June 2010 Baseball & Toes In The Grass

I love baseball – not the major league stuff with all of the hooplah, I mean the teenage-level (not even 3&2) real baseball on real grass. There really are differences, and I'm not talking about the fact that no one walks by my fold-out chair with a hot dog, peanuts and a cold beer.

Recreation-league baseball is a treat that only the luckiest of parents get to enjoy, and I love watching it because my son loves playing it. There is something about a daily smacking of about 300 balls with one's bat that brings out the exhaustion (I mean happiness!) in a teenager with testosterone. And, that's just practice.

Come game day, the real fun begins... for both of us.

Him – "Where are my cleats/hat/glove/bat/water/hitting glove/bag/sunflower seeds/socks???"

Me – "Did I wear your cleats/socks/seeds last???"

Him – "Mom, we're going to be late!"

Seriously, I really do enjoy the season. He packs up whatever he can find of his that resembles baseball equipment, and I pack up my lounge chair (yes, with a foot-rest), my cooler, sunscreen, snacks, magazines, a blanket (for sibling/friend sitting), and a husband, and off we go. The grass is cool, the players are so happy to be hitting and catching and running... and the parents are so happy to be sitting, chatting, munching, cheering.

We park about twelve yards from the field (for free), there is no concrete on which to burn our feet, the breeze blows and we position our chairs under the trees, or in/out of the sun... depending on the day. The boys never care what the climate is, as long as there is a bucket of balls and an opposing team to show up every now and then.

There's not one commercial playing in the background. No announcements, no megaplexes with snack stations, no numbers hanging from large fences ("Look for field 37, Harold!). There aren't scads of other teams playing around us with 385 cars hiding ours in big parking lots. It's just us and the kids and the baseballs and the grass.

The sun takes a little longer to set at the height of the season, and the parents marvel at how the boys have grown and how the team has improved, and how much they've learned since we started all of this.

I don't have anything against big-league ball, it is a wonderful form of entertainment. But for my money, it's a local ball field with a picnic and some friends I've made over the years in my comfy chair, and some worn-out teenagers with red cheeks at the end of the evening that gives me the biggest entertainment value in these parts. It's part of the beauty of living in the Midwest.

March 2010 Humble Pie

It is easy to become overwhelmed with reality, and this winter has challenged even the most cheerful among us. "Oh, the beautiful snow is bringing a white Christmas," became "I think my house is over there somewhere!"

One romantic night of fog turned into a week of being socked into a grey world of not being able to find the dogs in the yard, and a horrific state of affairs on the highways. I felt like we were swimming in cream of mushroom soup.

Two weeks of winter vacation found me home with my kids for three weeks, and I swore on Facebook that if I had to clean the kitchen ONE MORE time, I might hurt someone. So, on the way to the fast food restaurant, we got our four-wheel drive, seven passenger, SUV, big-honkin' vehicle stuck in the drifts on the driveway and had to be dug out by a randomly-passing-by truck with two guys and a big shovel. But, at least my kitchen stayed clean.

We've been cooking, doing jigsaw puzzles, and having crackling fires in the fireplace, all in the hopes of keeping things sane. Then we got the heating bill. My lunacy took over. "Put on six sweatshirts, close down the chimney, let the faucets drip, and start rubbing sticks together."

Until the news of Haiti hit. Their world was rocked beyond imagination, unless you happened to be in Port au Prince. No need for imagination there. The scope of devastation jerked me to my senses. Why does it always take something drastic to bring me around? This natural, yet unprecedented disaster makes the word "overwhelmed" look like a sleeping puppy dog.

I clearly don't know what being overwhelmed looks like or feels like. I know where my husband and children are. My home is in one piece, my belongings (too many, I admit) are safe, my world as I know it still exists, and my friends and acquaintances are right where I left them. As I deal with the natural order of things (an ill parent), the people of Haiti are dealing with no order whatsoever.

How many times have we heard, or even said to ourselves that we need to be more grateful? Generally, we are a nation with much for which to be thankful, and on a local level Leawood is a community in which we have many blessings. Do we remember that? Not always. Do we practice it with each other? Not usually. I donated some money through the American Red Cross to Haiti relief, but I also took some clothes to a local Goodwill location.

As spring makes its much-anticipated and glorious entrance, I'm sure I'll find something to complain about! It'll probably be something important like mud being tracked in by the kids and dogs. But, I will also do some random kind thing... hmmm – what will it be? Will you be the recipient? Can you beat me to it? I'd love to be overwhelmed with the kindness of it all...