My Sock Drawer Runneth Over- March Madness Beginnings

Does anyone else have socks disappear?

 

 (Or other articles of laundry?) I posed this question to a mother with a toddler around the time J was the same age, and she looked at me with mild bewilderment.

"No, I haven't." she said searching me, possibly wondering if I would be the kind of friend she would want to continue taking stroller walks with on sunny afternoons.

"Who loses their stuff in the laundry?" I wondered inwardly and almost started to feel guilty until I was watching Channel 10 with J one afternoon. The missing sock issue was showcased in an cartoon episode of a show we watched every day but now I can't recall.

Anyway, a cat was the culprit! I wasn't crazy! This sort of thing was big enough to incorporate into public television, heck it had to be a common problem! However, we didn't have a cat. But this cat was taking the socks for the 'sock exchange'.

To deal with this phenomenon we have a basket dedicated to holding misfit socks- until their mate is found.

I have found this "treasure trove" has to be sorted quarterly because, often more than not, the mate's sock is swimming somewhere in the same vicinity. But you don't know this until you actually take out all the socks and try to match them.

Not being able to find matching socks is the real reason why the term 'March Madness' was coined.

All basketball players are forced to either wear stinky, or mismatched socks, by the time the tournaments roll around. Or buy new ones.

Instead of focusing on the two people that got the Final Four right, I wanna know who is doing the laundry? Or going out and buying some when times are desperate? Who is finding the jerseys? Why are these champions NEVER highlighted in the commercials or newspapers? Or given air time on ESPN?

Either way, I can't wait until J tries to open his drawer because he is going to think Santa came and did his laundry.

Snow Ball, Jimmer's Mom and Old 'Best Players'

"If You're Not Practicing, Someone Else Is."

J read the quote accompanied with basketball clinic information and told me it didn't make sense.

"Oh, dear." I thought to myself, "If he doesn't get this, then we are in trouble."

"I'm always practicing. And if they're [his teammates] practicing, so am I."he said defensively.

"Very true." I sighed with relief.


(showing us how to dunk and hang on a nerf net. tape required.)

Thanks to Jimmer, the basketball frenzy has continued. I personally think it is awesome his mom is a sub teacher! If Jimmer thought playing bball in prison was tough, his mom prob put him in check with stories from sub teaching. Helps to put that kind of thing in perspective.

Instead of making Jaden go play ball in prison, I think I will make him sub teach at the HS.

A handful of his old "best players."

The one on the far left set a three point record for the HS, and all the boys chipped in to hold a record for the highest GPA for a boys team at Skyline. WOW!

The two little guys in front have a lot to live up to.

I'm Not Italian and Assessing Need

This is why J will not be telling magic meal stories that involve home-made pasta, basil and oregano.

If you happen to be on a raft, in the middle of the ocean with J, or anywhere else for that matter, you'll have a nerf basketball hoop to practice your shooting, hear plenty of movies he can quote- word for word and give exact impersonations) to entertain you, and I am hoping some sweet memories.

He will bring common sense and critical thinking to the table.... just as he did the other day, as we drove to the polls to vote for the school levy. After hearing what the vote was for he admonished: "Mom, vote yes. The 6th graders are always beating up on the kindergartners."

Whether levy money compensates kinders for damages, pays other students for heroic activity, or bargains with the bullies, I don't know. Either way I can see he is seeing the importance of making your voice heard.

Unbroken by Laura Hiienbrand-

I read an article in the Washington Post yesterday that reminded me that we have servicemen/women still at war. One that has been going on for 10 years now.

Duh, you are thinking. But in all the melee of life, I honestly have put that on the back burner. Even after reading a book that detailed the startling sacrifice of those who serve us.

The book, Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand, was finally finished. It about broke me to read about the suffering, so I put it aside.

