Stop Complaining, Privileged People

My morning coffee spot, where I wonder about the world and am thankful for all I have, while wondering how long I'll be lucky enough to have it.

Ever since the quarantine began, I have been thankful.

Of course I'm scared, worried, annoyed, inconvenienced, and generally freaked out like most people I know. But I have been comparing our situation to those of other people who have faced difficult times. Refugees whose world has been uprooted and have nowhere to call home. People in war-torn countries who have to worry about bombs or gunfire.

Last night I thought about Anne Frank, "quarantined" with her family. Stuck inside. Knowing that the outside world was dangerous, even deadly. Not being able to plan the future. Wondering if they would ever get back to "normal." Trying to continue living while everything is different.

I never thought I'd be in a situation where people who have endured tragedy could come into clearer focus. Of course my situation is completely different, but I find myself a tiny bit more able to understand how she might have felt.

And from day one of this pandemic, I have told people over and over how good we have it. Of course there are people who are losing their homes, have lost their jobs, have lost family members. Of course some people ARE facing tragedy.

But most are like me. Definitely impacted. Definitely scared about the future. But scared while sitting in a nice house. Scared while able to write on a computer and talk to other people. Scared while ordering groceries to be delivered. Scared while driving to a workplace that follows safety rules and does their best to keep everyone safe.

Scared while having to watch entitled, egotistical, uneducated people refuse to wear a mask.

I am so sickened that so many people only live in their little bubble-view of the world - have never opened their minds enough to see that the world does not revolve around them. They are annoyed that their kids have to wear masks, annoyed by having to follow rules, annoyed that they are inconvenienced by the pandemic.

It's such an inconvenience for them.

An inconvenience.

No more words.

Can You Tell I'm Smiling?

     We all know that 2020 has been tough so far, at least since March. The pandemic has taken away so much from us. But recently I noticed that something small, but meaningful, is missing. It’s our smiles.

     When I go out, I smile all the time at people, and I like getting smiles in return. It’s my small way of communicating to strangers, from big thank-you smiles to the small corner-of-the-mouth twitches that show recognition of others.

     Now, half our faces are covered in masks, and who knows what the other person is “saying” to us. Are they friendly? Who knows? Annoyed? Who can tell? We all thought the eyes could say so much, but actually they are nothing without the accompanying mouth.

     I usually am a big smiler. Strangers comment on it. I like to be friendly.

     But now, with my face covered, I tend to keep my eyes down. Why look at someone when they can’t see that I’m doing more than just staring?

     I look forward to the return of smiles…

Travel-Sparkles

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to find myself lying on a beach. Because I didn't have a lounge chair, I ended up lying on my side with my hat atop my ear to block the sun.

I never looked at the ocean from this vantage point before. The hat blocked the sky, leaving only a strip of blue stripes. Everything became abstract - a stripe of tan sand, bluish textured stripes of colored water, and a smooth blue stripe of sky.

But what was mesmerizing was the sparkles. I even had to sit up and look at the normal view to confirm what I was seeing. Of course the sun sparkles on the water. It does all the time.

But lying there, looking at my sideways abstract view, the sparkles on the water were incredible - blazing in the scene like diamonds. I found myself amazed that everyone at the ocean didn't just sit and stare at the sparkles.

I wonder what else I would marvel at if I just changed my vantage point now and then?

Las Vegas Skies

Lately I've gotten into a habit of taking photos of Las Vegas skies. And they can be pretty magnificent. Perhaps they intrigue me because so much of the summer here has cloudless skies, and the expanse of blue gets monotonous.

But when there are clouds, that when they call to me. I can't stop looking at them. I hold up my phone while I'm driving and click away, hoping to capture them.

The Vegas skies used to annoy me. Coming from the green Midwest, I was used to trees enveloping me, only allowing the sky to peek through. The desert skies seemed too wide-open, harsh. I missed my green home. When I traveled back there to visit, the green was almost overwhelming.

Brown used to be the color I chose to describe Las Vegas. It's not a lush desert like further south. It's a brown place to live. But after letting go to the skies, I find them taking over my impression of this land.

