Enjoying the Teasers in Life... Big and Small

To commemorate my son’s first year of school, a lively musical was held at his school.  On a Tuesday night, I rushed from work to change my son’s shirt, slick his hair back, change my shoes and hightail it to Valley Park gymnasium.  Teacher of the Year Mr. Ketterman, whom all the kindergarteners adore, is on stage with his microphone and guitar.  He commands the attentions of the 100 kids on stage.  Together for the next thirty minutes, the darlings sing their hearts out to top 40 hits, like “Dynamite” by Usher, Justin Beiber’s, “Baby,” as well as their own original creations. 

One song was cleverly repetitious.   They had to pick an animal and rhyme it with a thing or object – like a cat in a hat.  These words would then fit into the song. 

“Oh a hunting we will go

a hunting we will go

we’ll catch a bear

and put him in underwear

and then we’ll let him go.” 

This went on and on with different animals that were placed into the song, like a dog in a log or a brontosaurus in the chorus.

Parents around me have their souped up video cameras on tripods, and I have a four-year old malfunctioning camera that is running out of battery.  I’m feeling low.  My son is in the back row trying to see over the puffy bangs of the girl in front of him.  He’s looking all around for us, and I’m waving frantically.  We are all elbow to elbow in loud, metal folding chairs straining to see our children.  The lady sitting next to me struggles to keep a baby quiet while her husband is zooming in with his video camera on their adorable red headed daughter, Kennedy, in the front row.  I’m feeling even lower.  This mother with three kids can get it together enough to bring her video camera so that they will have a video they can treasure for years.  Their daughter sings the songs perfectly and mimes the motions precisely.  Mine is goofing off in the back row. 

I am silently kicking myself.  Why couldn’t I leave work early enough to charge my camera’s battery?  The iphone camera I am using is crap.  It doesn’t zoom and all I can capture is the top of his head.  I’ll have a really good picture of his spiky colic.   

But, in the end, it’s the memory that counts.  The night before the “big show” I was tucking my son into bed asking about how prepared he was for his musical.  “Can you give me a teaser?”  “What’s a teaser mom?”  I explained that it was giving me a taste of what songs he had planned so that I can look forward to it. 

So that night, tucked into his dinosaur sheets with his bumble bee pillow pet, he serenaded me with various different vignettes of the songs to come, stopping just short of giving away the whole song, and leaving me wanting more.  “That was very good Tyler!”  

I thought back on those special moments at bedtime while I was craning my neck to see the last song.  This event was for my son to feel special and accomplished, not for me to catch perfect video or pictures.  So I put down the camera and just enjoyed the show.  He was having a blast in the back row.  He found me in the audience and sang harder and louder.  I clapped ferociously, not caring that I was probably waking up the sleeping baby next to me.   

I realized that sometimes the small moments in life are more special that the big moments.  I got a first row seat to my son’s “teaser” in his bed the night before.  I could hear him loud and clear.  That was a special moment.  That was when he was felt accomplished and proud to belt out everything he had learned.  That moment was just as important as his moment on stage.  He could care less if I was recording it or not.  He just wanted my attention – the same attention he had when I tucked him into bed. 

As adults, we could learn from this lesson.  We spend so much time managing our lives for the stage, thinking that the “big musicals” are the only thing that’s going to matter in the end.  That’s when the video is rolling, the credits come out.  That’s when everyone is watching. 

But, I think it’s the small moments backstage that really make us who we really are.  We forget in the busyness of life to cherish the serenades, the bedside chats, and the anticipation of achievements.  As working women and moms we are so goal oriented, type A, overworked and perfectionist strived that we miss the “teasers” in life, the small moments that give life meaning and an overall theme.  Looking back, had I not experienced the serenade of the kindergarten musical, it wouldn’t have been nearly as special.  That is the tragedy.  Our overcompensating attitude toward life covers the crux of what we are working so hard for.  Life is made up of small moments and big moments.  Sometimes it’s the small moments that give so much meaning to the big moments.  Let’s not forget to enjoy the teasers.

Mother's Day, Moles, and Mantles

“Mom.  Come here!  Quick.”  My son is squatting down by a rock pointing at something black and furry with a tail.  It scurries under a rock, darts over the grass, and starts burrowing in the ground.  I squat down too and take a closer look.  Uggh… It’s a mole.  And it’s responsible for the mounds of dirt and tracks we get in our yard every year.  I hate these things.  “Give me the bat Tyler…” I regretfully request.  He hands it over; his eyes peeled on the enthusiastic rodent. 

I lift my arms to swing the bat, but lose my resolve.  I can’t do it.  I can’t crush a mole in front of my son.  His eyes are still peeled and I can tell the thing is gaining ground…literally.  I’m torn between letting the thing reek its havoc in our front yard or getting over my fear of squashing a live thing to its death… in front of my son… with his bat.    

So, I do what any woman of sound mind would do.  I call for back up.  We are screaming in unison, “Hurry!  Come here!” as the thing sinks lower and lower in the ground.  My husband arrives… almost too late.  And he has no problem banging that bat down on the moving earth.  He has patting down more molehills than I have. 

