The boy is ten!

Ten is a great age.

And some ten-year-olds are simply the best.

Full of energy, enthusiasm, excitement, fun, helpfulness, and mad hoop skillz,
our birthday boy fills up life to the fullest.

He is also always hungry.
And he hallucinates when he has a fever.
And he grows so fast I can almost hear his joints creak.

To the boy I love riding shotgun when I am doing errands, to the boy whose basketball abilities are poetry in motion, to the only B.M.W. we will ever have...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Report from the land of snowflakes and germs

The snow is a rare treat here at our house. We are usually just below the snowline, which makes the dusting of snow all the more special. The rains quickly returned, making the white a sweet memory.

Amidst the storms that are coming hand over fist are the flu germs doing the same. Starting with our oldest son, it has slowly made its way through the family. Saturday night we had our youngest with a fever and hallucinations in the middle of the night. Our ceiling fan become a helicopter, my hands were huge and terrifying. It was so sad. The fever broke, soaking his shirt and bringing more chills and moans. Now he is on to the coughing and the girls are in the early stages of glassy eyes, aching heads and the need for more sleep than is humanly possible. This too shall pass, but it is sick bay for us today.

We've binged on films to get us through. An odd collection, we've watched the following during different phases of illness. I bet you can't guess who wanted to see what (I truly don't think you could.)





I'm ready to put away the cough medicine, cover up the TV, bleach the germs away and get back to healthy life as usual. We'll wait and see how time heals.

Looking for spring

Reflections of a basketball mom

Between practices three to four days a week, and games twice a week, we've been doing the basketball life around here since November. We've been so happy with the coaching our two sons have received; these men are kind, considerate, competitive gentlemen. They are fine role models for boys, and we cannot believe what an unexpected blessing they are to our family. It's been fun to meet new boys and their families; we've lived here for almost twenty-one years, but we continue to meet interesting and pleasant folks from pockets here and there across our county.

It's not all been a picnic, though. We've watched the behavior of coaches and players and fans that has been so offensive, and it has been hard for me to shake it off. My husband, player of baseball from Little League through freshman year at University of Oregon, and coach and referee of a bazillion games since then, tells me I need to let.it.go. My sons look at each other and share that, "Mom is making tooooo big a deal here" look. But it DOES bother me, and it is SO wrong. I have no objection to enthusiastic fan participation; I am, after all, the mother whose son has asked her to cheer just a little bit quieter. I try, but I am still pretty loud. So it is not the enthusiastic yelling I am concerned about. It is the swearing at the refs. By parents. At a game played by third and fourth graders. THIRD AND FOURTH GRADERS. Good grief. And then there was the subtle kick of a nine-year-old after the game. Oh, and the bump and the swearing as the players went through the "high five, nice game" line at the Christian high school game. And it was certainly the flipping of a finger gesture to a nine-year-old after a game. By a third or fourth grader.

I know it is not easy to lose by big numbers. We've been on that side of the court at some high school games this year. No one likes to lose. But in a game someone has to lose each and every time. And certainly we want our children to learn to lose with graciousness. Right? RIGHT?

And it is true that refs don't catch each and every foul. The lack of foul calling is especially purposeful in the younger games; the clock does not stop unless there is a free throw opportunity. If the refs called every foul, we would have a game played on the sidelines; as soon as the ball hit the court they would be back on the side again. Plus, big surprise: refs are human; they make mistakes. We can only hope that the mistakes are evenly dispersed between the teams. But any team worthy of playing the game has to deal with human refs. Quit fussing. Quit complaining. Play the game.

Based on the enjoyment the boys have of the game, their skill and the commitment they have shown, I will be on many a bleacher in the years to come. I need to find a way to conquer my intense dislike of the response others have. We have not seen the last example of ridiculous adult and child behavior. We have not heard our last swear word spoken loudly and rudely. We will win games and lose games, and the refs will bravely do their duties, for good or for ill. It will be a good, hard exercise for all of us.

As Mr. Darcy says, "I will conquer this!"

Birthday flowers

Thirteen

Last Saturday, as eyes turned glassy and coughs turned nasty and aches began to conquer the depths, the annual visitation of the creeping crud became too obvious to deny. Our oldest son canceled work (it's hard to promote healthy smoothies at the Jamba store with a two-pack-a-day cough) and we began to rearrange our plans for the next few days. The biggest change: two sweet girls from Morgan Hill were not on their way to our house to celebrate a very important thirteenth birthday. It was a sad decision to have to make, but fever germs didn't need to be shared.

At some point on Sunday afternoon, the soon-to-be-birthday girl asked with sadness, "Why couldn't you have had me in June, Mommy? We always get sick in February." For the last three years, that has been true: at least one person has had a fever and a cold on her birthday. I seem to have been completely lacking insight into future cold and flu germs on February 10, 1996; all I could think about was the fact that it was time for baby #4 to arrive, and that I would prefer not to wait another second, let alone another four months, for her to join our family.

After a Sunday of true rest, and a Monday of slower-than-usual Mondayness, we were ready to celebrate. Banner, flowers, Dutch babies for breakfast, lunch with Daddy and a movie all added up to a festive and celebratory day.

Later we had cake and off-key birthday singing and general silliness. It was an amazingly fine birthday for a Plan B celebration.

Many people cautioned us about having a house-full of teenagers. With our newest birthday, we have reached our maximum number of teens at one time: four. We do have plenty of hormones, hours of conversations, lots of planning for the future, long sessions of prayer. It's not always easy to hold back the worry when so many in the house are in intense and significant seasons of life, but it is still a gift to be enjoyed, a rich and fulfilling life.

Some children's approach to each day makes it easier to remember that. Our birthday girl is one of those. She meets life with full enthusiasm and has few fears. She sees stories and drawings and dream lands where others can only see the ground at their feet, and she comes in the room with blue eyes sparkling and curls bouncing more often than not. She loves typing on her Royal typewriter from the thrift store (what nostalgia that tap-tap-tap brings), and I often wonder what stories will roll of that hot press in the future. The pink tuplips her brother gave her are the perfect picture of her life: vibrant, cheerful, graceful, beautiful. How grateful I am for my happy 13th birthday girl.