Now, this is a place of blue.

Googling "Long Hairstyles for Boys"

Before his haircut

It took a long search online to find a photo that would convince my six-year-old son to trim his hair. His last cut was nearly a year ago, and after it he was adamant about letting it grow long. "I want to have to do this!" he said, sweeping his imaginary hair out of his eyes. So it grew and grew, and even though it was often a bit shaggy, I liked it.

My mom taught me to like men with longer hair. She grew up with The Beatles, and her taste in men's hairstyles grew with them. She loved John Lennon (not just for his hair, but it was a plus), and I remember her watching tennis just because Bjorn Borg was playing.

Now when I see men with longer hair, I can't help but feel sentimental toward them. They seem more sensitive, more artsy, more carefree...like they are friends of Mom.

My son did finally trim his hair, but as we walked out of the salon he told me it would be another year before his next cut. And that is fine with me.

Too Headstrong

I suffer from a condition that plagues many women: The Curse of the Confident Woman. It hits us when we are young girls, when we are young and confident, and its effect determines whether or not the girl's confidence will grow or if it will be squelched.

I believe that all children inherently believe in themselves at first. It is the outside world that teaches them otherwise. But the moment when girls begin to lose that belief happens around age 8 or 9. This is the time when they find their voice, when they aren't afraid to speak out about every little thing they are thinking and feeling.

I never realized this until I was at my Grandma's house one day as an adult, and she played a recording on a cassette tape of me when I was that age. I was loudly singing "Love Will Keep Us Together," and in between choruses I talked loudly and confidently about how great girls are and how much we know.

And while I listened to this, I realized I was embarrassed. My family sat around, patiently listening, amused. But I felt embarrassed by the loud, confident, 9ish-year old me.

And that was crazy! Why should I feel embarrassed? I was loud and confident. What I was feeling was the exact thing that probably squelched my enthusiasm and confidence not long after that recording. I'm sure I was taught by society that girls should be more demure and modest.

Although I may have learned not to shout my virtues, I must have retained a bit of my bravado. I learned this when it came to relationships. When I was in high school, a boy never asked me to the prom for any of my four years of high school. In fact, most boys didn't act interested in me at all (partly due to my extreme lack of confidence with boys, but that's another story). When I was a Senior, I lamented this fact to my Senior English teacher, our beloved Mrs. U, and she told me, "Well, it's because you're too bossy."

Hmmm. Too bossy? I remember I didn't like hearing that I was bossy, but at least it gave me a reason.

Then in college there was a boy I liked. He was a music major and looked like Michael J. Fox, and he and I would spent hours in the music lab while he played albums for me that he liked. We had so much fun together. When my friend told him that I was interested in him, his response to her was, "She's too headstrong."

Hmmm. Too headstrong? Bossy I could take, but headstrong? Suddenly, I didn't see him in such a favorable light.

The recent awakening of the women's movement has brought back all these memories. For too long, women's opinions and confidence has been squelched. (Yes, I like using that word.) Finally, with the momentum of the women around me, I can state to the men in my life that I will no longer listen to jokes with women as the punchline. No, I will not watch The Godfather, because the chauvinism in it has always made me sick. I will stand up to the behavior that is finally being acknowledged as unacceptable.

So, call me opinionated. Call me strong. Call me bossy. And headstrong. It's no longer an insult.

Are You Here, or Present?

Me in Kindergarten

Whenever I hear a teacher call the roll, I am always taken back to Kindergarten, when Mrs. Schmucker told us that when she called our names, we could answer, "Here" or if we liked, "Present." But as a five-year-old, I didn't know what present meant. I always pictured a gift wrapped in colored paper with a big bow on top. But that didn't make sense, so instead, saying Present was exotic.

Most kids answered "Here," as did I. But a few brazenly answered "Present." Those kids were pretentious. Why couldn't they just say "Here" like the rest of us regular kids?

Looking back on my attitude about those kids, I realize that I spent way too much of my life only saying "Here" instead of joining the bold kids in their confidence.

Midwesterners are taught not to brag...not to act "too big for your britches." You shouldn't imply that you're better than anyone else.

