We Won 11-7

"Mommy, we won 11-7," Cal told me as I walked toward him to give him knucks last Wednesday night, just minutes after he had finished playing his first official baseball game of what we hope will be many to come.

"I know!" I responded.  I really didn't know.  I figured we had won -- it just seemed like we had more baserunners over the course of our 4-inning game.  I certainly didn't know the score.  "I am SO PROUD of you, Cal!"

"I scored the winning run!" he added.

"You scored the 8th run?" I asked.  I couldn't help myself.  I knew what he meant.

"No, I scored the LAST run," he corrected me.

And then I took us down the path of explaining what a winning run really is and trying to make him understand that the last run isn't necessarily the winning run.  Goodness.  Just let it go, Mommy.  He's six.

I was proud of him.  Those weren't just empty words said just because I'm his mom and supposed to say that.  I was proud of him for so many reasons.

He first came to the plate after three others had batted and gotten on base.  Our righty

Cal Batting

who naturally bats lefty, he swung and either missed or fouled off the seven pitches that Dan threw to him, the last of which was a swing and a miss.  He struck out, or really just ran out of pitches.  The kids get 7 to hit one fair.  I cringed when it happened, only because I was afraid of his reaction.  Cal doesn't like it when things don't go how he wants or expects them to.  He doesn't like to fail.

His reaction was exactly what it should have been, one that a seasoned veteran would do knowing that even the best players actually fail 7 times out of 10, not that I'm suggesting Cal actually knew that.  He set his bat down, took his helmet off, grabbed his cap and then walked to the end of the line of his teammates who were standing on the sideline in their batting order.  And from there, he watched teammate after teammate get on base.

No tears. No loss of interest in what was going on in the game.  No apparent jealousy of the successes of his teammates.  And once we were done batting, he grabbed his glove and ran out to his 2nd-inning position -- shortstop -- to play some defense.

I was proud of Cal for handling his strikeout like a pro.

Father-Son, Coach-Player Pre-Game Selfie

I watched him, dressed head to toe in baseball gear.  Cap.  Green, Dry-Fit jersey.  White baseball pants with a green belt.  Green socks.  Cleats.  He looked like a ballplayer.  I wondered what he was thinking when he got dressed for his first game.  Was he nervous? Was he excited?  Was he proud?  Or was it an opportunity for him to play with his friends? I'll never know.  Even if I asked, I don't think he's yet capable of accurately recognizing and describing what he's feeling, what he's thinking.

I was that kid once.  And my parents were me.  All those years I played and they watched, I knew they were proud.  They told me.  I thought it was because I was a decent player, that I had some good games.  I realized Wednesday night it wasn't really that at all. All it took was me stepping on the field, taking a chance, trying, listening, interacting, just being me.

I was proud of him for just being on that field and participating.

When it came time for his second at-bat, I worried.  Just hit it fair, Cal.  He did -- just fair -- and reached base successfully.  I saw his smile from the other side of the field. He then stood at first, crouched and ready to run.  He wasn't standing upright.  He wasn't looking at the other game being played on the field behind him.  And as soon as the next batter hit the ball fair, Cal then then tentatively, awkwardly advanced to second safely, getting a little direction from the coach in the field. He's got so much to learn, and I'll get to witness the wonder of that.

I was proud of him for getting on base, flashing his beautiful smile and then running the bases how he thought he should.

I watched him throw on the catcher's gear with a little help from one of the "assistant" coaches.  There are a bunch of them, diminishing any role I could have with the team. I'll let others step up.  There are many who want to.  And that's fine with me.  Work's pretty crazy right now, anyway.  And, really, I just want to watch my kid play and my husband coach.  I just want to be a proud mom.  I'm on Ella duty anyway, which is a whole other story.  But I digress...

Cal Catching

A couple of weeks ago, Dan threw the catcher's gear on Cal who then "caught" while Ella batted and Dan pitched to her.  He hated every second of it and let us know it.  At that time, I really wasn't sure we'd ever see him in catcher's gear again.  That it happened so soon after the initial debacle with it, i.e. meltdown, surprised me.  I don't even remember how he did behind the plate -- I just remember he didn't complain.

I was proud of him for giving the catcher's gear another shot.

Cal ended up getting on base another time, which was in the inning where he scored the "winning" (11th) run.  He had a stint in the outfield, too, playing right-center field as well as anyone could (no balls came his way).  And between all of that, he cheered for and enjoyed the company of his teammates, fellow kindergarteners, all early and already at varying levels of abilities in their baseball careers.  I watched him run on and off the field between innings.  I watched him try to find his cap amongst a sea of caps without getting upset or frustrated.  I watched him then put his found cap in his glove and set it on the sideline so he'd know where to find it when he was done batting.  I watched him have fun playing the sport that both his father and I love so much.

