cast on, cast off

I bet I lure a lot of knitters in with that title, huh?

Unfortunately, I'm not talking about knitting. I'm talking about arm casts. And Andrew's is about to come off - in a little less than a week.

This is particularly good, because it's beginning to look rather dingy. And I think he's weary of wearing a trash bag in the shower, and not being able to catch a baseball properly. It was nice of the doctor to provide a nice, blue cast that perfectly matches his baseball outfit, but I think we're both tired of it.

My real reason for mentioning any of this, of course, is to keep my word and spill the beans about what I wrote on his cast. None of you were brave enough to guess ... only brave enough to say "Gee, with your sense of humor, there's no tellin' what you wrote!" Ha! That made me laugh. Mostly because I realize you all thought I probably wrote something extremely funny or rude or embarrassing.

**Long pause

Ok, so maybe you were right with the rude part. I dunno what do you think? Is "Smooth move, ExLax!"  rude? 

**Longer pause

Yeah, you're probably right. But what I really wanted to write was "Roly Poly, Pell Mell, Tumble Bumble!"

Why? Because he looooooved that book when he was little. I'm positive I read it to him at least 3,486 times. And - since he truly did go roly poly, tumble, bumble, pell, mell down the hill, it seemed quite appropriate.

As did strawberry shortcake, rice pudding, and chocolate custard...........

Ahem!

However, when I told him I was going to write a portion of The Poky Little Puppy, he said, "Mom. That's too long. Ya' gotta save room for all my friends."

Psh!! Ok, fine. I see where I rank.

So the ExLax comment is what ya' get if you reject the cute comment. To sweeten things up, I did add "Love, Mom" and "Romans 8:28" to the signature.

See. I'm a great Mom.

Right? 

where i've been

*peeks around corner

Hello! So nice to see you again!!

Yes, I've been away, for a very long time. The good news is that I am not deceased. The bad news is that ... well, there is no bad news! I've been away from home for the last (almost) three weeks, taking care of my mom-in-law while my dad-in-law was out of town on business. And while it's been a little bit crazy, I am home safe and sound, and catching up on rest, laundry, cleaning, and getting to know Jessie again. :-) We plan to reacquaint ourselves this evening, while we watch American Idol and just ... veg.

My refrigerator is chalk full of science projects, but I'm not dealing with that until tomorrow. And yes, I said that yesterday.

Other than that, there isn't a whole lot going on, other than normal everyday life. Baseball season has started for both the Rockies and Andrew. I'm soooo excited!! I can't wait until it gets warm enough to go to a game and get toasty fried in the warm sun! And yes, I know all about skin cancer. I just happen to not care. I'd rather remedy my low vitamin D than worry about something that may never happen. But I am kidding about getting toasty fried. I know that's not a good thing.

I'm also in the midst of starting a blog for the ladies at our church. Unfortunately, it won't be something that non-members will have access to, so I won't be able to point you to it. But I at least had to share, because I'm so excited!!! It's an opportunity to write more, encourage more, and get to know others at my church more. Nothing better than that! I can't wait to see what kind of input and feedback the ladies will give.

Bedee, bedee, that's about it, folks! Oh! Forgot to tell you that Andrew broke him wrist while we were gone. He went on a three day youth retreat, and got into a tubing pile up. Ha! He said all of them were going down the hill, and all of a sudden, the tube flipped and all three of his buddies had landed on his arm while it was twisted behind his back. He said he went face first, with his cheek bouncing up and down on the ground all the way down. And then he said, "And Mom! Michael landed right ON my face. I mean, like, ON IT." Michael weighs about 220, so ... ahem ... I can't imagine that was too pleasant, and it made me wonder how his nose didn't end up getting broken also. ;-)

So, he's in a cast for four weeks, and a splint for two. Baseball practice started the night he got the cast on, of course. Thankfully, it's just the start of the practice season, and he should be good to go as soon as the games start up. And thankfully, it wasn't his pitching arm. Thank you, Lord!

Thanks for stopping in again, assuming I'm not talking to thin air. I'm sure I've lost most of my readers by now. If you did stop in, leave me a little comment and let me know if you have any guesses as to what I said when I signed Andrew's cast (I'll reveal the answer in the next post).