So, I have always found it difficult to toot my own horn. Job interviews and networking, in which I am supposed to do just that, are hard. It is so hard to ask friends or anyone for connections that could help me advance...it feels cheesy and fake to do that. I sure wish I had learned at an early age how to play the game. I don't want to merely be "Here." I want to be present!

Things to Love About Las Vegas #6: The Magical Forest

Photo by Debi Bradford

The Magical Forest at Opportunity Village has been my annual tradition even before our son came along. I first learned about it years ago when I was in a show at the Stratosphere, when I heard there was a local organization that decorated trees on their grounds for charity. I convinced my boss to pay the entry fee, and then the other dancers and I got crafty. We themed our tree around our show, creating decorations out of Barbies that we dressed in costumes like those we wore in our show and tinsel-filled plastic drink cups from the showroom bar. (They looked better than they sound.)

A few months later, my boss handed me a certificate that read "Best Themed Tree." We had won a prize!

Years later when I first worked at Nevada Ballet Theatre, I remembered that tree and thought maybe we could decorate one for my new workplace. We covered the tree with decorated pointe shoes, old ballet costumes, and Nutcrackers which my husband nicely placed on our tree from high atop a genie lift.

In addition to decorating trees in the forest, I have attended as a patron every year. I always drag along my husband and a few friends, and we have such fun riding the train, drinking hot chocolate, and marveling at the simple event that gets bigger and better every year. This year, my son's favorite things were riding the carousel and talking to Santa.

And let me talk about Santa for a moment. We went straight to him when they opened at 5:30. There was no line. Santa talked to my son and his friends for probably a full five minutes, about school, gifts, their elves on a shelf, and more. This was truly Santa.

The Magical Forest is open through New Year's, I believe. Be sure to check out this family event and get some holiday spirit while helping out a worthwhile local organization.

And don't forget to go talk to Santa.

On the train in 2012

2014

My Piercing Story

My family, trying to get one of those cool jumping shots.

I am 46 years old, and I just got my nose pierced. You may say it's part of a mid-life crisis, but there is much more to it than that...

When I turned 40 I really wanted to make my birthday a big deal, but it wasn't. I wanted to feel different somehow, wanted to make a statement. That was the first time I considered getting my nose pierced. I pictured a tiny stud that was barely visible...tasteful. I mentioned the idea to friends and they squelched my fun, obviously thinking I was crazy. So I had fun in my head, having fun simply by imagining actually doing it. ...Saying I never would, but it was fun to think about.

Then this summer my family got together at the beach for my Dad's 70th birthday. We all crammed together in a rented beach house and spent the week getting to know each other better. It was incredible.

On the second night of the trip, we gathered with drinks on the balcony in our nightly ritual of talk and laughter. That's when someone mentioned getting a tattoo.

And I said, "We should all get wave tattoos to commemorate this trip!"

This led us to all begin dreaming up where we could get tattoos and what our waves would look like.

Then my dad leaned in and said, "I'll pay for it."

And suddenly it was real. The conversation got serious. 

But tattoos weren't really my thing. I told everyone, "What I always thought would be cool is to get my nose pierced."

My half-sister Jessica suddenly said, "Me too!" We began talking about the fun of the idea and also about our reservations...our ages, what people at work would think.

Then dad leaned in and added, "I'll pay for it."

And the planning actually began for real.

Every night we discussed the pros and cons. Who would get tattoos and who would get piercings. Who would do both. Would it hurt? We searched on our phones for ideas and motivation. 

Then on the last full day of our trip, nine of us headed for the tattoo parlor in town. I got a little wave behind my ear and a simple stud on the left side of my nose. Everyone got a wave tattoo or a piercing, or both. Even Dad got a wave on his arm. I'm sure the employees of the place got a kick out of us.

Jessica and I kept looking at each other, marveling at the fact that we actually did it.

Back in Las Vegas, most reactions I got were positive. Some were reserved. Most people didn't comment at all, or didn't even notice. And that's okay.

What surprised me was the way my piercing made me feel. First of all, it was a memory of that awesome trip with my family...a souvenir of our bonding. 