I was one proud mom.  I'm smiling just thinking back and remembering it.

On Thursday morning, Cal drew this picture.  At the risk of being dramatic, I think it's very telling.  That he drew it tells me he's excited about playing baseball.  That he wrote all of the names of his teammates tells me he's a team player.  That he knew the score tells me he's proud of their win.

Cal's post-win drawing

79-0

It was my turn to take Cal to his swimming lesson last night and, on the flip side, Dan's turn to watch Ella and put her to bed all by himself.  This is the most ideal scenario -- while Ella and I both do enjoy our Mommy-and-Ella time, we're just a bad combination at bedtime.  I'm not sure why (probably because I've exposed some weakness to her that she's picked up on), but I am the person (victim?) she chooses to beat down at bedtime with incessant "I love yous," innumerable "I have something to tell yous" and just general dragging out of bedtime with just... one... more... request (demand?)... to make.  And this has happened enough that my tolerance for it is low and my reaction to it is generally overblown.

So when it's my turn to take Cal to swimming, there's an extra skip in my step.

Cal's swimming lesson went... well... swimmingly.  He's really made some good progress with the breast stroke, at least being able to execute the arms stroke and legs stroke (separately) correctly.  He worked hard during his lesson and was just a general joy to be around both before and after it.  This was a continuation of the day I was told that he had had -- his before-and-after-school teacher informed me when I picked him up that he had been a good listener and had repeatedly used good manners.  Needless to say, I was pleased; so I wanted to treat him to something different, just out of the blue.  The treat was a Culver's concrete mixer.

So we stopped at Culver's on our way home from swimming and ordered three concrete mixers -- one for Cal, one for Dan and one for me -- and then continued our way home. Worried about what might be in store for me early in that commute, I turned to Cal and said, "I sure hope Ella is in bed and asleep when we get home."

Cal's response was priceless.  Without skipping a beat, he replied, full of sarcasm, "And I hope the Canadiens are winning 79-0."

Yes, Cal, my hope did seem really unrealistic.

Turns out, it actually wasn't.

And the Canadiens lost.

The Meaning of 8:30

I got my run in this morning.  I had a window of slightly more than enough time to run my 3 miles before I knew Dan had to leave for a meeting at 8:30am, and I jumped on the opportunity. As I ran the second half of the last mile, I wondered if Dan was starting to get antsy that I wasn't home yet, which then led me to coming up with Dan's and my definitions of "leave at 8:30am."  Here's what I came up with:

Dan: Feel antsy that we're not ready to leave at 8:20am.  Start heading toward the door at 8:23am, with whatever and whomever is ready to go.  Wait (im)patiently for everyone else to catch up and wonder why it is everyone can't just leave on time.

Me: Work on any little thing that needs to get done in the house or for the trip until 8:30am.  Scramble to gather everything needed for wherever we're going, incent (which might involve some yelling) the kids to do the same and then make a mad dash for the car, 5... 10 minutes late.  There might be a chance we can still get to wherever we're going on time.

Then I wondered which one of us each of our kids would be like and concluded Cal will be like Dan and Ella like me.  Cal, having had his backpack on for 20 minutes already, insists he's going to be late for school if we leave for his before-school program at 7:55am (his bus leaves at 8:45am).  And Ella is the grandest of a dilly-dalliers, thinking of one thing after another that she wants to bring with her to wherever we're going.  She's usually behind me in getting out the door.

Somehow, we make it work.  It's not stress free, but it works.

I Got Blood

I wiped out on the prairie path this past Sunday afternoon.  I, of course, blame the kids - they were being entirely too quiet in the Burley I was pulling behind behind me on my bike.  I was curious with a hint of worry.  Why were they being so quiet?  Leading theories were a) that they were both reading their books, b) that one or both had fallen asleep or c) that one had quietly strangled the other with the loose harness strap that I can't use because, together, they're just too big for the Burley.  So I had to check.

Hindsight told me that there was a better time to look back.  We were mid-way through an incline (the up kind), and I just didn't have the speed to hold my front wheel straight and maintain my balance should it turn even slightly.  I looked back, saw Ella sleeping, her head resting on an awake Cal's shoulder.  Awww... so sweet.  Strangulation... whatever!

And then I turned back to continue looking forward to finish my climb.  My tire was turned right at the time, so I tried to correct it and turned it back too far left.  At this point, a turtle may have been moving faster than I was; but I still had a chance to save myself from falling, so I turned it back right again... then left... then right... then WIPEOUT!

