Double Digits

Madison has been talking about turning double digits for awhile now.  There is something about being ten that feels very grown up to her. The day I became a mother, ten years ago, was one of the most frightening days of my life.  There was the whole first time being in labor thing, followed by a surgery that we did not think I would survive.  Horrific. Surgical. Experience. I should know, now that I have had three of them.  Even so, we all know about the blessed outcome. I forgot the scary parts of that day so quickly, I was willing to do it again a short two years later.  I think some of the best things in life come with the most struggle and fear.  That is how we know what matters.  I remember the gut-clenching terror the moment I realized my dad had let go of the back of my shiny, new bike, which was instantly replaced by exhiliration as my hair was flying behind me in the breeze, and my house and yard flew past me in a blur. I remember that feeling way more than the times I lost control of my bike.  That is what it felt like when Madison was born.  Terror followed by the sweetest slice of joy and contentment that I had ever known. 

I am so proud of the person Madison is becoming.  If I were the kind of mom that brags, I would say that I am proud of all of her advanced scores on her testing.  I would tell you about all of the times she catches me off guard with the random facts that she remembers.  I would probably talk about how beautifully she plays the piano, and how much I admire her bravery as she performs for a gym full of family, friends, and strangers.  I would probably mention how she reads at a high school level, but still takes time to read Dr. Seuss to her sister.  I would admit that sometimes she sets an example for me with her devotion to Jesus although I know it should be the other way around. I would also talk about how much I enjoy her enthusiasm for sports, and how bewildered I am at the ribbons on her artwork when I can't draw a stick man.  But since I am not that mom, I will tell you that I have been thankful for my Madison Rose every single day for the last decade.  I love her big heart, determination, and her beautiful blue eyes.  She is a wondrous mixture of barbies and iPods. Softball cleats and sparkly dress shoes.  Camoflauge and fingernail polish. Dirt on her face and flowers in her hair.  She loves reading, basketball and softball, church, family and friends, baking, playing the piano, and being a big sister (most of the time).

We made a day of her birthday celebration this year.  She was baptized in our little church that day, and she played the invitational hymn, I Have Decided to Follow Jesus, on the piano.  It was a proud day for her dad and I, and we were all surrounded by friends and family. Happy Birthday, Madison Rose!  May every decade of your life bring you all the joy, love, and contentment that you have brought to mine!

Brothers & Sisters

When I was younger, I wanted to have four kids.  While I was ordering them up like pizza, I wanted to have two boys and two girls.  I grew up with a brother and a sister, and I always felt like my brother kind of missed out...having only sisters and all.  A sister can hunt, play sports, climb trees, and ride bikes, but there are also times when she wants to curl her hair, paint her nails, and talk on the phone. I thought maybe if he had a brother, he could have spent a little more time with someone who appreciated that he took things apart to see how they worked, even if he did not always get them put back together in a way that was functional.  Maybe there would have been someone to roll their eyes a little less often at him, or laugh at every joke about gas...because we all know those never get old.  My brother and his brother probably could have wrestled on a daily basis without anyone getting their feelings hurt. I think some of the same things about Jaron.  But my only brother and my only son share the fate of growing up outnumbered in their family.  It was not meant to be for Blaine or for Jaron, and they got sisters.   

Sisters can get a little extra emotional sometimes.  Oftentimes, in my case, a sister will not come back down out of the climbed tree until her brother comes to help her.  We tend to harass our brothers about the things that we think he needs to do. Maybe it use to be staying out of our rooms, or refraining from mooning a bus full of our peers, and now it has become going to that checkup at the doctor.  Sometimes sisters don't let a guy get a word in edgewise...I am not going to lie about it.  Good, bad, or indifferent.  We have lots of things to say. Boys may not say all the mushy things, but I don't think that matters as much as being there when we need them.  My brother gave me many rides to school, practices, games, open gyms, and social events (as long as I was not dressed inappropriately). He played a lot of basketball with me. I'm pretty sure I schooled him a few times.  There have been times when he tried to get me in trouble with our parents. And vice versa.  But there have also been times when he needed somebody, and he called me.  And vice versa. It always helps a girl's confidence to know she has guys in her corner.  Not that we need to be taken care of or anything, but you know, just in case.  So while my brother may not be the mushy type, he tolerates me hugging on him and taking his picture on a pretty regular basis with minimal complaints. Everyone knows he always picks out the coolest John Deere gifts for any occasion.  I am still a little sorry he missed out on having a brother, because I can tell you, it's pretty great.  Happy Birthday to my favorite brother!     

