A Comedy of Errors that Wasn't Very Funny

Deanna got out of school early on Friday and I was napping and forgot about her.  In my own defense, I've been battling bronchitis for 2 weeks and am exhausted - - can't sleep at night for all the coughing, so I laid down for a little nap.  I never expected to conk out and sleep for several hours.  Don was home from work.  He finally went to pick her up, but she had already caught a ride home with the LAST person still there.  She was devastated that we had forgotten her.  To make matters worse, she had called the house and no one answered the phone.

I had similar experiences in my childhood that I vividly remember and still hurt about.  I was determined not to make excuses or slough off forgetting to pick her up.  She had an out-of-town basketball game scheduled for Saturday morning, so I decided I'd drive the 3 hours to Atlanta, watch her game, then bring her home afterwards so she didn't have to sit in the stands for 3 more hours watching the other teams play and waste her whole Saturday.  They had to leave on the bus at 7 a.m. and were not expected home until 8 p.m.

So, I took Dane.  We left at 8 a.m., figuring that would get us there a few minutes before the start of Deanna's game at 11:00.  I Googled the school and got MapQuest directions, which were WRONG!!!  But we also had the address, so we found the school with only a couple detours from wrong directions.  The school was on I-85 south of Atlanta in Fairburn.

We made amazingly good time.  Traffic was very reasonable, and I set the cruise control and zoomed.  When we finally arrived, a few minutes after 11:00 because of the bad directions, the game hadn't started.  They told us they didn't have an 11:00 game, that the game didn't start until noon.  I walked into the gym, looked at the boys warming up, and knew something was wrong.  Turns out, we were at the wrong school.  The Creekside High School WE wanted was off of I-75 in McDonough, GA.  A teacher at the wrong school printed out directions from her laptop for us to the correct school but, by the time we arrived, 45 minutes later, the game was over and Deanna was sitting in the stands, not knowing where we were or what had happened to us.

One of those situations where you can't seem to do anything right.  She was very upset.  So was I.  But, as a mother, you have to hold your own frustration in check so as to console your child.  After all, we had driven a total of almost 4 hours, still had a 3-hr. drive home, and all for a game that we totally missed.  AND, I was still sick and fighting to stay awake.  Not exactly how I wanted to spend a Saturday.

We went to Red Lobster and had lunch and Deanna's spirits finally lifted.  The drive home was pleasant and I'm very glad we went, even with all the slip-ups.  She still arrived home hours before her teammates, which was the goal in the first place.

In light of Friday and Saturday, I have decided to attend Deanna's basketball game outside of Atlanta this afternoon.  I'm taking Daelyn out of school early (since he missed the game Saturday because he needed to work on his car for the Scout Pinewood Derby), picking up another mom, and heading to another game.  I'm determined to get this right.

At least I've been to this school before.  So has the other mother.  And we ought to be able to get accurate directions, since the ones I used when going to this school last time got me there.

I keep hoping for redemption . . .

Javelins and teeth

Last Friday night, we went out to dinner at the local Mexican place.  While we were waiting to place our orders, Don wrote out an algebra word problem on a napkin and gave it to Deanna to solve.  She really struggled, even after he explained what the two variables would be.  Ultimately, she couldn't solve his double-variable algebraic word problem about a caterpillar and a grasshopper moving opposite directions around a circle.

Tonight, at the dinner table, we were talking about rocket scientists.

"I could be a rocket scientist," Deanna said.

"Uh, no, I don't think so," her daddy said.  When we all looked at him quizzically, he added, "A caterpillar and a grasshopper moving opposite directions around a circle . . . "

Deanna's mouth dropped open and she looked at me.

"Is Daddy saying I'm too dumb to be a rocket scientist?"

"It sure seems that way, honey," I responded.

Don:  "But don't worry, Sissy.  If all else fails, you can be a seamstress!"

Me:  "Oh, lovely.  That's the most to which you aspire for your daughter - a seamstress?!?"

Deanna:  "I couldn't be a seamstress.  I get too stressed out!!  Oh, my gosh, I can't even be a seamstress!"

Don:  "Well, if they ever add swimming to the Miss America Pageant, you could be a beauty queen."

Me:  "Maybe what they need to do is add different sports to each year's pageant."

Don:  "Yes, like the Olympics."

Me:  "One year, they could do javelin throwing . . . in high heels."

Daelyn:  " 'Sorry - I didn't mean to put out your eye'."

Deanna:  "Or boxing."

Me:  "And the girl with the most teeth left is proclaimed the winner!!"

Sad.  Just sad.  This is what we do at Family Dinners.

New take on an old theme

Somehow or other, we ended up watching the Miss America 2012 Pageant.  I tried to talk the kids into watching an episode of a weekly show on the computer, but they seemed fascinated by the Pageant.