But more than that, it made me feel empowered. For several years now, I have felt the effects of aging...feeling not so attractive, older, very un-cool. I used to be a singer/dancer...dressed in costumes and makeup. I traveled to far-off places and went on adventures. I did things that average people didn't. But all the people I come into contact with now have no idea of who I used to be...who I am inside. I'm not the normal run-of-the-mill person with average ideas. I dream big! I am not a conformist! I think bigger than our simple day-to-day drudgery!

And that is what I felt my piercing said. It was a statement to anyone who saw me that I am more than I appear. 

Then I developed a bump next to my piercing. The dermatologist did a biopsy several weeks later. Skin cancer.Talk about squelching my fun.

They did a mohs surgery to get rid of it, removing the stud and taking skin all around my piercing. Luckily they got it all in one try. 

When I expressed my concern about the fact that this developed right after my piercing, the surgeon told me that skin cancer can be reactive, so it could have progressed due to the piercing. I had planned to get my nose pierced again after this healed, but he advised me against it. He said not to get my nose pierced again, because the skin cancer could happen again.

So, I am destined not to be cool.

I'm not sure what I will do to recapture the feeling that piercing gave me. I don't want to do anything drastic, but I need something. 

Or, maybe the smarter thing is to try, daily, to do things that empower me. Get out there and make sure I am the person I want to be. Demonstrate it. Be it. Dream it. Do it.



 

Las Vegas

I am sitting at my computer, trying to figure out something to say about Sunday night, but everything I think of is a cliche. So instead, I will share this photo I took of George years ago, with Vegas in the background. 

I Will Wear My Red, White and Blue

The 4th of July is coming, and I have to say that for the first time, I'm not as excited about it as usual. I didn't realize the change until I was in a store recently, and when I saw all the flag-printed clothing, it made me think of Trump instead of the USA. I feel like some people are using their flag flying as a statement of "in-your-face-I-love-Trump-F-U" instead of it being a representation of our country and its people and its great history.

I guess I'm seeing the flag as what I feel it means to the rest of the world. Looking at us from their eyes, I'm embarrassed.

But on the 4th, I will wear my red, white, and blue, avoid the news, and try to focus on what those colors mean to me. And I will try to teach that pride to my son as well. Wish me luck.

It's a Dry Heat, blah blah blah

Of course I must write about the heat. This week we've had highs up to 117 degrees. So that issue is permeating everything about our life right now. Someone once said that Las Vegas' heat is like opening the oven door when you're baking cookies, but there are no cookies, and you're stuck in the oven. So true.

Yes, it's dry heat. Whatever. For some reason that overused phrase annoys me. Yes, it's dry, but that only means that sweat evaporates quickly. It's still freaking hot. We stay indoors and crank up the air conditioner. Businesses over-cool their interiors, and everyone spends the summer carrying around bottled water and a sweater and applying extra layers of lotion and sunscreen.

I think the worst part of the heat is that it stays so hot at night, so there is never any actual relief. Take a look above at the temp from 10pm one night. Crazy hot. I like to be outside...I miss being outside...but we're all stuck inside during this.

People like to live here to avoid snowy cold winters. But what is really the difference when you have to avoid the outdoors either way? We run from one temperature-controlled space to the next, avoiding the outside temp in both situations.

I would like to take my son to the pool this weekend, but it's just too hot outside. What a crazy thing to say.

Book Memories

One of the most important lessons my mom passed on to me was how to make the small things special. Cuddling up together on the couch in a cozy blanket? Oooh, fun! Filling the bird feeder outside and waiting for the birds to come? Suspenseful! Trying a new cookie recipe? Exciting!

I am so lucky that the little things in life were appreciated.

Mom also taught me the love of books, and new books were a very special thing. One of my favorite book memories is when she introduced me to the Little House on the Prairie book series. Each time I finished one, we would make a special trip to the bookstore in Bloomington to buy the next book. Such anticipation!