Quotes from the Backseat

I probably don't always get involved in the kids squabbles as quickly as I should.  Recently, I sort of overheard Jaron trying to convince Megan to leave something of his alone, but it really did not register until I heard a smack.  I am pretty sure it was his hand smacking hers.  Megan yelled, "Jaron!!  Why do you hurt myself??!!"

Beyond Basketball

Coach Roberts always said that hindsight is 20/20.  He was speaking of missed opportunities on the basketball court.  Careless ball handling or missed free throws. He must have been right, because looking back on it now, I see many things differently.  He was not easy on us.  Practices were filled with drills and running...lots of sweat, and occasionally sickness.  We did five push ups any time we missed a layup, or shot one incorrectly.  I remember one season that we ran a down and back for every turnover we had in a game.  Probably following the game in which we had 33 turnovers.  He knew how to make a point.  We never had that many turnovers again.  He demanded a lot from us, but it was because he believed we were capable of a lot.  I want to make sure you understand that basketball was more than drills and skills for me.  Back then, I had a page from a magazine on the wall in my room that said, "To play the game is great. To win the game is greater.  To love the game is the greatest."  I loved basketball because it was great, and winning really was greater, but growing up surrounded by my closest friends was the greatest.  I got to grow up playing an awesome game with all my favorite people, supported by all the people in my life that ever mattered.  What could I do but love it?

I think I kind of took Coach and Brenda for granted. I look back now and I see them as a young married couple with small children.  Now I can appreciate how much of their time as a family was shared with us.  I think about how many diaper bags Brenda hauled to our games, and how, instead of resenting her husband's long hours at work, she embraced our team and came along with us. With a baby and a toddler.  In hindsight, I think they had to be exhausted, but I never heard them complain about it.  They did not have to make everything so fun.  Coach was not required to speak with us about avoiding alcohol or avoiding compromising situations with our boyfriends. After some girl drama when we were in junior high, he did not have to shut us in his office with the instructions "I don't care what you say to each other, but don't come out until you work it out and put it behind you!" There were too many extras to name that demonstrated how much they cared about us as people, not just athletes on their team.  In hindsight, those extra hours, lectures, efforts, and tears...those are the things that really mattered.  Those are the extra things that distinguish the great coaches from the good ones.  The great people from the good ones.

These are the things I want my children to take away from sports.  I hope they learn how to play basketball the right way.  I want them to learn things like how to put aside differences and work together with their teammates.  I want them to learn how to set goals, and work really hard to achieve them.  To commit to something, or someone.  I want them to have the confidence to step up when they are needed, and the selflessness to step aside when it is best.  I want them to be people who show up when and where they are supposed to.  People who look out for and help one another.  I look at Madison and her classmates like this:

And in my hindsight I see this:

My hope is that Madison and her friends can share some of the same experiences that we did.  In sports, in school, and in life.  It really goes beyond basketball.

About March Madness

March Madness always makes me think about my team a little bit.  I think of team basketball camps on college campuses, where we could always talk Coach and Brenda into a late night run to TCBY. I remember quick feet, finding a ball and a wall, and a trash can at center court.  I think of team dinners and Hoosiers, and I long for a ball in my hands.  When we first stepped onto the Hearnes Center floor, the bleachers were empty.  Back then, they always cleared out the crowd after the morning session, and made everyone come back in if they wanted to watch the afternoon.  We were sitting on the floor stretching when they opened the gates back up.  I will never forget watching the flood of what my grandma always called "Atlanta Blue" pouring into row after row after row.  It looked like a stampede.  I hoped nobody got in their way.  As I looked more closely, I realized I knew each one of them.  We all gawked at the steady stream of fans with our mouths hanging open, and I remember thinking, "This is why my kids will grow up in a small town."