If you feel like you have personally been through a mission to bomb enemy air strips, had your plane torn almost in half, landed that plane a few hours later with most of your crew dealing with life threatening injuries, only to face getting bombed by Zeros, dispatched on a rescue mission, go down in your own plane into the Pacific where you and a couple of the crew commenced to float around the Pacific for over a month- If this is how you FEEL your life is going, don't pick up Unbroken. Cause it just gets worse.

But I finally sucked it up and read the worst of it. How Louie faced being a POW, the humiliation and degradation. Poor diet and beatings; expected to perform labors beyond the human imagination on that golf ball size of rice.

Being freed was only the beginning of the next onslaught of mental aftermath.

I was relieved to finish the book and breathe out a sigh of relief that the War is over! whew!

My reality check bounced with the recent news article:

'At a banquet consisting of Marines and business people in the St. Louis area, Lt. Gen. John F. Kelly spoke about the current war. Oh, and he requested that the person introducing him, not mention he'd just lost his son four days earlier. (The Washington Post, March 2, 2011- by Greg Jaffe)

'Without once referring to his son's death, the general delivered a passionate... speech about the miitary's sacrifices and its troops' growing sense of isolation from society.'

'" Their struggle is your struggle," he told the ballroom.' "If anyone thinks you can somehow thank them for their service, and not support the cause for which they fight- our country- these people are lying to themselves."

'Kelly is the most senior U.S. military officer to lose a son or daughter in Iraq or Afghanistan. He was giving voice to a growing concern among soldiers and Marines: The American public is largely unaware of the price its military pays to fight the United States' distant conflicts.'

Guilty. Seriously guilty.

I honestly have to admit that I have forgotten. Or conveniently put it out of my mind that 'breaking' suffering amongst those who serve in our military and those who are oppressed, is still going on.

J and I go on our little way to practice, games, the grocery store (moan). I grumble about the nearing of dinner time and having to actually make it when people like Louie Zamperini sat drifting in a yellow raft for 2k miles, and three times a day, 'mentally' prepare a meal for him and his castaway fellows.

With precision he would tell of the ingredients that his Italian mother would use to make spaghetti, the scents that would waft through the kitchen as it simmered and cooked on the stove. gulp.

Louie called out the names of the ingredients, if he forgot any, his mates would correct him. he'd even whip up some imaginary Pumpkin Pie. And then they would slowly "feast" on their meal, describing in exquisite detail how the meal 'tasted'.

Poor J, if he were in that situation I can see how pathetic the meal would seem to the men fighting... "My mom would bring the water and salt, if she remember, to a boil. Throw in the spaghetti and let it cook for 11 minutes. " sniff. "Then she would heat the canned sauce in the microwave and pour it over the noodles."

That sounds like a great meal memory, doesn't it? or heaven forbid if he has to try and recall the ingredients.

Heck, I can barely recall if I chewed my tortilla last night more than a few times before swallowing it in Olympic time in an attempt to hustle to the next thing on our critical to do list: bath, read, Pray, Sleep.

The Washington Post article gripped me by the throat and about made me choke on the sloppy job of chewing my food as I read Lt. Kelly's letter, sent home after all the fighting stopped being broadcast on T.V.:

'"It was weird to read mail again, a reminder that other people's lives go on while I am here."

In a letter to his friend Robert Kelly continued his plea for our attention, recognition and reverence: "Things have not been going so well. I am having a lot of trouble dealing with this. It is hard to explain right now... I just want to go home and see my family and friends, I really want to sit down with my dad and talk."

"Try to keep your eye on the news," he implored. "It will be good to know that people are paying attention to what the.. Marines with me will be accomplishing."

Shoot.

Robert, I can only say that I stood up at ball games and listened to the national anthem, looked at our beautiful big flag and tried to transport myself to what was paid, and is being paid. It's hard, to be here, where we are so blessed with the comforts of life, to place myself in your shoes. I am guilty of taking it for granted, grumbling about the gift to go to the grocery store, and griping about essentially trivial matters.

