friends on the team's older brother is probably Jack's best friend. Emily and I watched the meet with the other parents, while Jack and Nic hung out, shot video, and cheered the girls on. Kate did great; better than her first one. After one routine, for which she got her highest score, a 9.0, I saw her running off the mat and looking up at us with a big smile holding nine fingers up.
Afterward, at the award ceremony, she got medals for 4th and 6th places for a couple of different events. She stood on the podium, accepted her medal, and then when all the girls were given a chance to salute with their arms high in the air, she threw her hands up high. Big smile. She clapped and smiled for her teammates when they got their awards, too.
We all went out for dinner afterward, a nice Asian stirfry where the girls chattered away happily while their medals clanked together and the boys joked and grinned about whatever 13-year-old boys joke and grin about. The adults sat and chatted and felt proud.
Sunday, Jack had another basketball game. He and the team played well -- at times he has more defensive intensity than others, and this was one of those times -- and early on he hit a jump shot, which doesn't always happen. Team didn't win (it seldom does, we're not big, or strong, or particularly basketball oriented), but played well and there were smiles afterward.
Jack and one of his basketball teammates had a baseball practice a couple hours after the basketball game ended. I took the two of them to Taco Bell. During the 40-minute drive from the game, they took turns rapping, nonsense lyrics about tacos and football and whatever came to mind.
We showed up to baseball practice a little early, held in the basketball gyms at SUNY Purchase. A couple of huge guys were there playing basketball, presumably college students. So naturally Jack and his friend decided to challenge them to a game of 2 on 2. Wasn't exactly a fair fight but the other guys took it easy on them and both had some nice driving layups against bigger opponents. Who ran easy alley-oops on their plays and dunked for baskets. But they did that for 10-15 minutes before baseball practice, grinning throughout. When it ended because it was time for baseball, I saw Jack jog off the court with a huge smile.
Sunday night, I put Kate to bed. She showed me how she had made little labels for the back of her medals, what places she finished in and what events they were for. Really cool. Then we read a chapter of Harry Potter together.
All weekend, we saw kid smiles from doing things because they were fun. Maybe there are more important things going on. But for a couple of days, it was nice to just see them happy, and proud, and being kids, playing with their friends.
When they'd been picked up, I made us a fire. Emily got home, and we ordered pizza and watched a couple hours of the Goldbergs and laughed.
Saturday, Jack had a basketball game. We got back from that, and then piled in the car together to go to Kate's gymnastics meet. One of her best friends on the team's older brother is probably Jack's best friend. Emily and I watched the meet with the other parents, while Jack and Nic hung out, shot video, and cheered the girls on. Kate did great; better than her first one. After one routine, for which she got her highest score, a 9.0, I saw her running off the mat and looking up at us with a big smile holding nine fingers up.
Afterward, at the award ceremony, she got medals for 4th and 6th places for a couple of different events. She stood on the podium, accepted her medal, and then when all the girls were given a chance to salute with their arms high in the air, she threw her hands up high. Big smile. She clapped and smiled for her teammates when they got their awards, too.
We all went out for dinner afterward, a nice Asian stirfry where the girls chattered away happily while their medals clanked together and the boys joked and grinned about whatever 13-year-old boys joke and grin about. The adults sat and chatted and felt proud.
Sunday, Jack had another basketball game. He and the team played well -- at times he has more defensive intensity than others, and this was one of those times -- and early on he hit a jump shot, which doesn't always happen. Team didn't win (it seldom does, we're not big, or strong, or particularly basketball oriented), but played well and there were smiles afterward.
Jack and one of his basketball teammates had a baseball practice a couple hours after the basketball game ended. I took the two of them to Taco Bell. During the 40-minute drive from the game, they took turns rapping, nonsense lyrics about tacos and football and whatever came to mind.
We showed up to baseball practice a little early, held in the basketball gyms at SUNY Purchase. A couple of huge guys were there playing basketball, presumably college students. So naturally Jack and his friend decided to challenge them to a game of 2 on 2. Wasn't exactly a fair fight but the other guys took it easy on them and both had some nice driving layups against bigger opponents. Who ran easy alley-oops on their plays and dunked for baskets. But they did that for 10-15 minutes before baseball practice, grinning throughout. When it ended because it was time for baseball, I saw Jack jog off the court with a huge smile.
Sunday night, I put Kate to bed. She showed me how she had made little labels for the back of her medals, what places she finished in and what events they were for. Really cool. Then we read a chapter of Harry Potter together.
All weekend, we saw kid smiles from doing things because they were fun. Maybe there are more important things going on. But for a couple of days, it was nice to just see them happy, and proud, and being kids, playing with their friends.
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Gymnastics meet
Kate is on a gymnastics team. For the past few years she's been taking classes and attending camps of various degrees of intensity; sometimes it didn't seem like she was getting much out of it. But she's found her way into a good program with a couple of really good friends, and been going 3 times a week for the past year or so. And now she's on a team, and had her first meet last weekend.
We've had plenty of sports weekends away with Jack and his travel baseball team over the last several years, but this time Jack was just along for the ride. It was all about Kate. She was a little bit nervous as we loaded up the car and headed out. "Nervited," she said, which was a combination of nervous and excited.
We checked into our hotel, and that Nervited condition manifested as Kate talking a little bit louder than usual. But she was happy, jumping around from bed to bed and using the narrow floor space to practice her moves. We went out to dinner at a pizza place, and she noticed a Ms. Pacman machine. She wanted to go play it, and it was her weekend, so we did. Arcade games are a little tricky for kids far more used to tapping and swiping on a computer or phone screen than wielding a joystick, so we quickly spent a buck or two and returned to the table. Food and drink arrived, and then her two best friends and their families shortly after that. Jack and I ended up going back to the room while the girls and Moms chattered away, excited/nervited about the next day's competition.
Before going to bed that night (a little early for Emily and me; we were all in the same hotel room, of course, and Kate couldn't/wouldn't sleep with lights or TV on), we did a take on the "asking questions" we always do before bed. Favorite part of the day, what are you most looking forward to tomorrow, that kind of thing. Sleep did not come easy, since somebody woke up every hour or so for water, bathroom, or to say (Kate) "Is it time to get up yet?" No, Kate, it's 1 a.m. I believe Kate slept OK, although she slept late enough back at home the next morning that she was probably behind.
We were up early; she had to be at the meet stretching by 8 a.m., and it was 20 minutes away, and we had to register and everything. So at 6:15 or so Emily was up doing Kate's hair. Kate was chattering away, and then dancing in front of the mirror while brushing her teeth. I think that's what I'll remember most; Kate cheerful and excited getting ready at a ridiculously early hour. We had breakfast, packed up, and were on our way to the meet.
