A theme

I find myself sitting at my computer on a Saturday morning with a few minutes to spare and I feel quite guilty. After all, I should be busy doing SOMETHING, right? But, my house is clean (that is relative, I suppose), the laundry is caught up (well, close enough), the kids are busy playing with friends, I have read my bible and I don't feel like running on my treadmill quite yet.

I am always suprised, when I slow down to breathe, how quickly I rush to find things I SHOULD do. I am sure most women, mothers and wives suffer, to some degree, with this illness. This, 'I must have a "to-do" list' mentality. Or, 'I must be planning to do something in the very near future, if not immediately' kind of stress.

So, right now, I am going to rebel. I am going to grab a couple more Jelly-Belly's and dabble in this blogging thing. I might actually waste a half hour. But, is it wasting? Oh well, that is for another blog...

A View of the Past: June 2006

Fun Family News!Over the course of the past couple months, my kids have been coming home from school and updating us on their track and field qualification attempts. As many parents can agree, sometimes, when you don't exactly understand the whole scope of what your kids are explaining, you just listen and nod and say "good job". (which I really, truly meant because it sounded like they were doing a good job)

Last week though, a permission slip, a time schedule and a shirt purchase form came home and I thought...'huh, this looks like fun'. Both my kids had qualified to run in the 100 yard dash, and since my husband and I are both former tracksters, we thought this was going to be "cute".

Well, both kids raced home from school this last Thursday and we all scrambled and rushed to get to the track field on time. (this scrambling and rushing thing is a whole other blog) Anyway, when we got to Mission Hills High School we were quite suprised to see the stands full of parents, spectators, and teeming with with students from 9 area schools. At this point, I am finally realizing what a big deal this whole thing is. And, I am recalling my nonchalant nods to their frenetic updates on track stats and I can't help but smile. They really were serious.

My daughter Grace, who is 8 and in third grade was the first one to race. You have to understand that this is a former "back-pocket" child. Meaning, she spent a good portion of her young life clinging to my back-pocket and hiding behind me. She turned a lovely shade of green last year when she tried out for basketball in front of about 50 people. Now, she was lining up against 8 other kids, strangers no less, and preparing to race in front of 100's of people. I think I was the lovely shade of green. I had the largest amount of empathetic stress to date, as a parent. I was half laughing and about to cry as I watched my little pony-tailed girl line up at the starting line. 'Dear God, just let her run hard and finish well.'When the gun (yes, gun....this is serious) sounded she took off with the most incredible determination I have ever seen from her. (We have watched the video at least 5 times now and yes, it is the most determintation ever)

Well...she didn't start out first but, about somewhere mid-race she pulled ahead and I thought...'oh my lord'. Wouldn't you know, she got FIRST! I was shocked, her dad was shocked, but, man we were proud. And, if you know Grace you would know her response. A huge smile and a really red face. Nothing else. She just smiles ( a large grin actually, showing no teeth) and her face turns red.Her brother Noah, who is 10 and in fourth grade, ran an awesome race as well. He placed fourth and had some tough competition. Two days prior he had a game winning 2 run single in baseball so, today was apparently his sister's day to shine. He took it in stride and was genuinely happy to take a picture next to his blue-ribbon sister. How awesome when a brother, or a sister, celebrates a victory with you. I am so proud of both my kids. 'Thank you Lord.'

A drama

Youth sports...two words, lots of thoughts. I grew up playing sports. At 7 years old I joined a rec softball league. I walked to practice on my own. It was just across a large field behind my babysitters trailer. You could see the softball diamond from her bedroom window. I continued playing until I was 15 years old and many other sports were also added to my agenda. I have vague memories of most games but, fairly vividly I rememeber the "crazies". Those parents or fans that apparently have no idea that there are other people around and have abosolutely no blip on the radar reminding them that this is YOUTH SPORTS.

So now, I am a parent and my oberservations are filtered through adult eyes. I am still amazed. There has been much publicity surrounding crazed and delusional parents and rightly so. Tonight, I had the very distinct privilege of sitting next to the wildest woman on the planet. From the high pitched grate of her voice, to the constant gnawing of her fingernails and down to the absolute total disregard of the reputation of her own daughter, this woman killed it. At one point, I was convinced she needed a psychiatric assesment. I am feeling incredibly judgemental, and I know that is wrong. But, this woman takes the cake. She will not be a vague memory for me. She has earned a top spot in the the highlights of the depravity of parents and YOUTH SPORTS.

A knowing of where you came from

I am a transplanted Californian. Apparently that is the term used to identify us that were not born is this state. It seems like a negative term to me. When I think of a transplant, I usually equate it to the first organ not working well enough to sustain life, therefore, a substitute is needed. I guess, depending on the way you look at it, it could be a good thing and a bad thing all at the same time. A lot of pain and a lot of relief rolled all into one. Either way, I am a transplant. And, for that, I am truly grateful. Let me explain...

A week ago, I was rudely awakened at 4:00am by sirens and a megaphone. Apparently, the Santa Ana winds and their fury delivered wildfires throughout southern California and there was a fire in my neighborhood. Being the easily riled-up person I can be, I headed straight out the front door in boy shorts and a tank top, only to be met by a spotlight from a passing police cruiser. Over the next ten minutes, my husband and I ran laps through our 1585 square foot home, running smack into each other approximately 3 times. Assuming the fire was at our back door, I had to check every window multiple times as I ran through the house confused as to what to take. At some point, I remember, I have never been in a fire, and this could quite possibly be the worst thing ever.

Thankfully, after the long and short of it, we returned home and waited out the firestorm within our tightly sealed box. It was a forced recess, if you will. Unable to go anywhere and make any random trips to the store, you realize how many things we "fill" our time with. I was simultaneously annoyed and relieved to have an excuse to do nothing. Halfway through the week, I realized it was time to turn off the television and limit the scarring of my brain with dramatic images from the ragin fire.

As the fires began to subside, life tried to center back to naormal. School was scheduled to resume, gyms opened and the streets were filled with traffic once again. Next began the daunting task of cleaning up an ovewhelmingly filthy and incredibly large fireplace. My front, and back yard. So, as I swept large piles of soot and ash a couple of days ago I again realized, this was my first fire. I was not born here. I am from Nebraska. I am accustomed to tornado drills and warnings. None of which ever materialized anywhere near my home. So, as much as I love southern California, this is my transplanted home and at the next sign of fire... I am outta here.