Slowly, but surely, the boys disappeared off to bed.  I finally asked Deanna,

"Can't we change the channels NOW, hon?"

"Well," she said, "I need to go brush my teeth, but I'd really like to see the end of the bathing suit competition."

"That WAS the end," I responded.

"What?  They don't SWIM?  They just parade around in bathing suits looking hot?  Where's the athleticism?"

Great new idea for the Miss America Pageant.  After marching onstage in skimpy bathing suits and heels, they ought to take to the Pool and try to look sexy while swimming laps!!

Now THAT I might enjoy watching.

Look out, Drivers!!

Deanna obtained her Learner's Permit today!  We're all very excited.  I took her out to the local Mexican Restaurant for lunch to celebrate (and, also, because she had missed lunchtime at school).  Before we left, I called over our good friend, Jesus, the manager, to share our good news.  Deanna pulled out her official paper copy and proudly displayed it.

"Ouch-y-wah-wah!" yelled our Mexican friend excitedly.  He called over another server and, together, the two of them read every word.  Deanna watched, fascinated that anyone would care that much.

I found myself wondering if they've never seen one before, if they did it simply because they know we're good customers and wanted to ensure our continued patronage, or if they could possibly have been that interested.

In any case, for the first time ever, my daughter heard someone other than me exclaim, "Ouch-y-wah-wah!"  Maybe now she'll believe I really didn't make that up.

I always suspected . . .

One child, as he/she walks towards the bench at the kitchen table where he/she normally sits to sibling, who is laying down across the entire bench:

"You have to move.  You're laying right where I put my head!"

Better All the Time

I'm actually going to Post twice in the same day!!

Dane is playing basketball on the Middle School "B" Team.  He loves it.  However, my son is easy-going and lopes down the court, in no hurry to beat the ball to the opposing team's basket, nor his own.  He prefers to not guard; he doesn't like being that aggressive with people he doesn't even know.  Taking out his aggressions on his younger brother is far more appropriate.

He has a wonderful coach, Jimmy Dresser, the father of one of his classmates.  Jimmy is gentle and long-suffering.  He's kind and a great teacher and knows his stuff.  We were delighted to hear he'd be coaching Dane's team this year.  Jimmy, in his gentle way, has worked with Dane to get him to actually RUN downcourt and GUARD the opposition.

After every game, Dane wants to talk about it.  We'll get in the van and he'll say,

"Okay, Mom, I want to talk about the game!!" 

He'll ask what I thought about his playing and talk about specific plays.  Game after game, I find myself saying,

"That's the best game you've ever played, Son."

And it's true.  He improves noticeably with every single game.

In their last game, Dane fouled out.  As he walked off the Court, his shoulders were slumped and his head was down, but he had a little smile on his face.  In the car going home, I said,

"I know how you felt, Son, and you didn't need to be embarrassed."

"How could you have possibly known how I felt, Mama.  So, tell me.  How DID I feel?"

"Well, you were embarrassed and a little ashamed, but you thought that if you put that plastered-on smile on your face, your friends would think fouling out didn't matter to you and they'd still think you were cool."

"That's just scary, Mom.  How can you know what I was thinking?!"  He just doesn't get this whole Mom-thing.

Later, Don talked with his coach, Jimmy.  He came home and told Dane,

"Uncle Jimmy was really pleased with how you played.  He said it was great that you fouled out, because that meant you were playing hard and that you're learning to guard.  He said for you not to worry.  Fouling out just means you're in the game, playing."  I think this consoled Dane a little.

Last night, they played a team from a school whose Principal is the younger brother of our Middle School Principal.  He's a graduate of our school.  On this team is a boy who grew up with our boys and played alongside them for years.  Now, he's attending another private school and is "the opponent".  Dane was really nervous going into the game and didn't think his team would play well.

The score was neck-in-neck for most of the game.  We'd get a basket, then they'd get one.  They'd get a basket, then we'd get one.  They'd foul us and we'd get a free shot.  Then they'd get a basket.  And on it went.  In the final quarter, they began to pull away from us a little.  Then they built some momentum and were 6 points ahead with only one minute to go in the game.  Dane had a couple of fouls against him, but was guarding more carefully and didn't foul out.  With only 30 seconds left in the game, Dane throw a ball from a little short of the half-court line and MADE A 3-POINTER!!  We went crazy!!  Unfortunately, we weren't able to make up the last 3 points and we lost 26 - 23 (I think - something like that, anyway).

Coming home in the van, I told Dane,

"That was the best game you've ever played.  You're learning to guard correctly.  You're getting more aggressive.  You're RUNNING down court and trying to steal the ball.  You got a ton of rebounds.  And that 3-pointer, Son.  It was GREAT!!!"

Dane didn't argue this time.  Nor did he mention that I always tell him it was the best game he's ever played. 