It was a huge community college gymnasium, with girls running and tumbling and jumping in all the various sections of the floor. Balance beam here, uneven bars there, vault in back. Difficult to tell for novice viewers (us) what was the actual event and what was a warmup, but we gradually figured it out by identifying the judges: if there were judges paying attention, it was an event; if there were coaches helping gymnasts, it was a warmup.
All the girls did all four events: vault, bars, beam and floor. I had seen some of Kate's floor routine in practice, I had seen her practice on her beam around the house. I had also seen her do vault, and knew that bars was her toughest challenge -- probably a little afraid, since for bars you're high up, you can fall on your head, and it's the most physically demanding (strength). I think; this is new to me.
Being a neophyte, I couldn't really tell what was good or bad in things like vault, beam or floor. With bars it was easier; she had to be helped at one point, and got her lowest score, and was upset afterward. But she got her highest score in beam, and that looked the best to me; a lot of the girls lost their balance and had to step off midway through and start again. Not Kate. She ended up getting an 8.85; I later learned that getting a 9.0 was required for a medal. So she was very close. And I think she was proud of herself, since when she came off she had a big smile and was happy. Thought she did well in floor, too, although I guess she could have been faster, jumped higher, something of that nature.
At the end, though, she seemed fairly happy; I told her how great she did, especially on beam and floor. They had this lengthy awards ceremony where she didn't get a medal; I didn't know why at the time. They gave participation/consolation medals to the 20-25 girls who didn't medal during the meet, which was probably unnecessary; I don't think they wanted one that way. Afterward Kate was a little sad, or maybe hungry, or both.
Maybe my expectations weren't as high as hers. I looked at it as, It was her first meet, her first-ever competitive athletic events of any kind (at times she cared about doing well in baseball, and at times she did, but I don't think it ever mattered that much to her; basketball she definitely didn't care a whit about). But she'd never been on that kind of stage with judges analyzing her every move. Bars were the only thing she struggled on. Everything else she did well on -- just not quite well enough to get a 9.0 and a medal. But she came through it by doing the best she could.
Afterward, I told her I was proud of her. How awesome, especially, she'd done on beam. How great she looked on the floor routine. I hugged her and told her I loved her.
Later that night, at home, she sent me a text from her iPad with a bunch of different emojis. It was largely indecipherable to me so I went and talked to her. She explained that she had decided she was happy and proud of herself. I said, I'm happy and proud of you too.
Next week, another meet. Hopefully she'll be less nervous and do a little bit better. Last night she practiced for a while at her various skills, and she'll have two more practices this week to work on things. Next week will be her second meet. She'll be a little more ready. And hopefully smile a little wider. Whatever: I'll still be proud.
We've had plenty of sports weekends away with Jack and his travel baseball team over the last several years, but this time Jack was just along for the ride. It was all about Kate. She was a little bit nervous as we loaded up the car and headed out. "Nervited," she said, which was a combination of nervous and excited.
We checked into our hotel, and that Nervited condition manifested as Kate talking a little bit louder than usual. But she was happy, jumping around from bed to bed and using the narrow floor space to practice her moves. We went out to dinner at a pizza place, and she noticed a Ms. Pacman machine. She wanted to go play it, and it was her weekend, so we did. Arcade games are a little tricky for kids far more used to tapping and swiping on a computer or phone screen than wielding a joystick, so we quickly spent a buck or two and returned to the table. Food and drink arrived, and then her two best friends and their families shortly after that. Jack and I ended up going back to the room while the girls and Moms chattered away, excited/nervited about the next day's competition.
Before going to bed that night (a little early for Emily and me; we were all in the same hotel room, of course, and Kate couldn't/wouldn't sleep with lights or TV on), we did a take on the "asking questions" we always do before bed. Favorite part of the day, what are you most looking forward to tomorrow, that kind of thing. Sleep did not come easy, since somebody woke up every hour or so for water, bathroom, or to say (Kate) "Is it time to get up yet?" No, Kate, it's 1 a.m. I believe Kate slept OK, although she slept late enough back at home the next morning that she was probably behind.
We were up early; she had to be at the meet stretching by 8 a.m., and it was 20 minutes away, and we had to register and everything. So at 6:15 or so Emily was up doing Kate's hair. Kate was chattering away, and then dancing in front of the mirror while brushing her teeth. I think that's what I'll remember most; Kate cheerful and excited getting ready at a ridiculously early hour. We had breakfast, packed up, and were on our way to the meet.
It was a huge community college gymnasium, with girls running and tumbling and jumping in all the various sections of the floor. Balance beam here, uneven bars there, vault in back. Difficult to tell for novice viewers (us) what was the actual event and what was a warmup, but we gradually figured it out by identifying the judges: if there were judges paying attention, it was an event; if there were coaches helping gymnasts, it was a warmup.
All the girls did all four events: vault, bars, beam and floor. I had seen some of Kate's floor routine in practice, I had seen her practice on her beam around the house. I had also seen her do vault, and knew that bars was her toughest challenge -- probably a little afraid, since for bars you're high up, you can fall on your head, and it's the most physically demanding (strength). I think; this is new to me.
Being a neophyte, I couldn't really tell what was good or bad in things like vault, beam or floor. With bars it was easier; she had to be helped at one point, and got her lowest score, and was upset afterward. But she got her highest score in beam, and that looked the best to me; a lot of the girls lost their balance and had to step off midway through and start again. Not Kate. She ended up getting an 8.85; I later learned that getting a 9.0 was required for a medal. So she was very close. And I think she was proud of herself, since when she came off she had a big smile and was happy. Thought she did well in floor, too, although I guess she could have been faster, jumped higher, something of that nature.
At the end, though, she seemed fairly happy; I told her how great she did, especially on beam and floor. They had this lengthy awards ceremony where she didn't get a medal; I didn't know why at the time. They gave participation/consolation medals to the 20-25 girls who didn't medal during the meet, which was probably unnecessary; I don't think they wanted one that way. Afterward Kate was a little sad, or maybe hungry, or both.
Maybe my expectations weren't as high as hers. I looked at it as, It was her first meet, her first-ever competitive athletic events of any kind (at times she cared about doing well in baseball, and at times she did, but I don't think it ever mattered that much to her; basketball she definitely didn't care a whit about). But she'd never been on that kind of stage with judges analyzing her every move. Bars were the only thing she struggled on. Everything else she did well on -- just not quite well enough to get a 9.0 and a medal. But she came through it by doing the best she could.
Afterward, I told her I was proud of her. How awesome, especially, she'd done on beam. How great she looked on the floor routine. I hugged her and told her I loved her.
Later that night, at home, she sent me a text from her iPad with a bunch of different emojis. It was largely indecipherable to me so I went and talked to her. She explained that she had decided she was happy and proud of herself. I said, I'm happy and proud of you too.