Any guesses?

Anyone?





Anyone???

repost - cuz i got nothin'

I'm kidding.

Not kidding that this is a repost, but I am kidding that I got nothin'. While I haven't been posting as lately, it's not because I have nothing to say (that would be a miracle!). In fact, if it's possible to have so much to say that you don't know what to say ... then that's where I'm at.

So, until I figure out how to say it, or at least post a lame but readable post, I'll simply repost. This will, in fact, be my first repost ever - and this blog just had its 4th anniversary on December 21st.

All that to say ... I don't feel guilty for reposting. ;)

I chose this particular post because I'm hungry for baseball to start up. Yep, every year after Christmas and New Years have passed, I'm eager for the cold and snow to fizzle, the sunshine to make its way out, and baseball to reappear on my tv and in my backyard. I want to see Tulowitzky scoop up a grounder and toss it to Helton. And I want to see Andrew pitch the much coveted no hitter!!

Until then .... we'll reflect back on an experience I had in the bleachers last season. Sigh ...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Gift Of Goosebumps 

Last night, I sat in my purple, frayed lawn chair as I watched Andrew pitch a seven inning game. The sun was out, the mountains in the background were unbelievably beautiful, and my son was having an awesome game. I didn't think it could get any better.

It was the first warm game of the season. But if you've ever experienced Colorado weather, you know it can change in a flash.

The weather remained calm, the wind kept its distance, and it seemed everyone was having the time of their lives. But then the sun went behind the mountains. It was still pleasant enough, and to most folks, it was a relief from the glaring sunshine.

But I shivered and slipped my fleece jacket on, and wondered if I'd eventually need the other three jackets or the wool blanket that I faithfully bring to each game. If the wind picked up, or clouds began to roll over the top of the mountains, I would eventually don each and every winter good I brought, and wish for more.

I continued watching the game.

"Who would have ever thought I should have brought a jacket?" I heard a shaky voice behind me say.

I turned to see an old lady sitting four bleachers up. I'd never seen her before. Later, I came to realize that she was likely our catcher's grandmother. She was quite thin, with stark white hair. Even though it was warm when she arrived, she wore a long sleeve sweat suit and tennis shoes.

I knew then that we possessed a common trait - the inability to stay warm.

I stole another glance at her. Her body was arched over, arms and legs crossed to keep the warmth in. Her smile was broad, revealing a road map of wrinkles as she watched her grandson catch my son's pitches.

I smiled too. But my smile quickly turned upside down and I felt a pang of guilt. After all, I was sitting comfortably with my jacket butttoned up to my neck, two jackets resting on the back of my chair, and a wool blanket under my toosh. Not to mention my husbands jacket lying on the ground next to me.

I'm too shy, I thought.

Chicken!

I ignored the accusation and went on watching the game. The wind picked up a bit. I shivered, and again I remembered the lady behind me.

I stole another glance at her.

Still hunched over. Still cold. Still smiling.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I hate being cold, and I knew it happened just as easily to her as it does to me. Everyone else seemed warm and comfortable. I was the only one who knew how she felt. And I was the only one who could help her.

I pryed my sorry, shy tooshy off the purple, tattered lawn chair, and grabbed a jacket that I was sure would completely cover her. I slowly made my way up the bleachers, trying to stay out of people's view of the game. I wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, and said, "I can't stand to see you over here shivering when I have all those jackets just sitting there waiting to be used."

I made sure the jacket was snug.

She smiled at me, and the lines in the map grew deeper.

"Thank you so much. I should have thought to bring something for myself."

"Well, you're new here," I assured her. "I've learned to come prepared, even when the weather is beautiful."

She seemed happy with that response, and even happier that she could sit and watch the game, goosebump free.

I, however, was not goosebump free - a gift given to me not by the weather, but by her pricelss look of gratefulness.

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these. ~George Washington Carver

You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

pleasantly disturbed - baseball, men, chocolate, bacon, and cholesterol

I'm linking up with Duane Scott today for Pleasantly Disturbed Thursdays. Not that it has to be Thursday to be pleasantly disturbed, you understand. It's just the day we choose to flaunt our disturbing mindsets. And uhh ... our pleasantness.