I first looked back to find the kids, eyes wide open, safe in the unturned Burley.  I then looked back beyond them to see if the people I had passed on the bridge a couple of minutes before had seen me fall -- they were just coming around a bend, so I figured they hadn't.  Whew.  I then looked down at my left leg, which was the one that had taken the brunt of the fall.  It was pretty scraped up.  Blood trickled down from my knee to my ankle.  This was a familiar "injury" to me given all of my years playing softball where one of my favorite plays was the pop-up slide into second and third.

Cal was the first to talk.  "Are you okay, Mommy?"

I quickly told him I was.

Ella chimed in, "Mommy, you made me bump my head and woke me up."  She was whiny.

Thanks for the sympathy, Ella.

Cal saw my bloodied knee and said, "If you bleed enough you'll die."  I amazes me how flippantly these kids throw around the notion or possibility of death.

"I'm not gonna die," I told him.  At least, not because of this injury.

"Mommy, you made me bump my head and woke me up," Ella said again.  She had absolutely no sympathy or concern for my well being.

By now my bike was upright and ready for me to get back on it... or so I thought.  So I did. And the first downward pedal zipped so fast I almost fell off again.  My chain had fallen off of the sprocket.

I turned down the help offered by a fellow bike rider who had reached us on the path.  Getting the chain back on its sprocket was an easy fix.

My bloodied knee (post-rinse)

We finished our ride by stopping at the park in our neighborhood.  It was empty.  The kids love it, and I just wanted to sit and be.  By now, my knee looked pretty excellent, bloody and dusty.  I poured water from my Thomas the Train water bottle on it, and it didn't do much to clean it. The blood that had trickled down to my ankle had hardened by now and needed to be scrubbed off.

When I got them out of the Burley, I told Ella, "Look, Ellie, I've got blood."  This is Ella's way of saying she or someone is bleeding... I have blood.

"Okay, as soon as someone comes to the park, we'll have to leave," I announced.

"Why?" the kids wondered.

"Because I don't want them to see my bloody knee," I told them.  Something about a kids' park being exposed to my bloody knee for any amount of time didn't seem right.  This set off a chain of more questions that I tried to answer without using the term "disease".  I don't want them to be afraid of blood, just careful around it.  I ended with, "blood has germs, so just don't touch anyone else's blood except for yours."

And then they both ran off into the play area where they proceeded to climb and run and slide and scale and laugh for the next 20 or so minutes while my bloodied knee and I rested on a nearby bench.

A Week in the Life - Day 7 (oops, posted a little late)

Ella and I went to a baby shower for our friend, Ellen, today (Saturday... Day 7).  Going in to it, she didn't really understand the concept, periodically asking me if she could write "Happy Birthday" on the card for Aunt Ellen.

She helped me wrap the presents, where the wrapping was fortunately done as gift bags and not wrapping paper.  I say "fortunately" because we didn't have any tape... and we didn't have any tape because days before the kids had used it to tape the steps on the playset together, or whatever purpose the tape was to have served. I laid into her a little bit about this and what a waste it was and then moved on.  We had things to do.

We had five items to put into two bags -- Ella wrapped three of them in tissue paper and put them into the smaller bag, and I wrapped two of them and put them into the bigger bag.  And we both added some tissue paper to the tops of each bag, attempting to mae them look a little prettier.

She had just finished asking me if she could write "Happy Birthday" for the last time when she finally heard that it was a baby shower we'd be going to.

"Are we going to go in the baby shower?" she asked.

"No, you don't go in to a baby shower," I told her.  "You go to a baby shower."

She was confused.  "Do we go into the bathroom and in the baby shower," she asked again.

And I proceeded to tell her again that it wasn't that kind of shower, that Aunt Ellen was having a baby and we were going to her baby shower to celebrate that.  I even told her that we'd be showering her with gifts and stopped going down that path about as quickly as I had gotten on it.  To stay on that path was asking for a lot of questions and pain for no gain -- to Ella, to "shower" is to get wet and clean, nothing else.

Mini Me and Me before the shower

Ella chose her black and white chevron striped tank dress with a hot pink tutu on the bottom to wear to the shower, despite my pleas that she wear this adorable, simple gray dress with a purple stripe across the bottom.  I decided to have fun with this and dressed myself in similar colors -- black tank paired with a hot pink skirt.  Me and Mini Me we were.

On the way to the shower, I learned that we would not have to take the kids to Bowling with us that night.  Halleleijah!  One of Cal's former teachers was available to babysit.  Whew.  That (taking the Leatherkids to Bowling) had disaster and pain written all over it.