Next week, another meet. Hopefully she'll be less nervous and do a little bit better. Last night she practiced for a while at her various skills, and she'll have two more practices this week to work on things. Next week will be her second meet. She'll be a little more ready. And hopefully smile a little wider. Whatever: I'll still be proud.
Thursday, December 07, 2017
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.
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.
Friday, September 08, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, July 06, 2017
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.
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.
Saturday, May 20, 2017
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.
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.
Friday, May 05, 2017
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, March 09, 2017
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.
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.
Monday, January 30, 2017
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.
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.
Friday, January 20, 2017
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.
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.
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Gingerbreading
Every year around Christmastime we buy those gingerbread house/train building kits. It's a nice activity that produces lots of mess, lots of candy, and lots of fun. I'm usually on deadline Monday and Tuesday and I had this crazy idea I'd bring them out for the kids last Monday so they could entertain themselves while I worked. It was crazy because these things are too complicated for a Nobel Prize winning scientist let alone a couple of kids and a frazzled parent. Anyway, I had to help a little more than was ideal. Emily, laughing: "How long have you been a parent?"
Job 1 was outfitting them in a couple of my old T-shirts, because these things are messy. They wear them well.
Job 2 was holding pieces of gingerbread -- house walls, sides of trains, etc. -- while they smeared icing all over everything to glue them together. I've got a bone to pick with whoever decided putting icing/frosting in plastic bags was a good idea. In theory maybe, in practice not so much.
So we were all wearing icing, but ultimately the structures got built. At that point I was able to withdraw and get some work done, and they decorated on their own. Came to find out that Kate is a whiz at gingerbread decorating.
Every two minutes I'd hear Jack praise something that Kate had done. And he wasn't just being nice to his younger sister -- he was actually impressed. I would chime in with the occasional question. Like:
You're letting Kate decorate Santa Claus? "Yes, because her Mrs. Claus is amazing." Or, "How did it go from a big lump of green to THAT?" And "Seriously Kate. You should decorate gingerbread houses for a living. You're like Leonardo DaVinci."
Structures got finished. Kate: "I'm going to go wash my hands for the 100th time!" (Frosting very messy and sticky.) Jack: "There!" He drew a face on his Rudolph with a toothpick. Kate used a marker to draw a train track for her gingerbread train on a piece of cardboard. Houses were built. We all ate candy.
Maybe the appeal of these things is that they create beautiful and messy structures. Maybe it's that they spent 2 hours doing them and I get a little bit of work done. But I think the best thing is to hear them working together, brother and sister, partners in construction. They'll outgrow these things eventually, but not this year.
Job 1 was outfitting them in a couple of my old T-shirts, because these things are messy. They wear them well.
Job 2 was holding pieces of gingerbread -- house walls, sides of trains, etc. -- while they smeared icing all over everything to glue them together. I've got a bone to pick with whoever decided putting icing/frosting in plastic bags was a good idea. In theory maybe, in practice not so much.
So we were all wearing icing, but ultimately the structures got built. At that point I was able to withdraw and get some work done, and they decorated on their own. Came to find out that Kate is a whiz at gingerbread decorating.
Every two minutes I'd hear Jack praise something that Kate had done. And he wasn't just being nice to his younger sister -- he was actually impressed. I would chime in with the occasional question. Like:
You're letting Kate decorate Santa Claus? "Yes, because her Mrs. Claus is amazing." Or, "How did it go from a big lump of green to THAT?" And "Seriously Kate. You should decorate gingerbread houses for a living. You're like Leonardo DaVinci."
Structures got finished. Kate: "I'm going to go wash my hands for the 100th time!" (Frosting very messy and sticky.) Jack: "There!" He drew a face on his Rudolph with a toothpick. Kate used a marker to draw a train track for her gingerbread train on a piece of cardboard. Houses were built. We all ate candy.
Maybe the appeal of these things is that they create beautiful and messy structures. Maybe it's that they spent 2 hours doing them and I get a little bit of work done. But I think the best thing is to hear them working together, brother and sister, partners in construction. They'll outgrow these things eventually, but not this year.
Sunday, November 06, 2016
Random haven't posted in a while post
Blog is better when I write more regularly. I am getting older and forget things. But even a collection of stuff that happened recently that I'm already starting to forget is better than nothing. Right? Right?
On Thursday I chaperoned Kate's class field trip to the Bruce Museum. It was a last-minute favor for someone who couldn't go, and it was a day that worked for me. I told Kate I'd be doing it on Wednesday night and her face lit up and she said "Yay!" That was nice.
Most of it was pretty easy; not like a field trip to the zoo or a play in New York City where there were scores of people milling around and I had to do headcounts every 2 minutes. The Bruce Museum is this quaint little spot in Greenwich that I've been to a few times, always on class trips with the kids (I think I went with one of their preschool classes way back when). It's filled with interesting information that I suppose nobody spends much time thinking about in this Internet age. But the class sat dutifully listening to information about Native Americans and what they ate and where they lived and it was kind of cool.
At various points we got in little groups and answered questions on worksheets together. Kate and her friends volunteered answers, I wrote them down. Then we did a tour of a "small scale" exhibit where artists had made miniature landscapes. Then we went into a little classroom where the kids made mini landscapes on paper with markers and little figures. This was where the chaperones did the most, tearing off pieces of tape and helping with folding and the like. We finished the projects, Kate was very proud of hers. I hugged her goodbye and she went back to her school until I picked her up an hour later.
On Saturday afternoon we had a family portrait taken. It was the first time in a few years we'd had that done and considering the effort that went in to it (mostly Emily) it's not surprising. Everyone had to get their haircut and styled. (Yes everyone! No jokes please.) Clothes had to be purchased, tried on, modeled and replaced. People had to shave (me). Nose hairs had to be trimmed (uh, could be anyone). The weather was nice and we went to nearby Crawford Park to meet the photographer, who snapped a hundred pictures and I'm confident we'll get one or two good ones. I'm sure when I see the ones of the kids I will cry, in a good way, and do the same years into the future.
Last Sunday morning was Jack's last Fall Travel baseball game. I write a lot about Jack's baseball team so I didn't feel it was required to write much about this one. But all day afterward I felt the fact that it was something ending. He turns 12 next year (gah!) and so next Fall he'll be considered too old for Little League. Maybe he'll play baseball (and it is a maybe; he'll need to try out and make a team, probably with a lot of older players, and it's more expensive, and whatever the case he'll have different teammates and different coaches -- not including me. It will all be different. So us getting up on a Sunday morning and going off to an October baseball game and me making out the lineup and being in the dugout watching him joke around with his friends and pitch and get a big hit or not (He did all those things)...those Fall days have come and they were awesome. And now they're gone, living on only in our ever hazy memories.
And this blog, like everything else. I'll try to write more often.
On Thursday I chaperoned Kate's class field trip to the Bruce Museum. It was a last-minute favor for someone who couldn't go, and it was a day that worked for me. I told Kate I'd be doing it on Wednesday night and her face lit up and she said "Yay!" That was nice.
