Home Movies

I make little videos with pictures of my boys every year for the holidays... but they love watching the old ones of their mom... and this is some ollllllllld stuff. Geez.

I have been starting to make this year's video/picture reel. It has been hard to see these little boys be less of little boys and more like big boys.

And as I type, that would be them yelling and laughing because it's funny when your little brother walks on his big brother's butt. Great.

-Sheryl

Going Home

I went back home to Michigan on business travel a few weeks back and stopped to see family and friends... including Jill and Gracie (and Jill's mother who was standing next to my mother as she took this picture!). And as Jill would like to have noted: We were standing on sloping sidewalk so she's not actually that much shorter than me.

It was a nice visit home but it was a continued reminder of things and people and places getting older. I still feel like I'm temporarily in Seattle which since I've been here 3 years something should say it isn't temporary. Not sure how to feel permanent...

Mama Moment

When Joshua was a little guy learning to talk, he said "Go Green!" (for Michigan State) before he said mama. His awkwardly giant self made everyone remark that we certainly seemed to have an athlete ready to dominate.

And then we got past the cute toddler stage and moved in to the part where we'd want him to do one thing and he'd be doing another. Like refusing to get dirty. Wearing short sleeves at all times to avoid his cuffs getting wet when he washed his hands. Openly noting that boys are dumb because they wrestle around and that seems like a dumb way to play. And then add in there that Joshua continues to grow at ridiculous intervals elevating his clumsiness as he gets use to the 7 inches that just got added to his arms and legs. OH, and did I mention he's ambidextrous and it just makes him THAT much more awkward?

But this year he wanted to play baseball. And he stuck it out- never asked to quit once. We are still in the no-score-keeping phases of little league at this point but he is aware that if they are depending on him for the game winning run, that he better feign a disaster on the way to the plate because his left handed swinging pitches his ball up the first base line about 9 times out of 10 and then its left to him to out run a first baseman that has to pick up a ball 7 inches away and tag the bag. Did I mention he never asked to quit? Even despite the seemingly ridiculous frequency of his naturally awkward left sided swing motoring up first base.

Fast forwarded to soccer season. Where there were 7 kids on the team. 5 had played baseball together. The coach was even a baseball carryover. WOO HOO! We get to skip the I-don't-know-anyone phase that can paralyze Joshua for the first weeks of something new.

I wasn't prepared for watching these kids actually 'play' instead of just following the ball around. They pushed. They would run at full speed and something would happen and there would be a pile of them on the ground. They were covered in mud and rain and dirt and sweat. And my kid was one of them. MY KID.

And while Joshua played hard- something seemed to stop short when he was standing in front of the goalie with the ball and an open shot. He just would fold and should have just picked the ball up and handed it to the goalie to save some effort. And then as the season rolled on he would get close but would make a tap on the ball with less effort than when he kicks his dirty socks into the laundry pile. His caution, his desire for perfection, his intuitive nature that wants to know the absolute outcome before executing an action... makes it tough to be a soccer superstar.

But guess what.

It's the last game of the season. And Joshua SHOOTS! And the goalie grabs it.

But guess what.

Joshua SHOOTS AGAIN! And the ball dawdles in front of the goal line and the goalie grabs it.

But guess what.

As I was standing on the sideline with my friend who randomly and graciously showed up with her son to watch Joshua's game, and with a line of dad's in front of me who had helped Joshua learn to throw and catch and bat through baseball and learn to accept dirt and pushing and figure out how to not be so left footed through soccer (I didn't know there was such a thing- but there is!), Joshua shot again.

And it went in.

All those families erupted. They all knew it was Joshua's first goal. Ever. It was at least the fifth goal of the game so the other team had to be wondering what in the hell everyone was going crazy about. But our side knew. This pack of parents that I didn't even really realize were supporting my boy as much as they were... they knew.

Joshua came over and hugged his mama (I hope to God I wasn't as far on the field as my brain is remembering!). And his daddy picked him up and held him. And his teammates came to give him congratulations. And he made his way over to the coaches/dads and they all patted him on the back and gave fives and... it was all cheesier than a Disney movie but OH MY GOSH it was the best mama moment I've had that I can think of.

He shot. And it went in. IT WENT IN! And then he hugged me. His mama.

What's Disturbing About Halloween...

I had thought about what I wanted Joshua to be for his first Halloween long before I realized it was not the most appropriate choice for my big giant boy. My favorite Winnie the Pooh character had always been Piglet. Except Joshua was more of a Hoglet. Jill's mom made the costume and it's still my all time Joshua-costume-favorite.

We are currently in our third straight year of Star Wars. And there are already plans for a 4th consecutive selection.

Halloween in suburban Detroit meant a few different things growing up. First off, the morning of Halloween my parents would sit there chattering over the newspaper to see what was burned up in Detroit. This caused me to believe that every major city was plagued with the hazing of Devil's Night leading up to Halloween. It turns out this is inaccurate. In fact, it may even be fairly limited to Detroit because I haven't heard it any where else.

But after that part, there was getting to wear your costume to school and we'd parade around for parents to wave at you and then go back inside and cram ourselves with candy before going home to get hollered at for snitching out of the candy bowl meant for trick or treaters.

And of course the Trick or Treating. My dad usually was the one taking us out. One of the benefits of WWII era homes is that just a driveway separates houses for blocks and blocks and blocks. This provided the opportunity for MASSIVE amounts of candy.

Which I would hoard afterwards and sell to my brothers months and months down the road. I forgot about that until just now as I was typing it.