Another favorite memory occurred on New Year's Day, 1984. Mom brought out her old paperback copy of George Orwell's 1984, and she began reading it out loud. It was a book that I wouldn't have read on my own, but together we were transported to a future, strange world that led us to talk about our current society and Orwell's look at our point in time.

Mom also read to me from a book of James Whitcomb Riley poetry. My favorite was "Little Orphan Annie," in which each stanza ended with, "And the gobblins'll get you if you don't watch out!" I learned that poetry could be scary and fun!

I think tonight I will dig out that old copy of Riley poems. I know my son will like them, too.

The Quest for Decency

My son colored my sign for me.

For the march last Saturday, I had trouble figuring out what to put on my sign. I didn’t want to put a funny quote or something angry; I wanted it to reflect my concerns in a serious manner. For a while I decided that there was just too much to write, and I would just paint a big heart on my sign. But then I realized I could sum up my concerns in just a list of words:

Art

Education

Environment

Equality

Healthcare

Decency

These are the things that I feel are threatened by the current administration.

I considered writing “Respect,” but that word, while a good one, can instill judgement and obligation. I prefer “Decency.”

Decency is a concept that cannot be argued. Respect, on the other hand, can be demanded, and people think it has to be earned. But how can anyone disagree with the value of decency? Isn’t it a core value? It is something that we need to use as a tool in our communication, in all our relationships, and in our politics. If our politicians treated each other with decency, they could hear each other and get more done. If our politicians spoke to us with decency, we might not be so afraid. If people treated each other with decency, the world would be a gentler, kinder place. Common decency could heal.

I worry about the loss of all the concepts in my list, but I think the “decency” one is almost the most important. How can we solve any of our problems if decency is missing?

Good Sportsmanship

Us in 5th or 6th grade...we were headed for basketball greatness!

One of the things I learned during my childhood in rural Southern Indiana was the value of being a good sport. This meant that you showed others with respect even if they won and you lost, even if they believed differently, and especially if you were the winner.

An example of this happened when I was in high school and our basketball team had its best season in the history of the school. At one game, while the opposing team's members were announced and each ran onto the court, for some reason that day some of our students in the stands decided to turn and put their backs to the opposition. I remember being appalled by this...it was so rude, so unwelcoming...so against what we had been taught in how to play fair and treat others with respect.

And our principal agreed. The next morning on the school announcements, Mr. Babcock spoke to us all in a stern voice. This was not the behavior he expected of his students. Never again did I see anyone attempt something like this at our school.

This morning as I drove to work, I listened to a bit of the inauguration. It was the portion when people were arriving, and the commentators were giving reports of the atmosphere.

Imagine my reaction when I heard them say that when Hillary Clinton appeared on the jumbo-tron, some of the crowd booed. And there were even chants of "Lock her up." Immediately I was sickened. Even in the game of politics, this is not how someone should be treated after they lose.

I have so much respect for the fact that Hillary is at this morning's inauguration. She is putting aside their differences and showing her respect for our country and our democratic process. That is true class.

The people in the crowd need to learn that there is a time for protest and a time for decency. I am so worried about the lack of decency that seems to be gaining momentum.

So for now, I'm going to try to teach my son to be a good sport. Treat others with respect whether you win or lose. It's a lesson so many still need to learn.

Carrie and Debbie

Me (in white) with Debbie and fellow cast members

I was six years old when I saw the movie Star Wars, and I ended up seeing it seven times. Back then, before DVDs, internet, or VHS tapes, seeing a movie seven times in a theater was a big deal. I loved the movie. It was the first time I was wrapped up in a love story...and a story with adult good and evil. It was also the first time I understood that the characters on the screen were played by actors, and I learned the actors' names and felt connected to them. Mark Hamill, so cute. Harrison Ford, so rugged. And Carrie Fisher, so beautiful and strong.

I was also a huge old Hollywood musical fan, so it was fun to learn that Carrie Fisher was the daughter of Debbie Reynolds, the main character in my favorite musical, Singin' in the Rain. 

Little did I know that I would actually meet Debbie Reynolds someday. Life is interesting.