Most of it was pretty easy; not like a field trip to the zoo or a play in New York City where there were scores of people milling around and I had to do headcounts every 2 minutes. The Bruce Museum is this quaint little spot in Greenwich that I've been to a few times, always on class trips with the kids (I think I went with one of their preschool classes way back when). It's filled with interesting information that I suppose nobody spends much time thinking about in this Internet age. But the class sat dutifully listening to information about Native Americans and what they ate and where they lived and it was kind of cool.
At various points we got in little groups and answered questions on worksheets together. Kate and her friends volunteered answers, I wrote them down. Then we did a tour of a "small scale" exhibit where artists had made miniature landscapes. Then we went into a little classroom where the kids made mini landscapes on paper with markers and little figures. This was where the chaperones did the most, tearing off pieces of tape and helping with folding and the like. We finished the projects, Kate was very proud of hers. I hugged her goodbye and she went back to her school until I picked her up an hour later.
On Saturday afternoon we had a family portrait taken. It was the first time in a few years we'd had that done and considering the effort that went in to it (mostly Emily) it's not surprising. Everyone had to get their haircut and styled. (Yes everyone! No jokes please.) Clothes had to be purchased, tried on, modeled and replaced. People had to shave (me). Nose hairs had to be trimmed (uh, could be anyone). The weather was nice and we went to nearby Crawford Park to meet the photographer, who snapped a hundred pictures and I'm confident we'll get one or two good ones. I'm sure when I see the ones of the kids I will cry, in a good way, and do the same years into the future.
Last Sunday morning was Jack's last Fall Travel baseball game. I write a lot about Jack's baseball team so I didn't feel it was required to write much about this one. But all day afterward I felt the fact that it was something ending. He turns 12 next year (gah!) and so next Fall he'll be considered too old for Little League. Maybe he'll play baseball (and it is a maybe; he'll need to try out and make a team, probably with a lot of older players, and it's more expensive, and whatever the case he'll have different teammates and different coaches -- not including me. It will all be different. So us getting up on a Sunday morning and going off to an October baseball game and me making out the lineup and being in the dugout watching him joke around with his friends and pitch and get a big hit or not (He did all those things)...those Fall days have come and they were awesome. And now they're gone, living on only in our ever hazy memories.
And this blog, like everything else. I'll try to write more often.
Sunday, October 09, 2016
Comic Con
We went to the New York Comic Convention today. It was Jack's third time, I think, and Kate's first. I think I went once on my own back in the day, but now it's a me and the kids thing. The negative is that I don't actually get to search for things for myself like I used to. The positive is that's it's way more fun.
First off, we dressed up. Haven't done that before. The kids got us into this great cartoon show, Gravity Falls, and the primary characters were a cranky old uncle and his niece and nephew. So I was Grunkle Stan and they were the kids, Dipper and Mabel. The costumes -- full credit to Emily for scouring up the proper clothes for the kids, although we did have Jack's hat already -- were perfect. So our day was repeatedly peppered with compliments and requests for pictures, which was cool, and the kids did a great job of posing and smiling appropriately.
I had my doubts about how Kate would do with it, because it's essentially 10 hours straight of walking around crowded, narrow passageways at the Jacob Javits Convention Center, bumping into people, squeezing by people, stopping at booths and then starting up again. Lines are long for food, bathrooms, panels, exhibits. But she did great. Minimal complaining, as long as rested and snacked on occasion. She was suitably awed by all the costumes and exhibit, and the people. She was a trooper. My legs and feet were killing me by the end, and she was probably beat too, but was fine about it all.
Our first stop was a Gravity Falls panel, which was a long line and a few hundred of us in a large theater/conference room where the show creators were going to talk about the show, and a cool tie-in book that Jack had recently bought. Jack ate it up; the creators were funny and there were lots of tidbits and I'd look over and see him just rapt with attention and laughing at their jokes. At the end they gave some words of wisdom/advice, with one of the best ones being, "Don't be afraid to be weird, because you'll find people who love you for it."
After that it was basically 7 hours of walking around the show floor. Highlights:
- We ran into a group of 7 or 8 other people dressed as Gravity Falls characters and got a bunch of pictures. This was only after going to the wrong place for an autograph session, and then finally ending up at the right place. And the timing worked out great, because that picture was a highlight.
- We got big pretzels, a pizza, sprite, and ice cream. Yeah, that was our lunch and snack extravaganza.
- We did a Harry Potter-related "Fantastic Beasts" thing where the kids got to wave a wand and cast a spell, and little video clips were made of them doing it.
- We saw a whole bunch of great costumes, including myriad other Dippers, Mabels and Stans. Lost characters, Game of Thrones characters, and of course tons of superheroes. Lots of photo ops, lots of friendly people.
- Found the publisher of these Zita the Spacegirl graphic novels we'd been buying for Kate. They didn't have those books, but they did have other books by the same author and the writer/artist of a similar type of children's book. We bought a copy, and she autographed it for Kate and drew a little picture of the character on the title page in front of us. Cool, and Kate was impressed, polite, respectful.
- Guy stopped us for a picture. After he took it he said to Jack, "Is this your Dad? You guys are lucky." Nice to hear.
We walked to the Con from the car in a light drizzle but didn't get too wet. Walked back in near-darkness, but felt light.
First off, we dressed up. Haven't done that before. The kids got us into this great cartoon show, Gravity Falls, and the primary characters were a cranky old uncle and his niece and nephew. So I was Grunkle Stan and they were the kids, Dipper and Mabel. The costumes -- full credit to Emily for scouring up the proper clothes for the kids, although we did have Jack's hat already -- were perfect. So our day was repeatedly peppered with compliments and requests for pictures, which was cool, and the kids did a great job of posing and smiling appropriately.
I had my doubts about how Kate would do with it, because it's essentially 10 hours straight of walking around crowded, narrow passageways at the Jacob Javits Convention Center, bumping into people, squeezing by people, stopping at booths and then starting up again. Lines are long for food, bathrooms, panels, exhibits. But she did great. Minimal complaining, as long as rested and snacked on occasion. She was suitably awed by all the costumes and exhibit, and the people. She was a trooper. My legs and feet were killing me by the end, and she was probably beat too, but was fine about it all.
Our first stop was a Gravity Falls panel, which was a long line and a few hundred of us in a large theater/conference room where the show creators were going to talk about the show, and a cool tie-in book that Jack had recently bought. Jack ate it up; the creators were funny and there were lots of tidbits and I'd look over and see him just rapt with attention and laughing at their jokes. At the end they gave some words of wisdom/advice, with one of the best ones being, "Don't be afraid to be weird, because you'll find people who love you for it."