I got to be something different every year but it was pretty much limited to what could be dug out from the junk around our house or whatever I could con my dad in to making. One year I was a present box. Another a cheerleader. A doctor. Little bo peep. Jill was a Carebear for about 17 years of our childhood when she wasn't a witch for the other 17 years. Man if I had a picture of that Carebear gettup I'd get a t-shirt made just to have people ask me WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT! It was well crafted- don't misunderstand- Jill's mom could sew like a Disney costume maker.

But with all the other creepy things to look at running past you on Halloween, a giant blue Carebear head attached to my friend's body was very disturbing.

Happy Halloween!

-Sheryl

Soccer Stars

Joshua has turned in to this boy that actually shoves his arm out to keep kids off him in soccer. Previously he hung out down field, waited for the ball to break free, ran with it until the rest of the pack caught up and then he pulled off the ball and went back to the other end of the field to repeat his process. It has been fun to watch him grow up so much lately. Not so happy about the inch and a half since the end of August that we just scratched above his last growth marker.

Noah goes to soccer. And after great demonstrations as a strong, 32lbs scrapper who will bust through anything, he has taken to standing in the middle of the field and holding his coach's hand. He's trying again at today's game to return to his former scared-of-nothing self. Because if he does play then he gets to go pick out his Yoda Halloween costume at Target. I'm never above bribing a 4-year-old.

What You Learn at the Bus Stop

Up until about 10:30am this morning I hadn't made a clear cut plan for getting Joshua picked up from a half day of school (Awesome. Barely 3 weeks in to school and we already hit a half day). But I finally had to just bail out of work and be there for the bus drop off.

I got to the bus stop early but was soon flocked by the usual group of neighborhood mamas. I don't know any of them well at all, but I'm working on that. As we were chatting, a man with some visible mental issues came walking by and was just staring at us. One of the mom's smiled and waved and asked him how he was doing. He stopped for a minute and then kept walking. That particular mom adopted two boys- one with special needs- as a single parent.

We all went back to chatting when I realized a mom on the other side of me was standing there starting to cry. Of all the mom's she's one of the one's I know the most but understand the least about.

This particular mama has two beautiful sons that Joshua met in the park by our house one day. Actually he met them multiple days before I finally managed to head outside at the same time they were there with their mama. As she saw me walking that day she hugged me while speaking in half English and half something that was almost Spanish but wasn't- turned out it was Portugese. She was from Brazil.

Anybody that knows me is aware that me and physical contact don't get along so I was already in a "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO" state as she started speaking. Finally though I realized she was telling me her sons don't speak, that they are autistic and that they are never able to play with other children but that they have been playing with Joshua at the park nearly every day for several weeks. She was teary eyed and gushing how happy it was making her to watch her sons play with others. I... I didn't know what to even say. I was very proud of my boy who never, ever sees anything wrong with other human beings.

But back to the bus stop. So my neighbor friend begins to cry at the sight of this man who was passing by us because she fears it's may be the lonely fate for her sons if she can't help them. She wants to go back to Brazil to be with her family but can't because there are no programs that even compare to what she is able to get here in the U.S.. But she is unhappy and homesick and sad.

I sometimes wallow in a tiny bit of loneliness as a single mom. The other day I was standing on a stool in the middle of the kitchen table still in my most decent work clothes trying to change a light bulb I couldn't reach but the boys were doing a project and it would be great to have light (they are so demanding...!). I was hating to be me at that minute. The next time I have one of those pangs of rapid fire self doubt, I hope I remember the bus stop.

-Sheryl

Days to Remember

Everytime holidays intended to memorialize something roll around, I tend to feel a bit disconnected because I wasn't there. I wasn't at Pearl Harbor. I'm not a Veteran.

I wasn't in New York on 9/11. But I had been in Seattle. I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center live on the news because I was sitting there on my Pacific coast time waiting for my jeans to dry in the dryer. That was my worry for the morning- having clean jeans for work.

Katie Couric inaccurately reported on the morning of September 11th that an Airbus 767 had just crashed into the second tower of the World Trade Center. I thought "What a dumb bunny. It's either a Boeing 767 or an Airbus plane." I imagine I felt all official because I could tell airplane models apart now that I was at Boeing, much the way I barely had known a Toyota from a Chevrolet before working at General Motors and could now tell the make and model of a car from its headlights in many cases.

I definitely know I had zero comprehension of the impact as I was waiting for the clothes dryer to shut off. I got to work, and at the time, it was the Boeing Everett wide-body airplane factory. The one that makes the Boeing 767's. The path I would take to my desk literally required passing beneath an airplane wing which made me flinch that morning.

By the time I got up the elevator people were chattering about it and talking about crazy stuff like there were a bunch of other planes involved and that the White House had been a target. It was sounding like a bunch of overblown chatter.

But I got to my desk and could barely access the internet. Somebody said it was because it was jammed with activity. I still was a little perplexed. I called Alan. And as my resident current and historical events walking encyclopedia, he spouted off words I had never heard like Osama Bin Laden and 'terrorist cells'.

I hung up. My manager came by shortly after and asked our group to stay in the area and be prepared in the event of an evacuation (the building occupies 30,000 employees.... we cause our own traffic jams at shift change on a normal day when people aren't hurrying anywhere except out of the parking lot to go home).

The insanity that hit the East coast that morning never met the West thankfully. I walked back under that airplane wing to leave on my way home that evening and realized I was now connected to a day that nobody understood. As I've tried to explain the event to my sons I can sense the same disconnect that I know I showed with Pearl Harbor Day or Veteran's Day or Memorial Day. I hope they grow up to be respectful of what has happened and what has been done to prevent any other such event, but mostly, I hope they never, ever are connected to their own day of memorium. I hope my sons live a life where they honor what has happened before their time to give them a life free of terror, disaster and needless loss.

-Sheryl