Changes...

Me and my Daddy

On October 23rd, at approximately 8:30am, my life changed.  At 10:49pm, it changed again.

A girl identifies herself differently at different points in her life.  A dancer, an athlete, a brainiac, a gymnast, an actress, an honor student, a girlfriend, a college student, a business woman, a wife, a mother.... the list is infinite.  But from the very moment we come into this world, we are all one thing - a daughter.  To someone, somewhere, present or not, traditional or not, we are daughters.  And in the backs of our minds, we always define ourselves, in part, as Mommy and/or Daddy's Little Girl.  On October 23rd, at approximately 8:30am, while I was in a car on my way to see him... I ceased to be Daddy's Little Girl, because my Daddy left this world for a better one.

It's been a rough couple of years for my family.  In 2013, My Mom's brother, my Uncle George, was diagnosed with throat cancer.  Then, my Dad's sister, my Aunt Kathleen, was diagnosed with leukemia.  And the final blow of the year was my Dad being diagnosed with an inoperable malignant brain tumor.  They all underwent treatment.  Some more aggressive than others.  But they all refused to go silently into that good night.  We all had high hopes that 2014 would be a year to slay the dragon that is Cancer.

Aunt Kathleen fought like the tiger she was.  From the moment she was diagnosed, she made appointments and phone calls and did research.  She went to the best hospital available to her - even though it was an almost 2 hour drive from her house.  But in the end, her body gave out on her, and she left us on June 5th.

My Uncle Georgie stopped his treatment in pretty short order.  It destroyed his quality of life, and the payoff was maybe an extra year.  He decided it wasn't worth it.  We can only assume he was right.  He made it about a year past the end of his treatment before he left us, at complete peace with the end of his life, which came on October 11th.

Both of those losses were hard.  I loved my Aunt and Uncle to the ends of the Earth and back again. I think about them all the time, and know that they are both looking over us.  I know that they are both healthy and whole and happy.  That they are with our amazing loved ones who have gone before them.  That my Grandparents were likely waiting for them with open arms.  That they are with God.  And, although all of that is a comfort, being left on this Earth without them is still hard.   But, really, I had no idea...

I got a phone call on Wednesday morning, October 22nd.  We were at my daughter's riding lesson.  I saw the caller ID, and my heart dropped.  It had been several weeks since I'd directly spoken to my Dad.  I knew what the phone call was.  I briefly thought of ignoring it, but, of course, ignoring something doesn't make it go away.  Oh, how I wish it did!  I would have ignored it forever.  I was told that my Dad was failing.  That if I wanted to say goodbye, I should get my butt to New Jersey.  That I shouldn't wait.  Even until tomorrow.  So, I made phone calls.  I called my stepmother, who said Dad was best in the mornings, and why don't I come around 9am?  I made arrangements... my husband left work early, took Thursday off, I packed, accepted my Aunt's offer to spend the night with her, gassed up, and off I went.  It's a 3 and a half hour drive from my house to my Aunt's.  Longest three hours of my life.

We woke early, my Aunt and I.  It was an hour drive to my Dad's from her house.  I showered and dressed up a little.  I even put on makeup.  I wanted to look nice for my Daddy.  We stopped for breakfast.  Half way to his house, we got the phone call that we were too late.  Or he was too early.  But either way, God had called him home.

The rest of the day is already a little hazy.  I'm not sure how I made the 3.5 hour drive back home that afternoon.  There were tears, certainly, but I didn't really loose it until I was home, the kids were in bed, and I was alone in the dark with my husband.  Then, I sobbed like a little kid.  Like the Daddy's Little Girl I no longer was.  And then I got the text.  It was 11:10pm.

"7 lbs. 8 oz.  Don't have length yet....born at 10:49.  She pushed 4 times and that's it.  She did amazing!!"

One of my best friend's daughter's... she was 8 days overdue with a son.  They decided to induce her that morning.  And Colton arrived an hour before midnight... the moment my life changed again.