“He’s dead…” he remarks casually and hands Tyler the bat.  My son is in shock… “Dad, that’s one of God’s creatures…”

 “Well he’s with God now” my husband replies. 

My son is still squatting down, watching the now motionless, belly up mole.

I’m happy as the innocent bystander and only a witness to the crime.   

That answer seems to work.  He can dig molehills up in heaven, and we soon get distracted trying to figure out how to dispose of the animal and marveling at just how long its claws are. 

I am happy I made the right decision.  We moms have to think twice about what to bang in the head and when to do it. 

Had this been a head of lettuce, I would have had no problem banging the heck out of it. 

But, I start to think of my immediate impulse as a woman, mom, and gardener… On Mother’s Day, I wanted to bang that thing that was rooting through my ground in the head with a bat. 

I wanted it dead.  Not captured or stunned, but dead. 

I think this is how all moms are wired.  We plant the seeds in our children’s lives, we water the seeds, we watch them grow, and we sure the hell don’t want any trespassers chewing through it! 

Earlier, not two feet from the alleged misdemeanor, I was having a nice conversation with my neighbor.  She brought over a late Christmas gift, which made for a wonderful Mother’s Day gift.  It was a wine holder with the bottle swinging in a small hammock strapped to palm trees on a beach… It’s going on my mantle.  Everything about the gift says, “Relax.  Lay down.  Drink me.” 

I have to laugh that fifteen minutes after receiving this relaxing, symbolic gift I am poised over a mole with a bat and my bug eyed son yelling, “Don’t kill it mom!”   

It’s the story of our lives as mothers.  What we deserve and want more of (sleep, wine, and a vacation) sits on our mantle, while the unexpected reality (a live mole crawling through our garden) waits for us around the corner.     

It’s all how we swing the bat that gets us to the next inning. 

What Life Throws Your Way

You haven't really lived until you've sidelined a T-ball practice for kindergarteners. 

Their first game is tomorrow and coaches Jeff and Bobby Jo struggle to teach eight little kids with varying skill levels the organized game of baseball.  The only girl on the team, Lilah, is up first with a white flower barrette pinning back her massive mound of frizzy jet-black hair.  Lilah is headstrong and whirls her pink polka dotted bat defiantly through the air with style but no contact. 

Another boy, Connor, screams at the top of his lungs when he runs from base to base.  Logan prances up to home base in his spanking new orange helmet and Old Navy tracksuit, but struggles with swinging the heavy bat across his body.  The bat's momentum whirls him around in a full circle.   

Loudmouthed, older sister, Trisha "coaches" from the sidelines as she pushes her little brother, stroller and all, onto the field in the direct path of the pitch.  She gets shouted off the field and play resumes. 

Coach Bobby Jo yells, "Get in your ready positions," and all eight kids squat and perch their elbows on their knees with gloves aimed at the batter - a batter who has his legs spread so far apart he almost loses his balance.

Tyler swaggers up to bat chewing his Dubble Bubble, confident in his obvious superior grasp of the game.  "Something tells me we have a slugger on our hands," Coach Jeff yells from the pitcher position.    Veteran player, Carter, yells from first base, "I'm going hard on you Tyler!" 

Tyler is up for the challenge.  His eyes gleam as he addresses the plate with authority.  The whole field grows quiet.  You can feel the anticipation in the air.  "Get in your ready positions!" The kids squat down in unison.  Crack.  Tyler makes contact and jets off to first.

We parents on the sidelines are doubled over in tears at the organized chaos.  We have our own hilarious real life version of "Sandlot" and have to wonder if the other team's are as bad as we are. 

I'm a little worried.  Will my competitive, aggressive, perfectionist athlete son be happy playing on a team with a bunch of happy-go-lucky kids who could care less about baseball? 

I have to wonder if their are teams full of other aggressive, competitive and talented athletes.  Are we going to be the laughingstock of the league? 

But, when I look out at the field, my son is having a blast.  He's enjoying the game for the fun of it.

We could all take a lesson from this ragamuffin crew.  They didn't have to be perfect or beat anyone.  They weren't playing for the points.  They just had to express themselves.  Lilah didn't care if she missed the ball every single time.  She just liked swinging her polka dot bat!  They didn't worry about each "at bat" and whether of not it would be good enough for the onlookers.  They just tried to make the best of each throw and each opportunity. 

Maybe we adults should take some pointers.  Instead of worrying about the score and our "batting averages," we should concentrate on getting to know our team, developing team spirit, making the best of every opportunity, what life throws our way, and maybe running from 1st to 2nd base yelling at the top of our lungs. 

If we did this, I think life would seem a little more enjoyable and in the moment.  We could take our eyes off of the unreachable goals and back on what is happening right around us.  Because, sometimes what is happening in the present, everyday life is really what life is all about. 

Forty-five minutes later, we've gone through the lineup and head to the dugout.  The team receives their game gear - kelly green hats and matching t-shirts.

Tyler is excited for tomorrow's game.  He doesn't seem worried that other teams may be better and more prepared.  He's happy in his place on the team and confident that he will make the best of whatever life throws his way.