After that it was basically 7 hours of walking around the show floor. Highlights:
- We ran into a group of 7 or 8 other people dressed as Gravity Falls characters and got a bunch of pictures. This was only after going to the wrong place for an autograph session, and then finally ending up at the right place. And the timing worked out great, because that picture was a highlight.
- We got big pretzels, a pizza, sprite, and ice cream. Yeah, that was our lunch and snack extravaganza.
- We did a Harry Potter-related "Fantastic Beasts" thing where the kids got to wave a wand and cast a spell, and little video clips were made of them doing it.
- We saw a whole bunch of great costumes, including myriad other Dippers, Mabels and Stans. Lost characters, Game of Thrones characters, and of course tons of superheroes. Lots of photo ops, lots of friendly people.
- Found the publisher of these Zita the Spacegirl graphic novels we'd been buying for Kate. They didn't have those books, but they did have other books by the same author and the writer/artist of a similar type of children's book. We bought a copy, and she autographed it for Kate and drew a little picture of the character on the title page in front of us. Cool, and Kate was impressed, polite, respectful.
- Guy stopped us for a picture. After he took it he said to Jack, "Is this your Dad? You guys are lucky." Nice to hear.
We walked to the Con from the car in a light drizzle but didn't get too wet. Walked back in near-darkness, but felt light.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Traditions
Took the kids to the beach yesterday. It's a nice, quiet one in Greenwich, that we used to frequent when we were renting in Connecticut. It's too expensive and there are too many hoops to jump through getting parking passes and such to go to all the time, but we still go once a year in the last week of Summer vacation. It's become a tradition. I probably write a blog about it every year at this time, too.
Traditions are important, I like to say, and I mean it. They are to me. I think they are to Jack and Kate, too, more so every year.
We bundle into the car with all of our beach stuff: pails and shovels, paddle ball games, boogie boards. Stop at Dunkin' Donuts for iced coffee and donuts. Jump through the hoops for beach passes (they moved the location of where you get them! Grr.). Same, same, same.
On the way along the shore to the beach, we drive by a private beach. Do you want to get out here, Jack? As I've asked for about 5-6 years now, I imagine. He says Yes. We laugh.
Walking out onto the beach, it's high tide, which is perfect. As the day goes on, we'll get more and more beach. So we start out walking out into the water, swimming a little. When we get deep, Kate clings to me. Then each one clings to one of my arms and I walk, them trailing along, floating on their backs beside me. We do this for a little while, then head back to the towels.
The water starts to recede. The beach gets bigger, and the water there is gets shallower. Jack and Kate walk through it together, holding their nets. They find rocks, shells, hermit crabs. They find these clear, squishy silver dollar type things. They feel weird and we have no idea what they are. Somebody suggests jellyfish, and we dismiss it, because they can be held. Jack theorizes they are Jigglyfish, which is something he invented at the Cape to fool or scare Kate. We ask a lifeguard. They ARE jellyfish, just a kind that doesn't sting. We name them Jigglyfish.
They play together in the water, tackling each other without causing damage. Sometimes this ends up with whining, fighting, or minor injury. Not today. Their laughs and smiles are big and real, and I wish I could photograph them forever, but I'm in the water and I've made that mistake with my phone in the past. I take pictures with my mind and hope I never forget them.
Jack and I play paddleball. We reach 20. He says we should try for 30. We eventually get there, and he sends the 30th soaring into the water in triumph. We take a 10-minute break and he says, let's beat 30. We reach 55 and are very proud.
Kate and I make a sandcastle. Jack works on building a dock and a boat off the edge of the moat. If I make a castle that doesn't meet Kate's demanding standards, she squishes it into oblivion. We make tower after tower until we get three that are acceptable. We decorate with seaweed and shells. We include a few hermit crabs, which we later liberate so they can scuttle back into the ocean.
We go buy lunch, dropping $30 on a burger, hotdog, chicken nuggets, and as always more french fries than any human being could possibly consume at a sitting. Jack insists on mozzarella sticks, I say no, and he reminds me that I always say no and he always says "But we always get them!" so we get them. So we get them. And they're pretty good. Food just tastes better at the beach.
After lunch, Jack and Kate play Giant in the water. I'm a little hazy on the rules of this game, but it involves taking big, slow-motion steps. The water is very shallow as the tide goes out so it works well. I take pictures from afar, wanting to show it but not wanting to get close enough to intrude.
Kate makes a friend, a little girl about her age, and they swim together and capture and release hermit crabs. When they were younger, it was usually Jack who made friends, some boy to play baseball with. Now the beach kids are younger, and my kids are older. He and I swim and play with a ball in the water.
Soon (too soon?) it's 5 p.m., and we're sun-cooked and water-logged. I actually think we could stay even longer, but it's time to go. We pack up and stumble out to the car to drive home. I don't turn and wave goodbye to the beach; I don't really want to say goodbye.
Just, See you next year.
Traditions are important, I like to say, and I mean it. They are to me. I think they are to Jack and Kate, too, more so every year.
We bundle into the car with all of our beach stuff: pails and shovels, paddle ball games, boogie boards. Stop at Dunkin' Donuts for iced coffee and donuts. Jump through the hoops for beach passes (they moved the location of where you get them! Grr.). Same, same, same.
On the way along the shore to the beach, we drive by a private beach. Do you want to get out here, Jack? As I've asked for about 5-6 years now, I imagine. He says Yes. We laugh.
Walking out onto the beach, it's high tide, which is perfect. As the day goes on, we'll get more and more beach. So we start out walking out into the water, swimming a little. When we get deep, Kate clings to me. Then each one clings to one of my arms and I walk, them trailing along, floating on their backs beside me. We do this for a little while, then head back to the towels.
The water starts to recede. The beach gets bigger, and the water there is gets shallower. Jack and Kate walk through it together, holding their nets. They find rocks, shells, hermit crabs. They find these clear, squishy silver dollar type things. They feel weird and we have no idea what they are. Somebody suggests jellyfish, and we dismiss it, because they can be held. Jack theorizes they are Jigglyfish, which is something he invented at the Cape to fool or scare Kate. We ask a lifeguard. They ARE jellyfish, just a kind that doesn't sting. We name them Jigglyfish.
They play together in the water, tackling each other without causing damage. Sometimes this ends up with whining, fighting, or minor injury. Not today. Their laughs and smiles are big and real, and I wish I could photograph them forever, but I'm in the water and I've made that mistake with my phone in the past. I take pictures with my mind and hope I never forget them.
Jack and I play paddleball. We reach 20. He says we should try for 30. We eventually get there, and he sends the 30th soaring into the water in triumph. We take a 10-minute break and he says, let's beat 30. We reach 55 and are very proud.
Kate and I make a sandcastle. Jack works on building a dock and a boat off the edge of the moat. If I make a castle that doesn't meet Kate's demanding standards, she squishes it into oblivion. We make tower after tower until we get three that are acceptable. We decorate with seaweed and shells. We include a few hermit crabs, which we later liberate so they can scuttle back into the ocean.
We go buy lunch, dropping $30 on a burger, hotdog, chicken nuggets, and as always more french fries than any human being could possibly consume at a sitting. Jack insists on mozzarella sticks, I say no, and he reminds me that I always say no and he always says "But we always get them!" so we get them. So we get them. And they're pretty good. Food just tastes better at the beach.
After lunch, Jack and Kate play Giant in the water. I'm a little hazy on the rules of this game, but it involves taking big, slow-motion steps. The water is very shallow as the tide goes out so it works well. I take pictures from afar, wanting to show it but not wanting to get close enough to intrude.
Kate makes a friend, a little girl about her age, and they swim together and capture and release hermit crabs. When they were younger, it was usually Jack who made friends, some boy to play baseball with. Now the beach kids are younger, and my kids are older. He and I swim and play with a ball in the water.
Soon (too soon?) it's 5 p.m., and we're sun-cooked and water-logged. I actually think we could stay even longer, but it's time to go. We pack up and stumble out to the car to drive home. I don't turn and wave goodbye to the beach; I don't really want to say goodbye.
Just, See you next year.
Tuesday, August 09, 2016
Hall of Fame trip
Brett Favre was to be inducted into the Hall of Fame this year. By coincidence, the weekend would coincide with my birthday, and the end of the Summer travel baseball season. So what better time to do a Father-son road trip out to Ohio for induction weekend and the annual preseason football game? We booked the trip, and hit the road last Friday morning.
FRIDAY
It's a 7.5 hour drive, so we got an early start. Jack had his Pokemon Go app open so he could catch Pokemon on the way. We turned around 5 minutes in because we had forgotten Little Brett Favre Headliner action figure. Neither one of us thought it silly to go back. An hour into the drive we hit Dunkin' Donuts for breakfast. Two hours into the drive we played our first road sign alphabet game. Three hours in Jack tried to take his first nap. Four hours in, it occurred we were going to drive fairly close to Williamsport, Pennsylvania, and the site of the Little League Baseball World Series. So we made a side trip. "Next year we'll be playing here!" said Jack optimistically; his 12-year-old team would be competing for a spot. Uh, well hey, you never know.
We had lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings. If all BWW's were this friendly, comfortable, and quick and attentive with service, not to mention the excellent food, we'd go there all the time. Sadly Port Chester's version has awful service no matter when you go, and the wings are usually hit or miss too. But it was a highlight of our first day.
We checked into our hotel after the 9-hour drive (including side trip) and immediately hit the pool. Funny: We saw a picture of the pool near the elevator that showed a huge basketball hoop at the side. Getting to the actual pool, there was a tiny floating hoop about a quarter of regulation size. "Hoop not shown to scale," I explained to Jack, and we laughed about that for the rest of the weekend. He caught a Pokemon which he named Not to Scale. That said we had a great time in the pool playing with that little basketball hoop.
Went to dinner at Outback Steakhouse, Jack's first time there. Since steak is his favorite meal, by far, it was a treat. And the steaks were fantastic. Since it was my actual birthday and we were both starving and very happy with the food, it was about the best birthday dinner I could have asked for. Free ice cream for dessert!
SATURDAY
We woke up, had breakfast at the hotel, and headed into Canton. Some rigamarole associated with being able to park (had to park at nearby fairground and catch shuttle to Hall of Fame, which was fine). A lot of cool exhibits, including booths honoring various players (Peyton Manning, to Jack's excitement, plus all the Hall of Fame inductees), a tour of the history of the NFL (earliest footballs, leather helmets, gear, uniforms, etc.), and interactive exhibits where you could pretend you were getting playcalls in your helmets or reviewing an instant replay play and the like. Things where you get a sense of how huge players are (Jack is basically the size of Jerome Bettis' leg) and compare your hand to a quarterback's massive mitt. We did this for several hours until our feet were ready to fall off.
Went to the Fan Fest outside the stadium. Here, you could get free football cards, power drinks, and other cheesy memorabilia (including cheeseheads!) and throw a football through a target and so forth. It was about 90 degrees so we spent plenty of money on water and whatnot. Went through various giftshops buying T-shirts, Broncos footballs, etc. Watched a movie in a theatre that rotated, focusing on Super Bowl 50. A highlight for Broncos fan Jack. Eventually it was time to enter the stadium for the induction ceremony, so we guzzled our free caffeine drinks (Yowza!) and filed in.
Through some fortunate accident/security oversight, we were able to get down on the field itself. There was a stage set up for NFL Network and we saw some past Hall of Fame inductees being interviewed. Suddenly another star showed up: Peyton Manning! Jack was thrilled. We got pretty close to him, but he wasn't signing autographs or anything. Jack waved his Broncos hat at him and considered throwing it to him. I advised against it.
We met former Packers running back Ahman Green and I got a picture of Jack with him. I told him that he and Favre were a great fantasy football combo. He smiled politely and edged sideways to get away from me.
The induction ceremony lasted well past 11 p.m., and naturally the one most of us were there for -- Favre -- spoke last. But really great, emotional speeches. Jack got a little tired/had to go to the bathroom near the end but stuck it out. Then it was a mob scene getting out of there, and it was after 12:30 when we finally got back to the hotel. Tired but happy.
SUNDAY
Since we'd done the Hall of Fame the previous day, we didn't have to rush. Slept in, went back to the hotel pool for more basketball, had lunch at Denny's. At the faigrounds parking, there was a gift shop set up with Hall of Fame merchandise. Jack had some cash and sent me away; I knew he wanted to buy me a birthday present. His taste runs to the colorful/garrish/over the top, so I didn't know what to expect. He came up a few minutes later with his hands behind his back. Took my hat off my head, put another one on. It was a FAVRE hat that said Canton, Ohio and had his number and the Hall of Fame logo. Not bad at all and a birthday present I will forever cherish.
Back at the Hall in the afternoon, we went through the exhibits again. And saw the Super Bowl 50 video. Sat at a table and had a Gatorade (Jack) and beer (me) at the Fan Fest area.
We saw people lined up in a red carpet area where players were being interviewed. Jack being small was able to squeeze through crowds and, to his excitement, touch Jerry Rice's gold jacket as he walked by. Later, Brett Favre walked through the crowd. I tried to get up high to catch a glimpse and get a photo, without success. Jack weaved through the crowd and returned a minute later. Did you get a picture, I asked, not expecting much. He showed me what he got; it looked like he was about 10 feet away from the new Hall of Famer. Incredible!
It was finally time to enter the stadium, so we did, excited to see an NFL game. But as we sat in our seats, a rumor started rippling through the crowd/texts/Twitter that the game had been cancelled. The paint used on the field had created an unsafe playing surface. It was so tough to believe a screwup like that could happen that we didn't believe it at first. But we had Internet access and soon it was official.
I was bummed, naturally, not only for me but for Jack. He was kind of dumbfounded and sad. "It's not fair," was a common refrain. We sat there with our memorabilia for a game that wasn't going to happen and were kind of in shock.
As challenging parenting moments go, it was one of them. We'd spent the weekend enjoying ourselves but also really looking forward to the game. They brought the players and teams out, interviewed the Hall of Fame inductees including Favre at midfield, fired T-shirts into the stands, had cheerleaders do little routines, yada yada. We hung out for a while, then left.
But on the way back to the hotel I said to Jack, you know, OK. It's disappointing. We wanted to see a football game, and we're not going to. But we've had a great weekend together, and this was just 2 hours of it that didn't go the way we wanted. Let's talk about the fun stuff we did.
So we talked about the Hall of Fame and all the different exhibits. The stuff we saw and experienced, players we got close to. The speeches, the meals, the memorabilia. Swimming in the pool together. Tossing his newly bought Broncos football around the parking lot of the Fairgrounds. All the Favre jerseys. Outback Steakhouse. The Little League World Series field. Jack plugging his phone into the car audio system so he could play his current favorite song, "Sail," every hour on the hour. The drive. The trip.
At the end we were smiling again. We drove back to the hotel, stopping for food from Wendy's. Went to sleep weary, happy.
And drove back home with stories and memories from a great Father-Son trip.
FRIDAY
It's a 7.5 hour drive, so we got an early start. Jack had his Pokemon Go app open so he could catch Pokemon on the way. We turned around 5 minutes in because we had forgotten Little Brett Favre Headliner action figure. Neither one of us thought it silly to go back. An hour into the drive we hit Dunkin' Donuts for breakfast. Two hours into the drive we played our first road sign alphabet game. Three hours in Jack tried to take his first nap. Four hours in, it occurred we were going to drive fairly close to Williamsport, Pennsylvania, and the site of the Little League Baseball World Series. So we made a side trip. "Next year we'll be playing here!" said Jack optimistically; his 12-year-old team would be competing for a spot. Uh, well hey, you never know.
We had lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings. If all BWW's were this friendly, comfortable, and quick and attentive with service, not to mention the excellent food, we'd go there all the time. Sadly Port Chester's version has awful service no matter when you go, and the wings are usually hit or miss too. But it was a highlight of our first day.
We checked into our hotel after the 9-hour drive (including side trip) and immediately hit the pool. Funny: We saw a picture of the pool near the elevator that showed a huge basketball hoop at the side. Getting to the actual pool, there was a tiny floating hoop about a quarter of regulation size. "Hoop not shown to scale," I explained to Jack, and we laughed about that for the rest of the weekend. He caught a Pokemon which he named Not to Scale. That said we had a great time in the pool playing with that little basketball hoop.
Went to dinner at Outback Steakhouse, Jack's first time there. Since steak is his favorite meal, by far, it was a treat. And the steaks were fantastic. Since it was my actual birthday and we were both starving and very happy with the food, it was about the best birthday dinner I could have asked for. Free ice cream for dessert!
SATURDAY
We woke up, had breakfast at the hotel, and headed into Canton. Some rigamarole associated with being able to park (had to park at nearby fairground and catch shuttle to Hall of Fame, which was fine). A lot of cool exhibits, including booths honoring various players (Peyton Manning, to Jack's excitement, plus all the Hall of Fame inductees), a tour of the history of the NFL (earliest footballs, leather helmets, gear, uniforms, etc.), and interactive exhibits where you could pretend you were getting playcalls in your helmets or reviewing an instant replay play and the like. Things where you get a sense of how huge players are (Jack is basically the size of Jerome Bettis' leg) and compare your hand to a quarterback's massive mitt. We did this for several hours until our feet were ready to fall off.
Went to the Fan Fest outside the stadium. Here, you could get free football cards, power drinks, and other cheesy memorabilia (including cheeseheads!) and throw a football through a target and so forth. It was about 90 degrees so we spent plenty of money on water and whatnot. Went through various giftshops buying T-shirts, Broncos footballs, etc. Watched a movie in a theatre that rotated, focusing on Super Bowl 50. A highlight for Broncos fan Jack. Eventually it was time to enter the stadium for the induction ceremony, so we guzzled our free caffeine drinks (Yowza!) and filed in.
Through some fortunate accident/security oversight, we were able to get down on the field itself. There was a stage set up for NFL Network and we saw some past Hall of Fame inductees being interviewed. Suddenly another star showed up: Peyton Manning! Jack was thrilled. We got pretty close to him, but he wasn't signing autographs or anything. Jack waved his Broncos hat at him and considered throwing it to him. I advised against it.
We met former Packers running back Ahman Green and I got a picture of Jack with him. I told him that he and Favre were a great fantasy football combo. He smiled politely and edged sideways to get away from me.
The induction ceremony lasted well past 11 p.m., and naturally the one most of us were there for -- Favre -- spoke last. But really great, emotional speeches. Jack got a little tired/had to go to the bathroom near the end but stuck it out. Then it was a mob scene getting out of there, and it was after 12:30 when we finally got back to the hotel. Tired but happy.
SUNDAY
Since we'd done the Hall of Fame the previous day, we didn't have to rush. Slept in, went back to the hotel pool for more basketball, had lunch at Denny's. At the faigrounds parking, there was a gift shop set up with Hall of Fame merchandise. Jack had some cash and sent me away; I knew he wanted to buy me a birthday present. His taste runs to the colorful/garrish/over the top, so I didn't know what to expect. He came up a few minutes later with his hands behind his back. Took my hat off my head, put another one on. It was a FAVRE hat that said Canton, Ohio and had his number and the Hall of Fame logo. Not bad at all and a birthday present I will forever cherish.
Back at the Hall in the afternoon, we went through the exhibits again. And saw the Super Bowl 50 video. Sat at a table and had a Gatorade (Jack) and beer (me) at the Fan Fest area.
We saw people lined up in a red carpet area where players were being interviewed. Jack being small was able to squeeze through crowds and, to his excitement, touch Jerry Rice's gold jacket as he walked by. Later, Brett Favre walked through the crowd. I tried to get up high to catch a glimpse and get a photo, without success. Jack weaved through the crowd and returned a minute later. Did you get a picture, I asked, not expecting much. He showed me what he got; it looked like he was about 10 feet away from the new Hall of Famer. Incredible!
It was finally time to enter the stadium, so we did, excited to see an NFL game. But as we sat in our seats, a rumor started rippling through the crowd/texts/Twitter that the game had been cancelled. The paint used on the field had created an unsafe playing surface. It was so tough to believe a screwup like that could happen that we didn't believe it at first. But we had Internet access and soon it was official.
