Thursday, March 14, 2013

It's Ok. {A Link Up}

It’s ok.

It’s ok that even though we bought him a brand new bed, and brand new blankets, and a brand new pillow, and put a TV in his room…Brodie still wants to sleep next to us in the floor.
It’s ok.
Because one day, he won’t need us so much anymore. Because sleeping on the floor doesn’t actually hurt anything. Because as long as he sleeps, it doesn’t really matter where, anyway.

It’s ok.
It’s ok that I wasn’t excited when the stick had two lines. That I was disappointed. And scared. And pissed off. And angry. That I spent the first three months of my pregnancy in tears.
It’s ok.
Because I’m excited now. Because I can’t wait to be her mother. Because sometimes, the best things in life are the ones that you don’t plan on.

It’s ok.
It’s ok that sex is the last thing in the world I want to do right now. That I feel uncomfortable and unsexy and unable to make myself feel any different.
It’s ok.
Because it doesn’t mean I love my husband any less. Because it won’t last forever. Because it’s nothing personal. Because it’s just pregnancy hormones. Because one day, my body will be mine again and my husband will get to reap the benefits, too. Because he loves me anyway and he’s not going anywhere.

It’s ok.
It’s ok that the laundry never gets put away. Even though it’s clean. Even though I’m home. Even though I swear every day I’m going to do it. Even though I’m out of excuses.
It’s ok.
Because at least it’s clean. Because everyone knows where to find their clean socks and underwear. Because at least it’s all contained to the laundry room. Because in 18 years, it isn’t really going to matter.

It’s ok.
It’s ok that Logan still has training wheels. Even though everyone says he shouldn’t. Even though his friends don’t. Even though he’s six.
It’s ok.
Because he’s only six, not sixteen. Because everyone seems to care but him. Because when he’s ready, he’ll take them off. Because he rides his bike anyway, really fast, and doesn’t seem to notice the difference. Because he could care less about peer pressure and one day, we’re going to be really grateful for that.

It’s ok.
It’s ok that I’m not well put together. That I lose my cool over pee and poop and puke. That I get my feelings hurt. That I don’t have all the answers. That I put myself first sometimes. That some days, I just don’t want to.
It’s ok.
Because being well put together is only a facade. Because pee and poop and puke are disgusting. Because I’m only human, even though I’m a mother and a woman, too. Because if I had all the answers, there would be no wonder left in the world. Because I have to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else. Because no one says I have to want to all the time. Because my kids and my husband love me anyway. Because I love me anyway.

It’s ok.
It’s all ok.

Happy Thursday, Friends.
go. do. be.

Linking up over HERE today. Check it out. 
Its Ok Thursdays

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Opening Day and a Mom Lesson Learned

Yesterday was the opening day of little league here in Fresno. Logan is on a tee ball team, The Phillies, and opening day was a HUGE success.

We tried tee ball once before. He was four. His dad and grandma were his coaches.

It wasn’t such a successful season.

Now, don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking success in terms of runs and bats and such. I mean, c’mon, he was four. They don’t even keep score in tee ball.  Most of the kids on his team had to be reminded where first base was every time they were up to bat. It was a team of 4-5 year olds playing against other 4-5 year olds who were just as lost, just as adorable in their too big jerseys and pants.

Success isn’t measured in numbers or stats.

I’m talking success in terms of attitude and enjoyment. He was miserable. He wasn’t into it. He spent more time whining about having to run than he did running, more time grumbling about putting his mitt on than he did catching. Dad and Grandma being the coaches meant that he was always being picked on.

And with good reason.

He didn’t want to try. He wanted to get a snack, drink his Capri Sun, pick some grass and go home. He cried when he had to go to practice. He cried when he had a game. He cried when it was his turn in the outfield. It was more of a chore than it was anything else.

For him. For me. For Dad and Grandma.

So, we took a year off.

I decided that there was no way I was going to pay another 80 bucks to spend four months fighting him to go to practice, fighting him to follow directions, fighting him to have a good attitude. I wasn’t forking over money for Nike cleats and new pants and a new bat and pictures just to listen to him whine and complain. I wasn’t going to spend 3-4 days a week arranging our families schedule around an extra curricular activity that no one was enjoying, least of all the four-year-old who was supposed to be enjoying it the most.

It was the right decision.

Looking back, I know the whole reason he signed up for tee ball was because I wanted him to. He was four. He had no idea what the heck it was all about. I said, “You’re playing tee ball” and he said, “Okay.” Looking back, I know he wasn’t old enough. Looking back, I know I rushed it because I was anxious to start him in a sport, to start feeling like I had him ‘involved’ in something.

Another mom lesson learned. I was never so happy to see a season end.

When fliers for tee ball came out this year, Logan brought one home and asked if he could play. He was really excited about the idea. Jeremy and I sat him down and had a real conversation about it. We explained to him that he could play if he wanted to.

If. He. Wanted. To.

A six year old might not understand exactly how much money 100 plus dollars is but he is old enough to hear money is something Dad and I work hard for. He is old enough to understand that we weren’t willing to spend it to hear whining and complaining for four months.

There was no talk about him being an all-star. There was no talk about him being the best player on the team. There was, however, a lot of talk about attitude, about dedication, about appreciation, about follow through.

About fun.

Playing a sport when you’re six is supposed to be fun.

When we were all three on the same page and Logan assured us that he understood, I filled out the form. I wrote the check. I bought the cleats and the pants. I crossed my fingers and hoped and prayed that this year would be better.

Yesterday morning, my little Phillie was so excited.

The boys got to play at our minor league stadium, out on the field, just like the big boys. He looked proud in his uniform. He was thrilled to see his coach and his teammates. He was walking out on the field chanting, “Let’s go Phillies, let’s go.” and yelling, “Let’s DO THIS THING!” 

Jeremy isn’t coaching this year so he and I got to sit in the stands and cheer him on. We were so thrilled about his excitement. Our hearts were warm and our minds were eased before the first pitch was even thrown.

He’s still on a team with kids too young to remember where first base is all the time. They still don’t keep score. Everyone bats, everyone runs home, everyone is adorable in their too big jerseys and pants. Fielding is still kind of a foreign concept. One little boy kept skipping third base and running from second straight to home. It was a riot.

But my kid…

My kid got up to bat, no tee needed, beautiful stance, and hit the second pitch thrown at him right down center field. He ran straight to first, no direction needed, and turned around and gave Jeremy and I a thumbs up and a huge smile. He played second base on defense and cheered everyone on, even the kids from the other team. There was music playing through the loud speakers and at one point Jeremy and I thought he had to pee. Turns out, he was just dancing to Madonna and Justin Timberlake’s “Five minutes to save the world” in between pitches.

During the second inning, the older divisions ended their games for a presentation of some sort and an 11 year old girl started to sing the National Anthem. We were right in the middle of a game and everyone was trying to decide whether to stop or keep playing.

Logan, playing second base at the time, handled the situation like this…

It was the best baseball game I’ve ever seen.

Mom lessons come in all forms and I’m sure this won’t be the last one I learn when it comes to organized sports. I’m happy with the way it turned out, though, and I’m looking so forward to this season. I think sports are important and I love being my kid’s biggest fan.

Jeremy and I noted last night that it feels like Logan has grown up so much in the last few weeks and while we’re both happy and sad about that, I can’t imagine a better way to spend the next four months than arranging our families’ schedule around a kid who’s having fun doing something he has grown to love. 

Let’s go Phillies, Let’s go!

Happy Sunday, Friends.

go. do. be.