Thursday, October 23rd started with one of the most significant men in my life leaving this world... and it ended with a new man coming into it.  It's only right, I suppose.  If God was going to take my Daddy that day, that He give me a reminder of life's miracles.  That, against all my thoughts to the contrary, life goes on.  That happiness is still possible.  That it's ok to smile... and even to laugh.  And that this hole in my heart and in my life won't ever go away... but I will learn to go on in spite if it.  In some ways, because of it.  Because I know that my Dad would want those of us he left behind to find our happiness again.

I love you, Daddy...

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields and,
Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

The Things We Do....

I saw something once, a saying about how we, as parents, feel about our kids.  Something along the lines of, "Our children are our hearts beating outside of our bodies."  I thought that was true when my kids were babies.  I would have protected them with everything I have, and then some.  I'd give my last breath for my babies.  And as they grow, I'm learning the broader meaning of that saying.

To keep our hearts beating, we will do a whole nature of things that go well beyond physical protection.  Sure, we feed them, clothe them, make them brush their teeth and try to keep them basically healthy.  That's kind of a no-brainer.  But what else is there?  Now that I have one that's almost double digits (holy. crap.), I'm really learning the extents to which I will go, the mountains I will climb, to raise the little people I made into the best adults they can be.

As I'm sure you've noticed, my boy child has an affinity for baseball.  Just a little.  I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised - it's in his DNA.  My Dad played ball for the Padres organization in the 60's.  My Popop (on the other side of the family, my Mom's Dad) was pursued by the Yankees in the 30's-ish (the YANKEES!  In the golden era of baseball!!).  Neither of them played past their late teens/early twenties.  My Dad because there wasn't a whole lot of money in baseball in the 60's, unless you were a superstar, and he was already married with a son, and my Grandfather because he came from a "good" family, and you just didn't ignore your "real life" to "play a game".  But the fact is that my son has a baseball rich heritage.  Who knows, maybe he's got the spirit of my Pop in him, urging him along so he can give it another go.

But whether it's because if all that or in spite of it, my son loves this game.  He watches the games, follows the stats - both Minor AND Major League, plays every chance he can get...  He eats, sleeps and breathes this sport.  He's got a passion for it that's rare in 9 year old boys.  So we foster it.  We feed it.  We play with him.  We have fun with him.  We get him lessons.  We send him to camps and clinics.  We try not to think about the expense, and we simply find a way.  A way to help our heart not just keep beating, but grow and thrive.  And that's how I came to be writing this today, from a Starbucks 50 miles from my house.

We signed Connor up for summer camp with the Washington Nationals, his favorite baseball team.  It was quite the expense, and it's not close.  It not only required financial output for the camp itself, but a 50 mile drive - each way, every day, sometimes twice a day for me, for 5 days.  Through morning rush hour in DC traffic.  Which can be (and has been, on a couple of occasions), nightmarish.  But the look on his face when I told him he was going was amazing.  The experience he's had this week was worth. every. damn. penny.  Every minute on the highway.  Every gallon of gas and mile on my beloved car.  Every whine from my 3 year old, who had to make the afternoon drive with me 3 times.  All to keep my heart beating strongly.

And today?  Today is Friday.  The last day of Nats Camp.  Possibly probably definitely the best day ever.  Today, he gets to go to Nationals Park.  He gets to play on the field.  Did you know that when you take a tour of any given ballpark, you're allowed on the warning track (that dirt area between the grass and the wall that circles the field), but you're not even allowed to touch the grass?  And they're not kidding.  They'll escort you right out of the ballpark.  But my kid gets to play out there today.  Like the big boys.  I told him to roll in the outfield grass for me, so I can smell him later.

But that's not even all.  He gets to meet one of the players.  And not some Minor Leaguer who's name no one knows, yet.  He gets to meet a regular.  An active 25-man roster guy.  He gets to meet Nate McLouth, who my son knows and respects.  He gets to talk to him, ask him questions, and get an autograph.

He gets to touch the dream today.  And that's worth all the exhaustion, all the time, all the money in the world.  Because I will do all of that and more... because my heart deserves every bit of it.

Raising an Athlete

Be careful what you wish for... You just might get it.