I want to thank the Kelly family, and the others, for that 'mental buffer'.

For standing in between all that mess and dealing with it so that I can have these times with J. I will do a better job at watching where the troops are going with a map. Maybe we need to start putting little pins on that map and put it out in the kitchen where we can see it, so we can follow the progress.

The Elder kelly, whose position enabled him to know details the public doesn't get, to see where his sons were at and what they were going through mailed family members: "I write to you all to just let you know he's in the thick of it and to keep him in your thoughts. We are doing a Novena a minute down here and there is no end in sight."

I don't even know what a Novena is...

In a final email before his son's death he wrote: "I am sweating bullets, Pray. Pray. Pray. He's a such a good boy.. and Marine."

Last night I actually mouthed the words of the place that our military is now fighting. Mind you it is a couple places. And how easy it is to just say 'bless the military'? and move to the asking for blessings part of prayer?

I don't know how to end this post. All I can say was it took a lot out of me to write it.

Acceptable Behaviour

Losing can bite.

However, I am a firm beiever that we can't all be winners. Which means that we get to taste loss. So you will need something to alleviate the bad taste in your mouth after such trauma.

After seeing J go through this I shared some sweet Lemony Snicket quotes.

Among some of the quotes I read to him:

"...you know that a good, long session of weeping can often make you feel better, even if your circumstances have not changed one bit."
— Lemony Snicket (The Bad Beginning)

"If you are allergic to a thing, it is best not to put that thing in your mouth, particularly if the thing is cats."
— Lemony Snicket (The Wide Window)

"Stealing, of course, is a crime, and a very impolite thing to do. But like most impolite things, it is excusable under certain circumstances. Stealing is not excusable if, for instance, you are in a museum and you decide that a certain painting would look better in your house, and you simply grab the painting and take it there. But if you were very, very hungry, and you had no way of obtaining money, it would be excusable to grab the painting, take it to your house, and eat it."
— Lemony Snicket (The Wide Window)

He replied thoughtfully: "That gives me an idea. I should just take one of those medals and eat it."

Exactly.

Brand New Best Players

Hearing about local HS bball can seem a bit like listening to others talk about their kid; border-line boring- unless it's yours. Then ANY little nuance is incredible.

Kade, my 2 year old nephew sums it up best. "I DID IT!"

This he does as he pulls a red ball, connected to a string out of the small, target; a wooden bucket.

Unfortunately, "our" team couldn't pull off the final meeting with cross town rivals; IF. We'd watched them match up over and over, it seemed. Stealing a critical win, they sent us on the road to face the top seed, Highland. Fighting back we came home to IF to take on the Tigers in their own Den, and stung them with a win.

Only to face them the next day on our turf. Two games. In two nights. Too much.

J was solemn before the game.

"Mom, these guys are gonna graduate, go on to college, and I'm gonna have to find brand new best players."

Uf. The wind was knocked outta me. I could only nod and put an arm around him.

Some time past he named a player coming up. One that has talked with him at the games, given him the time.

"Spencer. Spencer's my new favorite player." he said dead pan, like he was leaving a fellow soldier where he couldn't retrieve him. But with the confidence that what lie ahead was okay in the next best player's hands.

We went out into the cold night and faced the weary attempt our boys gave in the last game of the season, watched the rivals rush our floor, a flood of orange and black covering up the Grizzly Bear clawing through the floor boards.

WE DID IT; we made it through another tough, Idaho winter. Despite the wet, gritty driveway, J is out there shooting hooop. With me rebounding and the sun watching in the west we can feel spring beggin to come and it's welcome to. After the wind reigns for a bit.

Thanks boys for a memorable year with my son, the slow re-building of dreams and strength, the hope for future blue and white games- the looming of my own heading off to college.

This year will always be a special one, not only because J finally latched on to heroes from the court, but because we spent time watching the magic, together.