The shower was really nice.  Well done, Jennifer.  Good, old friends... yummy food... and plenty of booze.  It was possibly the best shower I've ever been to.  And Ella and Courtney (my friend, Jen's daughter) played really well together.

While Ella and I were at the shower, Dan and Cal played some hoops at home and eventually made their way over to Cal's friend's house for a playdate, the drop-off kind. Cal's at the age where that's okay.  It's wonderful, particularly for the dropper offer.

Since it wasn't my dad coming over to babysit, I felt the need to clean our filthy house.   By the time we got home after the shower, I had about 1.5 hours to do so.  Lucky for me, Dan had already started it, having picked up the kitchen and mopped some of the first floor.

I forget exactly how this went down, but Ella threw the tantrum of a lifetime, which landed her in her room... where she very quickly curled up in her bed and fell asleep. I'll be honest, this made for some easier cleaning -- no distractions, whether the offering-to-help-but-really-hindering kind or the needing-constant-attention kind whatsoever.

Ally arrived at our house right on time.  As soon as he heard the doorbell, Cal dropped what he was doing (he was just finishing up early) and darted upstairs, claiming he had to brush his teeth.  I was suspicious, but maybe.  Cal doesn't get that anxious to brush his teeth EVER.  5-10 minutes later, he still hadn't made his way back downstairs, confirming my suspicions that he was just being shy.  We called for him, and he slowly made his way downstairs, heading right for Dan's shadow as soon as his feet left the last stair.  Ally said "hi" to him, and he hid even more.  His face was red.  So cute.  He is his mother's child.

Meanwhile, Ella had snubbed her nose at the dinner that Dan had prepared for her, partly because she may have still be half sleeping, partly because she was still full from all of the chips and cake she ate at the shower.  She had plopped herself on the couch in front of the TV.

We had an easy exit and made our way to Bowling where I proceeded to have another one of those need-to-ramp-up nights, barely breaking 100 the first game and eventually reaching my average the third.  We had moments of greatness highlighted by Joe's 220-ish in game 1 and moments of not-so-greatness highlighted by Dan's trick bowling, releasing the ball between his legs or around his back, by game 3.

Since we were on the babysitting clock, the four of us made our way back to our house instead of to the next-door restaurant after we finished our match, where we found the kids sound asleep and our last-minute babysitter with a good report; and we proceeded to enjoy some double-dough pizza from a nearby pizza joint and a couple of good bottles of wine.

A Week in the Life - Day 6

It was Purple Day at school today.  Ella wore mostly pink, though she'd tell you that her skirt was purple (it was more pink than purple) and that one of the letters of her shirt was purple (she's wearing her "Birthday Girl" shirt - cracks me up).  She sported her signature "pony braid" with a yellow headband which held her now long bangs back and out of her eyes.  She has a purple headband of the same style as that yellow one but declared she didn't want to wear it.  She just brought it to school for show-and-tell.

All week, there were bags, one per classroom, sitting at the entrance of the school to collect notes that parents would leave for their kids to be handed out to them sometime today, Friday.  There were blank, purple squares and triangles of paper in a basket amid these bags.  I had grabbed two on Monday (one square and one triangle) with the intent of writing each Leatherkid a note sometime during the week.  I wrote them last night and actually remembered to turn them in today.  Once again, that I remembered is nothing short of a miracle.  I really have no idea how I did, with all of the ridiculous clutter and problem-solving constantly running through my brain.  Surely, I've forgotten something else.

As I dropped the cards in the kids' teachers' bags, I had to work around a father who was writing notes for his kids.  I smiled.  I find it comforting to learn that I am not the only last-minute Sally.

Dan and I did catch the "early" train shortly after we dropped off the Leatherkids... barely.  It required my jogging from the car to the pay machine and then to the train.  I don't know that Dan ever ran, but he did walk pretty briskly.

Dan had a couple of big to-dos at work today that kept him pretty busy.  Me, I had several meetings and a couple of minor successes that just made my day.  I also made it outside for lunch with my lunch buddies -- it was 75 degrees, sunny and just not inside.  It was great.  And unusual.  It's rare to take quality time for a lunch break these days.

We picked the kids up and then went out for dinner and not to B-Dubs.  To do so, we had to battle some sadness about not having an i-Pad to entertain them and not watching a movie on Family Fun Friday; but they got over it impressively quickly.  It was nice.  I think it helped that Dan said that we could still watch some hockey when we got home, thinking we'd catch the first period of the Hawks game before sending the kids to bed.