From the time I realized I wanted kids, I imagined what they would be like.  I know what I wanted, of course.  The same thing we all want: a happy, healthy, well-rounded, smart, good at everything, liked by everyone, successful in life offspring.  Barring all that, which pretty much takes a small miracle, we secretly pick.  Part of my secret wish for my firstborn was that he be a good athlete.  It does, after all, run in the family, so it wasn't like that particular wish wasn't do-able.  I just had no idea how it could come around to bite me in the butt.

We've tried several sports.  Gymnastics, swimming, cross country, baseball...  If he wants to give it a shot, we're willing.  He was good at them all.  He's small, fast and strong.  He runs a mile in 6:22 (freakish, I know.  I don't think I can ride my bike that fast).  But baseball...  he fell in love with baseball.  I didn't start him until he was 6, because I thought he might be bored.  Let's face it, America's pastime isn't necessarily the most exciting or fast paced game in the world.  And since baseball runs in the DNA, I wanted him to like it.  So, we waited.  He had a really cool T-Ball Coach that he loved.  He was one of the first to be able to hit a coach-pitched ball.  Later that fall, he started playing Machine Pitch.  Bigger kids, faster balls, more rules.  He loved it.  He picked less daisies in the outfield.  The next Spring, he played as a 7-year-old, one of the younger kids at the Machine Pitch level.  He learned to catch.  He was really good at it.  He was the only one that didn't shy away from the ball coming at him at 35mph.  We took him to his first Washington Nationals game.  We stayed until the bitter end, by his choice.  He declared Bryce Harper to be his favorite player, and the Nats his favorite team.  He decided he would play for them when he got older.

Last year, we had to make our first difficult athletic decision for him.  Move him up to the next level (Kid Pitch Minors), or keep him in Machine for one more season?  The average age progression for these kids is as follows:  T-Ball, 4-7; Machine Pitch, 8-9; Minors, 9-11; Majors, 11-12.  He was 7 playing Machine.  Should we move him up to Minors at 8, or leave him down another year?  Based on Coach feedback (and Connor's begging), we moved him up.  I was nervous about him playing with older, bigger boys, but it turns out it was for nothing (mostly).  He rose to the occasion and did a fantastic job.  His team even made it to the City Championships (which they lost), and he played 2nd base most of the way.  I just won't tell you about some of the new... ah... interesting terminology he picked up while sharing a dugout with 11 year olds.

By the end of that 2013 season, my son had really hit his stride.  He did a couple of camps over the summer, practiced all the time, took private lessons, hit the batting cages, clinics, you name it.  He started switch hitting.  Well.  Like, line drives and grounders 75-80% of the time off a 40mph machine well.  He's 9!  I swear, if you asked the child if he would rather breathe or play ball, he'd pick baseball every time.  My Dad and my husband bought him some practice equipment for the yard.  He didn't care if there was snow on the ground, he wanted to play.  And it sure showed at his Spring Evaluations last week.  Turns out he did so well that all the Coaches were - still are - talking about him.  Even though we had expressed that we were leaning toward keeping him in Minors this season, talk of moving him up surfaced.  Once he got wind of it, the begging started again.  "Pleeeeeaaaasssseeee let me play Majors!  PLEASE?"

Did I mention that there are 12-year-old boys in Majors?  That's Middle School.  That's hormones.  That's some kids that are bigger than my husband.  Seriously.

But...  he's a really good ball player.

But... he's my baby.

When did "I hope my son is a good athlete" turn into a bunch of grown-ups vying to have him on their team?  Seriously, apparently one of the Coaches offered up two other players of he could get my kid on his team.  Makes a Mama proud.  And makes a decision that should be easy that much harder.

I have to balance challenging him vs. overwhelming him.  Keeping him excited about the game vs. boring the crap out of him.  Play more vs. ride the bench more.  Play with boys his own age vs. older boys.  The list goes on.

Where's my kid manual???  You know, the one with the answers to all the tough stuff??

So, yeah...  having an excellent athlete isn't all cheering and proud Mama moments.  It's stressful and nerve-wracking, too.  And let's not even talk about expensive.  And you never get to win the Mother of the Year Award in years where you disappoint your own kid.  Because he's playing Minors again...