You want to know what disturbs me?

Exercising. I can't seem to get motivated to do it. My cholesterol is rising, rising, rising, and yet I can't seem to get the gumption to do anything about it. The thing is, I'm afraid if I burn many calories, I'll lose weight. And that's something I really don't need to do. Also, it does not give me energy. I'm more tired when I exercise! Perhaps I haven't done it long enough to see the benefits?

Ho hum. Whateva! 

Speaking of cholesterol. And Duane Scott. Yes, Duane. The chocolate covered bacon is a heart attack waiting to happen. So dig in! What are you waiting for? You're young! I'm sure your cholesterol is nice and low, ya' big stud. So bring home the bacon. Fry it up in a pan. And dip it in chocolate! You'll feel like a man!

Speaking of men ... I just don't understand them. Sometimes I envy them. But only because they don't have female health problems. Oh yes, and because they seem to get better looking as they age. Women? The only thing we have to look forward to in our old age is not having our monthly, gray hair, road map faces, and saggy chesticles.

Big. Honkin'. Whoop.

Speaking of whoop ... Andrew's baseball team got their booties whooped last Sunday. It was just one of those games where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. We normally coach him to learn from his mistakes he made in the game. This game? We said, "Forget it all. Erase if from your mind!! Throw it in the trash. It's gone. Done with. Finished!"

Speaking of finished ... I am almost finished with three, count 'em, three quilts. One big one, one table runner, and one mini-quilt. All I have to do is tack the binding down. Pics will be up as soon as I'm done with each. I know, I know .. you've heard it all before. But really. I AM almost done.

Speaking of finished (again) ... I'm finished with this post!

Want to show off your ability to be pleasantly disturbed? Link up with us right here!

the pitcher

The Titans and the Rattlers were in the top of the third inning. Rattlers were up to bat, with two outs, and the pitcher was working hard to make it a third. The score was one to nothing, Titans on top.

It was the first game of a single elimination tournament. Schedules were tight and time was limited. As a result, the pitcher’s warm up time was cut short. After the first inning, his arm felt a tad strained, but not bad enough to be voluntarily benched. Besides – he knew the team needed him. By the top of the third, he had thrown a few wild pitches as a result of the strain - two of which made contact with the batters.

The batter took a few practice swings while the pitcher readied himself to throw once more. The pitcher raised the glove and ball above his head to begin his windup. His left foot stepped backwards. Then the glove came forward, and rested on his chest for a moment. His left knee came up, he stepped towards home, reached back, and threw hard.

At first, it looked like it would be a strike, but it quickly veered inside, and SMACK! It hit the batter.

The third batter of the game.

The umpire told the batter to take his base, and the Rattler’s coach began making his way out to the field. He approached the ump, and said “That’s the third time he’s hit someone this game. They need to take him out.”

The Titans fans were unsure whether the request was a rule or a preference. They watched as the umpire walked toward the Titans coach. Then the coach and ump made their way to the mound, removing all doubt from the spectator’s minds.

The Titan’s best pitcher . . . the one the team counted on . . . would have to step off the mound.

The pitcher slowly handed the ball to the umpire. With his shoulders and head hung low, he headed towards his alternative position of third base, receiving a few pats of understanding and forgiveness from his teammates along the way.

But the pats were little comfort. He had let his team down in the most important game of the season. Nevermind that the the ump made a bad call on the second batter he supposedly hit. That batter had swung on that pitch. The ball had hit the bat, not his hands. Although the Titans coach tried to reason with the ump about that call, and convince him to not count it, there was really no use arguing about it. It was what it was.

The next batter was on his way up to bat. The game would go on, regardless of the pitcher’s feelings or the coach’s lobbying.

And that’s when it happened.

All time stood still, as that pitcher made the long walk from third base to first base, where the batter he had struck stood with one foot on the base, one on the field. You could almost hear a pin drop, in spite of the park being crowded.

Nobody heard the exact words of the pitcher. But his body language told them that he was offering a sincere apology.

Silence hung in the air.