Debbie is actually the person responsible for giving me my dream job back in the 1990's. I auditioned for her show, That's Entertainment, Live!, at her hotel in Vegas and was called back for a second audition. That night, I frantically learned Judy Garland's song "Get Happy," complete with choreography. At the callback, I forgot the words, but Debbie graciously sang along with me so I would remember. 

And then I was cast in the show.  I had grown up watching old movie musicals and suddenly there I was, working for a Hollywood Legend, impersonating people from Hollywood musicals, dancing the actual choreography from shows like Singin' in the Rain, wearing some of the original costumes, and my best friend was a Fred Astaire impersonator. How more perfect could it have been? 

Even though her hotel wasn't doing well, she kept our show going as long as possible. One of my favorite moments was performing in her New Year's Eve show and being on stage with her for the countdown and "Auld Lang Syne."

There are so many stories I could tell. But I will leave it at this. I am truly honored to have known her. She was a truly talented, genuine, and kind woman who cared about people and about old Hollywood. I send my love to Todd and her family.

Things to Love About Las Vegas #5...Vegas as a Melting Pot

For over twenty years at least once a year I have flown back to my hometown in Indiana for a visit, to enjoy the trees and rain and all the things I miss, living here in the desert. And after my son came along, it really bothered me that he would miss all the things I loved about growing up there.

But I discovered when he got a bit older, my priorities changed. I'll never forget one time upon my return to Vegas, when I realized I had a completely different feeling...I was actually glad to be back here, for the first time. And the reason was because of the people.

Don't get me wrong...I love the people back home. They are friendly and helpful and have the sense of community and family that I will always miss and cherish.

But "back there," there are no African Americans, no Muslims, no colors of any kind except maybe a few Hispanics and Asians.

I remember looking out the window of my plane on that fateful return to Vegas, out over the city where I have met people from all corners of the world, where my neighbors are all colors full of other thoughts and beliefs, and I felt truly thankful. Thankful that my son will get to know other cultures within our own community. Other countries will feel closer. Other cultures will be friends. Other people won't be other...they'll just be people.

Things to love about Las Vegas #5...Vegas is a Melting Pot

To confirm my new feelings about Vegas, after the election I found myself telling people for the first time ever that I was glad to live in Nevada. Glad to live in a Blue State. I felt actual relief. No, Las Vegas isn't perfect, but it is beginning to finally feel like "home." And that is a big sentence for this Midwesterner-at-heart to write.

How to Feel Better

Waiting for the show to begin, while 1200 students from around the city take their seats.

It has been a rough week for many people. The very morning after the election, I witnessed racist bullying in my son's school. Still in shock from the previous evening, I was deeply troubled to see that the election had so quickly shown evidence of empowering and validating the behavior of bullies.

I walked back to my car from dropping off my son at school that day, and with every step I tried to figure out how to move on. How to get past the feeling of despair that I had. How to teach my son about other cultures, other people, and the world, when every day at school he will witness people displaying exactly the opposite of what should be.

Another day passed with me still trying to wrap my head around it all.

Then, Thursday morning I volunteered for my workplace's student matinee of A Choreographer's Showcase. As the Academy Coordinator for Nevada Ballet Theatre, I often am involved in performances.

This production was the annual collaboration between the dancers of Nevada Ballet Theatre and the performers of Cirque du Soleil. Dancers from both companies choreograph and perform individual pieces for the show, and they can range in styles from contemporary, hip-hop, ballet, and more.

This morning performance was a special showing for students as part of our Department of Education and Outreach. Kids from all over Las Vegas are bused in and get to watch the show. After helping seat the 1200 kids, I sat back to watch the show.

And after two days of stress, anxiety, worry, and raw emotion, suddenly there in front of me was the answer. The Arts.

How to feel better? Immerse yourself in art. It opens your mind. The dancers in front of me joined together to put their movements to music...all different races and cultures together for the purpose of Art.

I realized I was feeling a bit better, but what about the rest of the country that was feeling afraid and hopeless? What about our children, who need to be taught? How do we teach kids whose parents' minds are closed? How do we break the cycle of passing on hate to future generations?

And before me, once again, was the bigger answer. Education.

On stage, the next number began, and an African-American man walked on stage holding a foreign-to-me instrument. He strummed it a bit and then gestured for the kids to clap a specific rhythm. They did so, and then he began to sing. To this audience of children, his singing was foreign and strange. But when he gestured for them to sing back to him, they did so. I sat listening to this group of children of all races, backgrounds, and cultures sing with this man, and realized that this is how we will do it. We can open their minds. Open their hearts. Expand their worlds, through the Arts.

How to feel better:

1. Realize that we cannot change the opinions of all people, but we CAN educate children...our future.
2. To reach these children, we must support organizations that open children's minds to cultures other than their own.
3. Support the non-profit arts organizations in your city. They have programs in the schools that can reach all kids.
4. Support children's book authors. Donate books to schools. Volunteer at schools. Find small ways to expose all children to new ideas and experiences.

There are more ways to do this, but for me, thinking about these small steps help me go forward. Thinking about changing policies or fighting in a bigger way is too overwhelming for me right now.

So for me, right now, the answer is The Arts, and Education.

My Big Time Baseball Story

Jay and me

When I was a kid, I loved playing with my older cousin Jay. By "playing," I mean I would follow him around and bug him until he finally gave in and grudgingly played with me. I was younger, and a girl, so I know I wasn't exactly cool enough to qualify most of the time.

But one summer when we visited his house, Jay let me play baseball one afternoon with him and his friends. I couldn't believe it...there was hardly any begging or pleading from me. But there I was, in the outfield, actually playing baseball with them. I stood proudly in the tall, weedy, un-mowed, remote part of the yard, far away from the guys, without a ball glove because I didn't know how to use one anyway.

Eventually, someone hit the ball and it flew way high, coming right for me. This was my chance! It came nearer and nearer, practically in slow motion as my moment of glory approached. And I caught it!

I held it up triumphantly, ready to hear all the praises and cheers from Jay and his friends.

Instead, they yelled at me, because of course I messed up because I didn't throw the ball for a second out.

Ugh.

I thought of that day as I watched the World Series last night. I know a bit more about baseball now than I did that day long ago in the weeds. And I even own a ball glove. When I tried to explain to my son last night why I was jumping up and down in front of the TV, I realized it's time to teach him about baseball. And maybe we need to pay Jay a visit.

Blue-Frosted Cupcakes

 

 

Monday was my son's first day of Kindergarten and also his fifth birthday. A new school. New friends. New everything. And blue-frosted cupcakes for his class. All week I have stayed in a he's-in-a-new-school haze, as I try to learn all the procedures and expectations that the other parents already seem to know.

It's really all I can think about... I need to order more uniform shirts. I still need to install the school's app on my phone. Gotta sign up to volunteer. Kinder Parents breakfast. Early drop-off. Pack a snack. Take a water bottle. Buy more water bottles. Buy more snacks. 

Meanwhile, my house is still in a post-hurricane state from his party last week. Who has time to clean when I have Kindergarten to prepare for? 

But I don't mind this state of semi-stress. When I left him on his first day, I didn't cry. Instead, I was overwhelmingly proud of him. He hadn't shown one moment of fear or hesitation. I stayed with him a bit in the before-school care to get him acclimated, and when it was time for the kids to line up for the start of school, he confidently put on his backpack, gave me a kiss, and told me I could go. He got in line in between kids that were a foot taller, and I walked to my car, amazed by him.

All day long I wondered what he was doing and couldn't wait till it was time to go pick him up. And my list of to-do's changed to a list of did-I's.

Did I remind him to wash his hands?
Did I show him how to fasten his new uniform shorts?
Did I teach him how to make friends?
Did I tell him who to ask for help?
Did I tell him what to do if someone is mean?

Basically, have I prepared him for life? ...For the real life away from his pre-school? ...For real life with bigger kids and homework and grades and expectations? For the real world?

Suddenly, he isn't mine anymore. He is off on his own, with his own experiences and responsibilities. And I will try to help him as much as possible, with snacks, water bottles, clean uniforms, and blue-frosted cupcakes.

I wonder if I should have warned the parents that their kids' poop would be blue that night? :-)