Well, now I am entering into the second basketball season of my life.  I am the one buying the shoes, the bag, the knee pads, and driving all over this country to deliver my children to practice and games.  I find myself struggling to parent these little athletes in some ways. My love for basketball runs pretty deep.  I cried over a particularly painful loss my junior year.  For three days.  I want my kids to learn the valuable lessons that can only be learned from team sports, and I really want them to love to play. But I don't want them to consider each loss a tragedy.  I had planned on helping them do a better job of balancing life than I did. I want them to remember to spend time with family, church, and other things like piano, hunting, and fishing.
 
When I started practicing with my kids, however, it somehow awakened the athlete in me. I cannot seem to stop myself from making sure they are shooting a layup correctly, or showing them a dozen different dribbling drills.  I cannot prevent myself from breaking out my gold basketball charm and sliding it onto my favorite necklace on game days...a tradition I started almost twenty years ago.  I also cannot keep my advice to myself on the way to and from games...and occasionally at halftime.  When Madison came home with her first Hornet jerseys, sporting my number, I might have cried a little bit. Like I said, my love for basketball runs pretty deep.  Almost as deep as my love for those who supported me, and those who I shared those times with.  Oh, and I LOVE March Madness!

Megan's Birthday Post

My baby turned three years old over the weekend.  I guess I should probably stop calling her my baby soon.  Mostly, Megan takes care of her own babies these days. She enjoys nothing more than Dora the Explorer and caring for her babies.  She has this little purse that she calls her baby bag that she likes to carry around with her.  At all times, it is stocked with bottles of juice and milk, a baby spoon and bowl, and a plastic slice of pizza.   She feeds her baby any time, day or night, whether she is hungry or not.  She could be an amazing mother. 

I had a hard time deciding what to record about her on her third birthday.  She is so everywhere, all the time...how could I go about pinning down the most adorable personality traits to share? I want to remember everything, because every single day she makes me laugh out loud, and she makes me feel like the most important person in the world.   

When Megan gets hungry, she asks me what I am fixing for breakfast.  Breakfast is any meal, any time of day.  Sandwich is a word she struggles to say in the most adorable way...to such an extent that her dad and I try bring her into any conversation involving sandwiches so we can hear her say, "swamich."  I frequently find her searching for an animal in trouble, and she sings and speaks more Spanish than I knew in high school. I have started to notice that when she sings, it always seems to be on key, and when she plays the piano, it is always very proper, and one note at a time.  She is our biggest fan.  By that, I mean that she applauds us. She applauds whether I am using the bathroom(Yay, Mommy!  I clap for you!) or fixing her plate, or putting her drink in her favorite cup.  She claps when Madison plays a basketball game or the piano, when Kevin gets a bale of hay for the cattle, or when Jaron catches a baseball.  Several times a day, when thinking of Madison and Jaron, she asks for her sissy and her buddy, and nothing lights her up more than the big bus at our driveway, magically delivering them safely home from school. 

When I carry Megan in her sleepy moments, she fits perfectly against my shoulder, with her little arms wrapped snugly around my neck and her feet around my waist.  I like to think she enjoys this arrangement as much as I do, because when she starts getting drowsy, she asks if she can lay on my "shouder." I always say yes.  She uses "can't" instead of "don't" in many situations.  "I can't like broccoli.  I can't want to go night-night!" She is afraid of teenage boys.  She bosses little boys around, and she thinks grown-up boys are okay, but she seldom speaks to a teenage boy.  She gets sober and skeptical when they are around.  I have accused my nephews of taking candy from her when she was little, but I have gotten no confessions out of them.  I think she could avoid teenage boys for several more years and her dad and I would not mind at all! Happy Birthday, Megan Joleen!  You bring us much love, light, laughter, and joy, and our lives have been richly blessed by having you in our little family.

Quotes From the Backseat

This is the first year for Jaron to play on a basketball team at the YMCA.  He loved it.  He tried his best and he was ALL IN.  I love it when my kids care enough to be all in.  It is one of my favorite things. He was having a hard time understanding why the official kept blowing the whistle at him when he stole the ball from the other team. The YMCA does not allow stealing in this age group.

I tell him, "Don't worry, Jaron, next year they will let you steal the ball if you want to. They let you do that in the next age group. Then you can take off dribbling or pass it to your teammate or whatever you want to do."

He gives me his game face and asks, "Just like Mizzou?"

I answer, with the most serious expression I can muster when my son is being completely adorable, "Yes, Jaron. Just like Mizzou."