The Glass is Full

Hi there,

Your weekend sounds delightful!! We used to do the pumpkin patch every year, the corn maze, the works, but last year, no one really wanted to go. I was part sad and part relieved (since it's usually pouring down rain). I didn't miss the activity, but it drove home the inevitable growing up and leaving that is happening to my boys. This year, in fact, I probably won't even go out trick or treating with JJ - this will be the first time. Last year, I tagged along behind him and his "peeps", but for all intents and purposes, was invisible. I'm sure that this time around, I won't even need to leave the house. Enjoy your weekend and the start of a new tradition with C - how wonderful of S to love her brother enough to share.

Instead of telling you all about our family counseling today, and the resulting request that M take a drug test, and how I'm drained and exhausted but feeling strong, I thought I'd share a conversation I had with JJ instead, that warmed my heart and affirmed my belief that he is my angel in disguise. We were driving to football practice tonight, talking about how they play football at recess. You have to know that my kid is painfully passionate about football; he lives it and breathes it, but in all honesty, he's not a natural. He's not a stellar player. But he's got heart. Did you ever see the movie Rudy? JJ is Rudy.

I asked, "How do you pick teams?"
He said, "Well, first you pick Captains."
"How do you do that?"
"You just call it. You call First Captain or Second Captain. It's really easy."
"Ok, then what?"
"Then you have two-picks."
"Two-picks?"
"Yeah, First Captain gets to pick two players, then Second Captain picks two. Then it goes back and forth only you only get to pick one at a time."
"Oh, ok. So, when you're not Captain, I bet you get picked pretty quick, eh?" I was fishing around to see if he gets a fair shot on the playground among all the tackle players whose Moms are manic about sports.
He says, thinking hard, "Hm, no, not really. "
"Well, you're probably not too far down then." My heart speeds up. Please God, don't let him be the kid who is last picked.
But he's still smiling when he says, "No, I'm usually the last fifth grader picked. For some reason, all the fifth graders get picked before the fourth graders."
"Mmm," I say, slightly relieved. "So no fourth graders get in on two-picks?"
"Well, yeah, like one. Or two. Sometimes. Some of them get picked before me." I want to cry, but this isn't about me. I say,
"That seems ok with you." And my kid, from whom I should learn the art and gift of optimism, lights up and says,
'Yeah! I don't care what order I'm in as long as I get picked!"

If only we could all view the world in his light, in his happiness and gratefulness just to play football, just to be on the playground, just to be outside in the world. I have never met anyone like him, and every day he shares that gift with me, in some small way. On days when M challenges me to the core of my being, my being who loves him so deeply and so wholly that it hurts, I thank God for this balance.

I'm going to bed with that vision of his little eyes all wide open, looking at me as if to say Aren't I lucky Mom? - and there are no conditions or provisions involved.

Happy Thursday,
A