When the apology was accepted with grace and forgiveness, the Rattler’s fan club broke the silence with a round of applause, showing their appreciation of the pitcher’s good sportsmanship.

The pitcher simply jogged back to third base, put his glove back on, slapped it, and positioned himself to play ball.

———————————————————-

As that pitcher’s mother, I can honestly say that I’ve never been more touched, more thankful for, or more humbled by my own son. My eyes had welled up with tears when the umpire took the ball from him. My heart ached because I knew how bad his ached.

But when he treaded that seemingly long, humble road from third to first, my heart flip flopped. My thirteen year old son was making one of the best decisions he would ever make. He was choosing to be humble in a world that incessantly tells him to be proud, to stick up for himself. My heart pounded louder and harder, and more tears came to my eyes as I realized he had made this apology on his own accord, with no prompting from anyone but the Holy Spirit.

As it turned out, the Titans lost the game.

But somehow, it didn’t matter. Because ultimately, my son had won bigger than he had ever won in his life.

I love you, Andrew. Thanks for making this Father’s Day one that your dad and I will never forget. For doing what’s right. For setting an example to your teammates. And for honoring and glorifying the name of your Heavenly Father.

Single Sentence Saturday

I'm convinced that every boy, in his heart, would rather steal second base than an automobile. ~Tom Clark

the gift of goosebumps

Last night, I sat in my purple, frayed lawn chair as I watched Andrew pitch a seven inning game. The sun was out, the mountains in the background were unbelievably beautiful, and my son was having an awesome game. I didn't think it could get any better.

It was the first warm game of the season. But if you've ever experienced Colorado weather, you know it can change in a flash.

The weather remained calm, the wind kept its distance, and it seemed everyone was having the time of their lives. But then the sun went behind the mountains. It was still pleasant enough, and to most folks, it was a relief from the glaring sunshine.

But I shivered and slipped my fleece jacket on, and wondered if I'd eventually need the other three jackets or the wool blanket that I faithfully bring to each game. If the wind picked up, or clouds began to roll over the top of the mountains, I would eventually don each and every winter good I brought, and wish for more.

I continued watching the game.

"Who would have ever thought I should have brought a jacket?" I heard a shaky voice behind me say.

I turned to see an old lady sitting four bleachers up. I'd never seen her before. I later came to realize that she was likely our catcher's grandmother. She was quite thin, with stark white hair. Even though it was warm when she arrived, she wore a long sleeve sweat suit and tennis shoes.

I knew then that we possessed a common trait - the inability to stay warm.

I stole another glance at her. Her body was arched over, arms and legs crossed to keep the warmth in. Her smile was broad, revealing a road map of wrinkles as she watched her grandson catch my son's pitches.

I smiled too. But my smile quickly turned upside down and I felt a pang of guilt. After all, I was sitting comfortably with my jacket butttoned up to my neck, two jackets resting on the back of my chair, and a wool blanket under my toosh. Not to mention my husbands jacket lying on the ground next to me.

I'm too shy, I thought.

Chicken!

I ignored the accusation and went on watching the game. The wind picked up a bit. I shivered, and again I remembered the lady behind me.

I stole another glance at her.

Still hunched over. Still cold. Still smiling.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I hate being cold, and I knew it happened just as easily to her as it does to me. Everyone else seemed warm and comfortable. I was the only one who knew how she felt. And I was the only one who could help her.

I pryed my sorry, shy tooshy off the purple, tattered lawn chair, and grabbed a jacket that I was sure would completely cover her. I slowly made my way up the bleachers, trying to stay out of people's view of the game. I wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, and said, "I can't stand to see you over here shivering when I have all those jackets just sitting there waiting to be used."

I made sure the jacket was snug.

She smiled at me, and the lines in the map grew deeper.

"Thank you so much. I should have thought to bring something for myself."

"Well, you're new here," I assured her. "I've learned to come prepared, even when the weather is beautiful."

She seemed happy with that response, and even happier that she could sit and watch the game, goosebump free.

I, however, was not goosebump free - a gift given to me not by the weather, but by her pricelss look of gratefulness.

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these. ~George Washington Carver

You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson