Friday, February 24, 2017

Letting Go

I'm working on being a minimalist, but I'll admit, I'm still really attached to my stuff.

I like having knick knacks and paddy whacks. (Sometimes I even give my dog a bone. Sorry, I couldn't resist.) I like having stuff, like the "rock" my husband made when he tried sculpting in high school and the bronze Egyptian treasure we found at an antique store on our 8th anniversary. I like my teacups with feet and the mallard duck bookends that hold up my antique book collection.

I like the baseball glove I've had since I was a kid, probably 10 years old or so. It's my autograph glove, and even though I go to spring training games every year, I only have three autographs on it.

One signature I got when I was 10. Mike Jeffcoat, who was then a member of my favorite team, The Texas Rangers.

One was signed my first year at spring training, when I thrust my Sharpie and glove at a unknown Rangers player. I still have no idea who it was.

Then, a few years later, my parent were visiting and we went to (yet another) Rangers spring training game (they must've been playing the Cubs that day), where catcher Joe Garagiola happened to be signing copies of his book. He was the last signature I had on my glove.

But there's nothing like having dogs that chew up all your stuff to learn how to let things go.

I now only have two signatures. The entire front of the glove, and the unknown players signature, has been devoured by puppy teeth who think a baseball glove smells good.

Can't say I blame them. It does probably smell like dirt and dead cow.

It also smells like hot dogs and commemorative soda cups and Texas summer nights and friendship and childhood.

I'm sad. I'm upset that an important symbol from my childhood has been destroyed. Baseball has always been such a big part of my life.

But I've also taken the road to less belongings. To letting go.

While my autographed glove is never something I would have ever let go of, I think that the process of attaching less meaning to items has helped me get past the anger of losing such a treasure. Because I will always have the memories.

I still have the memories of all the baseball games I went to, the autographs I got, the players and plays I saw. I was at games Nolan Ryan pitched. I cheered Pudge on as he threw a man out at second. I read articles about the players, including a funny one about Will Clark that made him one of my favorite players, but I didn't keep the article. I spent countless hours watching baseball games in person and on TV, recording each ball and strike. I never kept any of those scorecards either, but I still have the memories. Such will have to be the way with this autograph glove. Memories will carry on, even though the mangled remains of the glove won't.

 After all, they are just puppies. They don't even know who Joe Garagiola is.

This is the first time in my life I have ever been glad this glove didn't have a Pudge Rodriguez or Nolan Ryan autograph.

Monday, February 20, 2017


Ugh. Total Mom Fail today. Worst one yet, which says it all right there. I kind of Mom Fail a lot. Don't we all? Please please say that we all do?!

Months earlier both kids asked me if they could prettyplease with bacon on top be in the school play.  A former thespian (read that correctly!) myself, I told them sure, even though the $$$ admission was super expensive. Think: Disneyworld expensive.

But experiences are worth it, and I knew they would love it.

They have loved it, going to practice every week since early fall.

Today, the director of the play came out to meet me after rehearsal. Uh oh, I thought. What happened?!

I double-booked them on performance day.

Double-booked them. And not in a "sure, we can skip the other event" kind of double-booked.

They will be the ring bearer and flower girl in a wedding, 2000 miles from where that community performance is happening AT THE EXACT SAME TIME.

Ohhhhhh man, that's some awful double-booking.

So I'll sum it up for you. Because I didn't triple check the dates of the wedding and the performance, I now owe $$$$ for rehearsals for a play the director will have to replace my children in because they will not be able to perform SIX WEEKS before the performance. Ugh. Triple zillion million Ugh. Total mom fail.

Please tell me that this is not as bad as it seems? Or that you have done worse?

I can't stop thinking Ugh. I feel awful for my kids and for the play directors. UGHUGHUGHUGHUGHUGHUGH.

**On a side note, all those UGHs look like HUGS when they run together. And I need one right now. A hug, that is. 

Goodnight Moon

"You brush your teeth and I'll pick the book," I shouted across the house as my little monkeys clambered across each other towards the bathroom. We have double sinks in their bathroom, but they have to use the same sink and wait in line impatiently for the other to finish.

The pushing and shoving continued until they both were toothbrushed and pottied and climbed into bed with me.

"What book did you pick, Mama?" Peanut asked.

"An oldie but a goodie," I answered, although if I was being completely honest I would have answered,"The shortest one I could possibly find, because Mama is tired and DONE with the refereeing and the fighting and there is a very good $8 bottle of chardonnay in the fridge that needs to be open NOW."

Can we also talk about how they mostly call me Mom or Mama now, not Mommy?! They are way too old.

I chose a book that I don't particularly like. But it's a short book and I wasn't kidding about being done with the day. Also, it's way too babyish for them. We've been reading chapters of books some nights, mostly from my old Sideways Stories from WaySide School, but occasionally I've been delving into Harry Potter and, recently, Percy Jackson. Mostly, Bjorn reads those on his own during the day, as Peanut still enjoys a good picture book at night.

So what did I pick?

Good night moon.

I'm sure there are moms out there that love that book. It's so sweet and innocent, and if you have a sweet little toddler of a child, they usually wave Good Night to all the things in their room just like in the book.


But if you have my smart-ass children, they wave to EVERYTHING in the room. "Goodnight doorknob. Goodnight string that turns on my light and fan. Goodnight left sock. Goodnight right sock. Goodnight fart I just made."  At this time of night, it just isn't cute anymore, so normally I don't read it.

But, again. SHORT. (And also, Chardonnay.)

This time I made it all the way to the page "Goodnight Cow Jumping Over the Moon" before interruption.

"Wait. Can that cow REALLY jump over the moon? Is that real?!" Peanut asked. She's been very into what is "real" lately.

"No. It's just a trick,"Bjorn answered her. " The cow is really close up and the moon is far away, so it LOOKS like it jumps over it because the moon is so small, but it really doesn't."

"Ohhhh..." Peanut says, confused.

"Because if it really was jumping over the moon," Bjorn continued, "the cow would be jumping all the way into space, and it would get sucked into space where there is no gravity, and no air for it to breathe, so it would die before it could even get to the moon to jump over it."


I think we have definitely outgrown this book.