When H began to stay awake through our church service, we started taking him back to the nursery. From the start it’s never been his favorite place. However a few weeks each month one of the youth, Amber, volunteered in the nursery and typically brought her boyfriend to assist. This was perfect for our little “man’s man”, who seemed to gravitate toward the boyfriend. The kid was a good sport about it, holding or playing with H and even acting as if he enjoyed it.
One day I told Youth Director Mark that I wanted to show my support for Amber (as well as indulge in my love of HS girls basketball) by making it to one of her games. We decided on a date to go and Mark mentioned that the boyfriend played as well and was quite good. So we decided to hit one of the boys games as well. At the end of the conversation I asked Amber’s boyfriend’s name again, making a mental note to commit it to memory as it’s probably bad form to ask the name of a person for a 5th time (this post is starting to take on the point of “learn a little more about the people who watch your children, even if it’s for an hour on Sunday”). Mark told me his name was Aaron.
So we arrive at the LB game, my dad in tow because he loves basketball and there was a kid on this state-ranked team who had committed to Ohio State. After getting there, dad asks, “what is the name of the kid who helps in your nursery?” To which I replied, “Aaron.” Dad said, “you mean Aaron Craft?” I said, “uhhhh, he’s number (whatever his number was in HS).” Yup, H’s favorite big kid was the newest OSU recruit. And I had no idea.
This has caused me to have quite the seasonal obsession with OSU basketball this year. Of course, we also have our Upper Sandusky ties to Diebler, but that was more a situation of shared municipality and mutual friends than actual relationship, though I know him to be a good, relatively down-to-earth kid. I appreciated how well Aaron treated my kid and in my limited interactions with him, I find him to be a stellar person.
My obsession isn’t necessarily the sort where I’m dressing up like a large pompom for the games; it’s more of a mother-like possessive tendency that when I see their faces on big screens I feel protective of them. These are good kids out there, and I hear ESPN announcers offering commentary on their collective self-worth based upon percentages and defensive presence. Granted, this year they’ve been good percentages, but it still pains me nonetheless that these boys wear the weight of hundreds of thousands of fans to be winning machines. Makers of victory.
The way we view athletes and sports in our society troubles me. We idolize these characters and then toss them aside when they fall from the public graces. Do we really have to wonder why so many professional athletes suffer from the stigma of drug addiction, even if not partaking in the Any Given Sunday lifestyle? The money, the girls, the life… we set them high, high above reality and wonder why many come crashing down so hard.
I’m so excited for and proud of Aaron – and Jon – and the opportunity they have ahead of them on this team. It seems from so many avenues (including their current publicity, below) that they’re enjoying a great ride. They’ve kept their perspective, which is what I’m really wishing for. I hope that they know that to many people, they’re more than a means to victory or championship titles. To some little boys, they’re heroes because they’re willing to get down on the floor of a church and play trucks at 8am on a Sunday. The jersey is just decoration.
Month: January 2011 (Page 2 of 7)
I’ve had a variety of pregnancy-induced thoughts lately. So much so that on my work “facebook” page the About Me section says, “yes, it does always seem like I’m pregnant.” The belly has busted out of hiding (though I can still wear my big jeans, but it’s a rotation of just a few pair). I drag my feet longer and longer each time before digging into the maternity tubs. And I forget that though the shock has worn off for me, some people are just hearing about the future addition, so it’s getting tough to keep a straight face as they react to the news.
I realized just last night that my belly button has spent more time out than in over the course of the last 2.5 years. The second pregnancy it popped by the halfway point. This time around I’m not sure it even waited until the first appointment with the midwife. I’m going to make my future millions by creating and marketing Belly Button Tape to help obscure this tale-tell sign. I’ll make it with cute decorations so that I can look at that instead of the innards of my belly-b while I take a bath.
This week marked the first appearance of the achy-aches in the back and hips that were present the past 2 rounds. I’ve been doing some yoga lately and I’m wondering if the extra movement is what triggers the flair ups (which is probably a sure sign I’m doing something wrong). Perhaps I SHOULD just park it on the leather chair with a jar of pickles.
This time, more than in the past, I battle middle-of-the-night insomnia. Last night I wrote a sermon (though no one has actually asked me to preach; however it was a very good sermon. I was funny and engaging and had a solid spiritual point). I’ve contemplated the hiring process for my current client at work. I considered the practices of men in the process of leaving their wives. You know, the norm. I have not yet awoken my husband to discuss the governmental treatment of Japanese-American citizens circa-WWII. His reaction last time served as a warning that perhaps this was not acceptable behavior.
And the JUNK food (which would trigger the addition of the previously mentioned yoga). Sour gummies, fruit snacks (that I pretend are sour gummies to be good to my teeth), anything tangy sweet – it makes my mouth water. I included the dried fruit snacks on the list this evening when husband had to make a run for dogfood, but he returned with nothing. So I devoured half a bag of sour green grapes. I could go for more, I’m not going to lie. If anyone out there lives in the vicinity of a Target and wants to ship me 874 packages of the Dried Fruit Twists by Archer Farms (strawberry mango, please), you’d probably get public praise on a well-hidden blog. I was silly enough to think 2 bags would last me a while. In this case, “a while” meant 3 days.
I also have a new theory. With each added child, time goes much faster after they arrive, but much slower before they are born. I can’t believe I’m not even to the half way point! Somebody had to have added 5 weeks to my first trimester.
So that’s life at the moment. How fortunate am I that these are the biggest things weighing on my mind at the current moment? Yes, I’ll take a sec and be grateful for that.
As a present for graduating college, KLR was given her dream trip. She excitedly chose to visit Austria, as it was the site to The Sound of Music, her favorite movie (or musical. Or show. Or all of the above. I’m not sure, I actually have never seen it. I’m surprised she’s still friends with me). And she chose for her mama to accompany her. Her bookshelf now bears pictures of her and her mother acting out favorite scenes as the main characters. Knowing how the story ended for her mother just a few short years later, I’m sure these memories hold an indescribable place in her memory.
But this is just the backdrop to the story.
KLR mentioned that every time they sat down to a meal, which nearly always included wine, her mother would take a picture of the platter before taking a bite. She wanted to savor the memory later. Not of landscape or of hotel rooms where they stayed, but of the gastronomic nature of the trip. I never met the woman, but I think I would secretly try to emulate these types of endeavors.
After moving to Upper, I only met Debbie through story. She was an art and TAG (“tall and gangly” was a favorite McCallisterism) teacher who had an appreciation for the obscure. She could look at a barn door and see a coffee table. She created stained glass projects in her basement. She brought turkeys to school in the back of obscenely small vehicles (a ACG favorite tale). And instead of seeing food as a means to satisfy the tummy, she knew it could satiate the soul.
I’ve never had much of an artistic eye. I’m notoriously utilitarian. A tree is a means to apples or annoying nuts in the yard to mow over or rake. Color is a method of describing “which one”. So hearing that something like a sandwich can be captured on film in a way that evokes emotions and not just saliva baffles and intrigues me at the same time.
Lately there’s been an uprising of semi-to-pseudo professional photographers. Many of them are very, very good (I’m FB friends with several). A few might just have nice cameras and great ambition, but they all have something I envy: an eye that sees the world with brighter color. With the right light and shade and angle, you see something beyond.
I can appreciate that people like Debbie – and those places where her presence continues to shine through, like KLR – can challenge me to look at things, even food, in new ways. It’s not simply there to be consumed, but enjoyed – and in the case of photography, we can enjoy it over and over again.