We got home from our day right around 7:30pm, a little over 12 hours after we had left the house to start it.  The kids marched right upstairs, got jammied up and then lay on our bed alongside Dan, who had turned on a hockey playoff game.  Turns out, the Hawks didn't start their game until 8:30pm.  Instead, we watched some of the Capitals-Islanders game, which is almost as good as watching the Hawks in Cal's eyes -- somehow, he's become an Ovechkin fan, which is pretty okay because that guy's legit.  And Ella, I don't know that she even noticed that it wasn't the Hawks -- she's just happy to be a part of the new hockey-at-bedtime routine, which might be surprising coming from the girl who only does things if she wants to and not because everyone else is doing it.

I eventually got jammied up myself and crawled next to them in the corner of the bed where I proceeded to fall asleep.  I remember Dan getting up and putting the kids to bed, but that's about all I remember.  He poked me to move over maybe 25 minutes ago, and it was then that I saw Coach Q was having his post-game press conference.  I guess the Hawks lost 6-2.  Seems that Crawford is having some troubles.

It's been a pretty busy week, one that I think is going to end with our taking the kids with us to Bowling tomorrow.  We just can't find someone to watch the kids.  We even tapped into some former teachers.  That could make for an interesting Day 7 post but hopefully doesn't.

A Week in the Life - Day 5

We dropped Ella off at school today with her dress on forward, meaning, not backwards. It's backwards-day at school.  Shocker.  I wish there were a mismatch day -- she'd kill that one without even trying.

So be it.

Before we got there, I somehow got sucked in to a conversation (if you'd even call it that) about how Duncan Keith likes heath donuts.  "Do you get it Mommy?" Cal asked me.  He's on a big rhyming/play-on-words bit these days.

"Dunkin Donuts... Duncan... Dunkin," he said.  "Only they're not spelled the same way.  Dunkin Donuts is spelled D-U-N-K-I-N.  Duncan Keith is spelled D-U-N-K-E-N."

I was picturing the letters in my head and knew he hadn't spelled it correctly, but I couldn't think of the correct spelling (I'm tired); so I left it uncorrected.  I had to look it up before writing this post.

"Yeah, I get it, Cal," I said.

"And Keith... Heath are spelled the same way," he told me.

"No they're not," I said, "Keith is spelled K-E-I-T-H."  I assumed he knew how to spell heath.

"No, but..." we just continued to argue about it, and I don't even know why or, really, what he was really telling me.  He wasn't necessarily disagreeing with my spelling; he just thought I was missing something, which I clearly was.  I think it's because in between the whole rhyming-spelling thing, Cal went on and on and on about something related, and I just didn't hear what he was saying.  He didn't realize or act like it, but we were in our mad scramble to get out the door.

Turns out, it was a pretty successful morning, except that I skipped my run.  It wasn't that I didn't want to get up early; it's that I just didn't want to run. Before I gave myself that break, I checked the forecast -- cloudy but no rain, near 60.  My plan became to run outside during lunch today.  It was okay to not run in the morning.

Dan and I made it to the earlier train and didn't have to sprint to catch it.  I had another crazy busy day at work that had me (and Dan) catching the latest train that would still allow us to get to the kids' school for pickup before they close at 6:30pm.  I did get my run in at lunch, by the way -- I did my "nostalgia run," which ended up being a little over four miles.  Go me.

Ella was a piece of work just about as soon as we were out the door at school.  She was completely uncooperative, obstinate and declared that she hated us (for making her get in the car).  She suffered some consequences for that and eventually apologized.  "Hate" was added to the list of don't-ever-say words, a list which now includes two words "stupid" and "hate".

There was a lot of parallel tasking going on in the Leatherman house from the moment we got home to the moment the kids hit their beds.  Cal and Dan shot hoops, and Ella eventually made her way out to watch while I fixed dinner.  It was the day 5 meal of the week-of-meals plan I intended to follow this week but only the second meal from it that I fixed.  Dan took the garbage out while I cleared the table and then took the kids upstairs for showers while I put dishes in the dishwasher.  During the second half of showers, I made Cal's bed.  And while Dan got dressed for bed after his shower, I helped the kids brush their teeth.  Finally, while the kids and Dan lay in our bed watching an NHL hockey game (Pittsburg-NY Rangers, maybe?), I put a load of laundry in the washing machine and then eventually got jammied up myself and lay with them in our bed.  Zoe soon joined us, and eventually we each took a Leatherkid to his respective bed and lay with him a little bit more before he fell asleep.  It was maybe an hour and a half to two hours after we arrived home from our days that they were asleep.