I was bummed, naturally, not only for me but for Jack. He was kind of dumbfounded and sad. "It's not fair," was a common refrain. We sat there with our memorabilia for a game that wasn't going to happen and were kind of in shock.
As challenging parenting moments go, it was one of them. We'd spent the weekend enjoying ourselves but also really looking forward to the game. They brought the players and teams out, interviewed the Hall of Fame inductees including Favre at midfield, fired T-shirts into the stands, had cheerleaders do little routines, yada yada. We hung out for a while, then left.
But on the way back to the hotel I said to Jack, you know, OK. It's disappointing. We wanted to see a football game, and we're not going to. But we've had a great weekend together, and this was just 2 hours of it that didn't go the way we wanted. Let's talk about the fun stuff we did.
So we talked about the Hall of Fame and all the different exhibits. The stuff we saw and experienced, players we got close to. The speeches, the meals, the memorabilia. Swimming in the pool together. Tossing his newly bought Broncos football around the parking lot of the Fairgrounds. All the Favre jerseys. Outback Steakhouse. The Little League World Series field. Jack plugging his phone into the car audio system so he could play his current favorite song, "Sail," every hour on the hour. The drive. The trip.
At the end we were smiling again. We drove back to the hotel, stopping for food from Wendy's. Went to sleep weary, happy.
And drove back home with stories and memories from a great Father-Son trip.
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
The Moon
Jack had a nice baseball game last night. Three good at-bats with hard-hit balls, a great catch of a sinking fly in right to end the game, nearly a force out at a second on a liner hit to him in center. Good game, got praise from the coaches during and after, good to see. All smiles in the post game huddle.
So we were walking back to the car afterward, it was about 10 p.m. The game had started at 8, it was under the lights. I put a hand on his shoulder, stopped him, said, Nice game tonight, Jack.
And he looked at me and said thanks, and then he looked past me.
"Dad!" Yes, I asked. "Look at the moon!"
We both looked up at it. Full, or very nearly. It was a really nice moon.
Looked another minute. Then started walking again.
So we were walking back to the car afterward, it was about 10 p.m. The game had started at 8, it was under the lights. I put a hand on his shoulder, stopped him, said, Nice game tonight, Jack.
And he looked at me and said thanks, and then he looked past me.
"Dad!" Yes, I asked. "Look at the moon!"
We both looked up at it. Full, or very nearly. It was a really nice moon.
Looked another minute. Then started walking again.
Saturday, July 02, 2016
When baseball isn't fun
Jack loves baseball, except when he doesn't. That's when he's struggling, which he is right now.
It doesn't take much. A slight change in stance, or swing. Hands too high, bat too low, balance slightly off. And then hits become strikeouts. Line drives go foul. Little things. And then he's struggling, beating himself up about it, falling in the lineup, and pressing even more.
Last night he had a rough night at the plate, and was pretty much despondent in the (winning) huddle. The ball hasn't been finding him in the field, either, so he doesn't feel like he's contributing at all. Quite a change from just a few weeks ago, when he was hitting as well as or better than anyone on the team and catching everything hit into his area code. That's how quickly things can turn.
He got a ride home with Emily after the game, while Kate and I got home a minute or two earlier. They were still in the car after a few minutes, so I went out to find him in tears. They were out a little while longer, then he finally got out, hat jammed down low over his face to obscure how upset he was.
Emily gave me tidbits a little later. "I've been struggling for three years...baseball is my life and I'm not any good at it!" Stuff that breaks your heart.
We went in the back yard and hit pitches into a screen. I'm not sure how much good it did because he was so upset, but I guess he burned off some frustration. Today we'll go out there and practice again, and then he'll play a double header. Get 5-6 more at-bats, hopefully get 2-3 hits, and suddenly the sun will shine a little brighter.
Watching him be so upset and frustrated, lying awake myself feeling bad for him, I wonder if it's worth it. A great talented kid miserable because he's not hitting a baseball as well as he was a month ago. If he gets some hits today, he'll feel great. But he's the same kid either way. He loves baseball, but being a player is just one of the many things he is.
I don't know the answer. He loves it, it's what he wants to do, so we'll keep doing it until he can't anymore. As Emily says, 3 or 5 or 10 years from now, he won't remember the bad stuff. He'll remember the tournaments, running around hotel pools with all his friends, the hits, the wins, and the fun. Not the tears.
We'll remember all of it. I sit here debating it in my mind, and decide that I know it will be worth it. The bad moments, heart-rending as they are, disappear quickly when the great moments come. Those are awesome, as good as I can remember anything being. Seeing him happy, celebrating with his friends, yelling happily from second base, holding up a game ball. As good as it gets. Worth the tough moments along the way. Even if at certain times I'm not so sure.
It doesn't take much. A slight change in stance, or swing. Hands too high, bat too low, balance slightly off. And then hits become strikeouts. Line drives go foul. Little things. And then he's struggling, beating himself up about it, falling in the lineup, and pressing even more.
Last night he had a rough night at the plate, and was pretty much despondent in the (winning) huddle. The ball hasn't been finding him in the field, either, so he doesn't feel like he's contributing at all. Quite a change from just a few weeks ago, when he was hitting as well as or better than anyone on the team and catching everything hit into his area code. That's how quickly things can turn.
He got a ride home with Emily after the game, while Kate and I got home a minute or two earlier. They were still in the car after a few minutes, so I went out to find him in tears. They were out a little while longer, then he finally got out, hat jammed down low over his face to obscure how upset he was.
Emily gave me tidbits a little later. "I've been struggling for three years...baseball is my life and I'm not any good at it!" Stuff that breaks your heart.
We went in the back yard and hit pitches into a screen. I'm not sure how much good it did because he was so upset, but I guess he burned off some frustration. Today we'll go out there and practice again, and then he'll play a double header. Get 5-6 more at-bats, hopefully get 2-3 hits, and suddenly the sun will shine a little brighter.
Watching him be so upset and frustrated, lying awake myself feeling bad for him, I wonder if it's worth it. A great talented kid miserable because he's not hitting a baseball as well as he was a month ago. If he gets some hits today, he'll feel great. But he's the same kid either way. He loves baseball, but being a player is just one of the many things he is.
I don't know the answer. He loves it, it's what he wants to do, so we'll keep doing it until he can't anymore. As Emily says, 3 or 5 or 10 years from now, he won't remember the bad stuff. He'll remember the tournaments, running around hotel pools with all his friends, the hits, the wins, and the fun. Not the tears.
We'll remember all of it. I sit here debating it in my mind, and decide that I know it will be worth it. The bad moments, heart-rending as they are, disappear quickly when the great moments come. Those are awesome, as good as I can remember anything being. Seeing him happy, celebrating with his friends, yelling happily from second base, holding up a game ball. As good as it gets. Worth the tough moments along the way. Even if at certain times I'm not so sure.
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