Browsing Archives for The Boys

1.  The hugs…

2.  The dance routines…

3.  My son’s  insistence that these are not dance routines… they are warm-ups.

4. The pep band…

(That plays the awesome dance music to which the baskeball players perform their carefully choreographed warm-up routines.)

5. The introduction of the starting line-up.

6. The cheering section…

7. The signs…

Who are “The Nachos”?

And why can’t they come into the gym???

8. Number 40

9. Keeping it low, low, low, low….

Low, low…

Low, low.

10. More hugs.

Maybe someday I will figure out how to take good sports photos inside of a gym.

Until then, I’ve got plenty of blurry hugging for everyone!

Picnic

June 28th, 2011

This is Ethan.  He is my second son.  Under normal circumstances he is a peace loving teenager with a penchant for books, a love for soccer and a beautiful (according to his mother) singing voice.  But these are not normal circumstance.  Nay.  These are very trying times.  For we are sitting on the dock that the CD is currently building (story to follow) eating a simple meal of pizza and Pepsi and enjoying a short break between ballgames and other summer spasms when along comes…

Drew.

Drew is my third son.

He is known for his deep and passionate love of baseball, his wizardry with a movie camera and his (according to his mother) striking good looks.  Unfortunately Drew is also a pest.  He’s that little brother.  The one that likes to keep his siblings in a state of near constant aggravation.  It’s hard to explain, because as an onlooker, I frequently fail to see exactly how Drew is being so maddening to his siblings.  But he is.  He drives them crazy.

And that is why Drew is looking back over his shoulder.  Ethan has just left the picnic area.  He’s headed back to the house because he’d had enough of Drew and his abilities to aggravate, but Drew couldn’t stand the site of his brother’s back walking away from him.  He needed Ethan. He needed Ethan bad.  He had to get him back.

Here’s Drew getting Ethan back.

And here’s Ethan coming back.

And giving Drew exactly what he was hoping for?

Here’s Drew begging for help from his mom.

But his mom’s not going to give him any help.

Why?

Because she’s old.

And tired.

And she just wants to eat her pizza and drink her Pepsi in peace.

So maybe if Ethan silences Drew – she will finally get some peace.

And also because she know that on some primal level that she can’t really understand, Drew wants this to happen to him.

He wants his brother to beat on him a little.

It must mean something to him.

Because Drew provokes this response over and over and over and over and over and over and over AGAIN!

This is Jack watching Drew get pummelled by Ethan.

And this is me.

Watching Jack watching Drew get pummelled by Ethan.

When the screams reach a fever pitch I will tell Ethan to stop.

To keep the neighbors from calling the cops and because I can only take the screaming so long.

And Drew will raise his bruised body off the grass and turn towards the departing figure of his brother…

And the cycle will start all over again.

Summer.

Such an idyllic time.

Jack and His Superpowers

December 16th, 2010

So my son Jack  is only nine and a wee nine at that.  Actually he is a tall, bony, sort of skeletal nine, full of freckles and squealy juice, but never-mind my ardour for my youngest child.  All you really need to know is that he still allows me to occasionally cling to him like the abandoned monkey in a science experiment gone very wrong.  As you may have also noted, the rest of my children are advanced in age.  Weighing in at 15, 13, and 12, their minds have been polluted with that scary substance known to all mothers as independence and they have little time for their mom unless they are a.  hungry.  b.  needing cash.  c.  hungry again.

Responding to things (me) emotionally (or at all) also doesn’t come easily to my husband… 

Me – Holy SHIT!  I was just stung by a wasp!

Him – ———————————

Me – Dammit!  I was just stung again!

Him – ——————————-

Me – Holy Hell!  I am swelling up like a dead buffalo in an Arizona pasture in the middle of July!

Him – ——————————— unblink

Me – My fingers just popped open!  My eyeballs are ejecting from my head! 

Him – Can you pass me that wrench?

So yeah.  I am kind of isolated and alone in the realm of emotional response to pain around here.

But I still have my nine year old.  And he still responds beautifully to his old, occasionally emotionally, needy mom.

So when our family was driving out to western Kansas for Thanksgiving I kind of fell apart a little bit… okay… I sort of fell apart a lot.  I had a little breakdown in the minivan. I was kind of worked up about seeing family and I didn’t know how it would all go.   I was also all worked up about Fred Phelps coming to town and I was worried that no one was going to come out to counter his horrible protest and what does that say about my town and why do I live in such an awful place and what does this mean for my kids and etc, etc, and I started to tell the kids that family things were a bit hard for me these days because I don’t believe the way the rest of my family believes anymore and so things are kind of strained and odd and it makes me feel nervous and freaked out and I have lost some people that were at one time very important to me and Fred Phelps represents a certain kind of evil that people need to stand against because if people just ignore horrible stuff – it will never go away and yeah – so I was a basket case and I started crying and saying that it had been kind of a tough year and the boys were real quiet and the CD was real quiet and the whole van was real quiet except for me blubbering away in the driver’s seat trying to keep the car on the road…

And let’s just say that tearful emotional outbursts in our family are sort of rare unless they involve the X-box controller or unnecessary roughness in basement football.

But then Jack piped up and said…

Well yeah mom.  You can’t really believe in God… because that’s sort of like believing in super powers… and they aren’t real either.

And with that one small statement my nine year old made his mother feel much better.

You’re right Jack.   They’re aren’t really any superpowers… except for the ones that enable us to reach out beyond ourselves and help someone feel a bit better about things. 

And Thanksgiving turned out to be okay too. 

And the counter protest was very good. 

And this old world just keeps on a’ turning,

Rechelle