I downloaded this picture from my camera this morning and it's 8:42pm and I'm still thinking about this picture. It's just... one of those. You can't ask Noah to pose, smile or even LOOK at you if you want to snap a picture. Every single one comes out like hell. I have over 5700 photos taken on my 'good' camera I realized today. I don't have even half of that on my hard drive because of all the ones I delete thanks to ill-fated "SMILE FOR ME!" attempts.

It's frustrating not to get a perfect picture.

But.

If my little blond boy wasn't so genuine when he smiled, this picture wouldn't be as perfect as it is.

-Sheryl

Detroit Thanksgivings

When I was a kiddo Thanksgiving was a giant pain because one, my Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a roll and cherry jello, with fruit cocktail in it (Serious. This is all my brother and I ate. We didn't like anything else and there was no making grilled cheeses on Thanksgiving) and two, no friends allowed. That meant a whole day off of school and no Jill and Sheryl rendez vous.

But when we were in high school there was a few Thanksgiving Days that Jill and I spent together. One of my absolute favorite parts of Thanksgiving was the Detroit Thanksgiving Day Parade. My dad would take my brothers and I when we were little to see the parade. To say it was blistering cold 99% of the time is an understatement. The thing about doing anything with my dad is that he was 7% relaxed and excited and 93% on a mission. It was a funny mix. So when he woke us up to go to the parade- and he would be hyper and excited and being silly, you also had approximately 7 minutes to use our 1 bathroom, get dressed, get your snow gear on and pile out the door. Serious. The car was already running.

So out the door we all get. Sometimes when we saw the parade we would meet up with my dad's old high school friend and his family or more often, we would meet up with my uncle and two cousins. As soon as we got in to Detroit and found some place to park, game on. Do you know how these days when a child is lagging behind the mama or daddy turns around with their hand out and says "I'll wait for you Madison/Ashley/Cooper..." or whatever sweet name their hallowed child has? Yeah no that's not the way to drive results. My dad would just start walking and if you didn't keep up- that's your problem. In general he could hear if he had all three of us as we stomped behind him running in our moon boots, snow pants and hollering at each other to get a move on.

There was a typical 'corner' we'd stop at to park ourselves. It was right where the People Mover was (above ground public transportation train). This presented some added entertainment because all of the people with those giant balloons had to slide them under the People Mover. It wouldn't be fun to just watch the parade... that would be monotonous. It was fun to watch the potential for disaster. Once in a while there was the occasional trip up where people were running around trying to recapture their balloon hold strings like children who lost hold of their kite. It was all part of the fun.

The acts in the parade were not exactly Macy's Parade Superstars, but... there were traditions. The dudes that danced with their briefcases... I wonder if they are still there. Because nobody uses briefcases anymore... do they use laptop bags these days??? Just wondering. There are clowns that run around with little wagons and shovels to pick up after the horses. There are floats and balloons that are the same every year and those dang giant head things with people bodies underneath that had a way of making it in to my nightmares.

And then there are the marching bands. Folks. There is a giant difference between suburban Detroit schools and Detroit school bands. The suburban schools are dutifully playing their Christmas medleys- which is all well and good. But the Detroit schools- are all wooping it up, dancing and getting the crowd rolling. Except for the parents of the suburban kids who are just confused.

There were two occasions once I got to high school where I was actually part of the parade- Jill too. We were marching band nerds together and during our freshman and sophomore years of high school we got to be in the parade. Nothing is quite so contrasting as hundreds of clearly suburban kids standing in the middle of some of the pits of Detroit wearing a band uniform. Standing over sewer grates that had steam floating from them to keep warm. Not to mention, the homeless and other clearly less than fortunate folks that were milling around as we stood there holding instruments worth more than the cash they had to spend for six months of groceries... yeah not always a nice feeling.

But as the parade started and we rolled on, I couldn't wait to get to the People Mover to see my family. It takes for freaking ever by the way, because the parade does have to accommodate things like commercial TV breaks and rogue balloons and way-ward horses and the homeless guy that pees in the middle of the road. But as we started getting close... mind you I was a freshman... I realize, there is no question where my family is sitting. Because they are holding a damn eight foot sign with SHERYL spray painted on it. The band director came over to point it out to me in case I some how freaking missed it.

I wasn't embarrassed- I was giggling to myself actually. I had been over the top excited to be in the parade. I seriously had been counting down the days from the minute I found out that we were going to get to do it. I felt so... how-come-I'm-so-lucky. Grateful. Thankful.

This Thanksgiving is a bit different for me- I'm skipping it technically. The boys are in Denver with their dad and his family, which, poor Joshua and Noah, they are in DENVER. But I'm thankful for those little resilient men and can't wait to meet them at the airport tomorrow. Some other Thanksgiving I'm sure we'll make it to Detroit so those little boys can appreciate the difference between urban and suburban, they can run behind my dad to catch up, eat cherry jello with fruit cocktail that my mother made and in general, have something to remember and lots to be thankful for.

-Sheryl

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.