In my opinion, this is the whole point of middle school sports.  Teach the boys the basics.  Train them to work as a team - no ball hogs allowed.  Make sure they know how to guard correctly and proper techniques for shooting.  Practice, practice, practice.  Dane's turning into a real decent little basketball player.

Can you tell I'm proud?

Cry-Baby, Cry-Baby

A dear friend and neighbor of ours died early in the morning on New Year's Day.  We attended his Prayer Service and Funeral last week.  Scheduling was a bit of a challenge, though.  The night of his Prayer Service, we were expecting dinner guests - two young, single men from Australia that are here visiting for a couple of weeks.  Our plan was to eat at 5:30 to give us ample time to arrive at the Service by 7:00, but . . . "the best laid plans. . . "

We finally found a parking spot in the packed lot around 7:30 and made our way into the Narthex of the church.  It was obvious from the parking lot that there was a full house, but we didn't realize just how full until we saw people standing along all of the walls inside the church.  After greeting the people in the Narthex and looking around for a few minutes, I decided to take the children into the Cry Room.  At this particular church, the Cry Room is in a small chapel to the side of the main worship area and one whole wall is windows, looking into the larger church.  Knowing that they had a speaker in there, and seeing very few people using it, we headed into the Cry Room.

It didn't take long to realize that the speaker just wasn't turned up high enough to hear most of what was being said.  That was alright with me during the Rosary, since we're not Catholic and you don't have to hear the prayers to know what's being said, but when it was time for the family members to share about the Deceased, I wanted to hear better.

I had noticed several people walking from the Cry Room into another, smaller room through a door at the end.  I asked one of the women who was coming back into the Cry Room if you could hear better from there.  She smiled and nodded.  I hopped up and headed in.

Turns out, this room was a small Confessional, but had a door leading into the church where you could stand and hear perfectly.  I stood in the doorway of the Confessional for a few minutes.  Then, quite unexpectedly, there was a break in the Sharings and a number of people rose to leave.  The Service had gone on for several hours and many people just had to get home.  I took full advantage of the break and called to the kids to join me, then took off for a pew that had just been emptied out.  Daelyn slid in next to me.

A few minutes later, well into the remainder of the family sharings, Daelyn looked down at his wrist.

"Mom," he hissed at me loudly, "my Phiton bracelet is missing!!"

Oh, my goodness.  His Phiton bracelet!!  He and his brother have pestered me for over a year for Phiton necklaces, sports things that the athletes wear.  I finally broke down and bought a nice one for Dane at the Christian bookstore with John 3:16 printed on it and a bracelet for Daelyn and they got them for Christmas.  Now, here it was, only a couple of weeks later and Daelyn had already lost his!!  I was almost as disturbed as he was.

"Son!!!" I hissed back.  "Do you have any idea where it might be?"

"Well, it might have fallen off my wrist in the Cry-Baby Room."

I snickered.  The funny thing is that Daelyn never quite realizes he says things wrong but, often, his terms are very appropriate.

It's All In Your Perspective

Don was enlisted by the Director of the Handbell Choir at our church to play with them for the Christmas Eve Service.  We have 3 services on Christmas Eve; the 4 p.m. is quiet and traditional (a service perfect for older Episcopalians), 5:30 is the Family Service which is absolute bedlam and involves funny hats and a Homily around the Creche with all the children sitting around on the floor; but the 11 p.m. service is beautiful, solemn, and musical.  We usually hire several musicians to play the trumpet, the flute, the bass, etc., to accompany the Choir, which begins the Pre-Mass music at 10:30.  The Handbell Choir also plays a number of pieces before and during the Service.

When Don asked me whether or not he should commit to helping, I encouraged him.  He played handbells for years, beginning when he still lived at home.  He also directed our Handbell Choir for several years.  He's very talented and I thought he would enjoy getting his "hand" back in it.  Besides, I told him, the children are all old enough now to go to the Late Service, and I think it would be a neat experience for all of us.

However, we couldn't possibly miss the Family Service at 5:30 and we were assigned to take the Gifts up to the Altar at that Service, so we knew we would be attending both.  Our family tradition, started just 6 years ago, is to have Fondue on Christmas Eve after Church for dinner.  It's fun, easy, quick, and doesn't require a lot of clean-up.  We always use pretty Christmas paper plates that we throw away and the only dishes are the fondue pot and sticks and the bowl from the bread.  Since Grandpa Doughty was here with us, I invited my parents to join us for Church and stay for Fondue.  They took us up on the offer.

Being Methodist, my parents have Communion infrequently; anywhere from once a month to once a quarter.  Some Methodist churches never have Communion, but my father's has always scheduled it periodically, if not so regularly.  And, being Methodist, grape juice is used rather than wine.  This is a throw-back to the days when Methodists were all tea-tottlers and did not "imbibe".

In the middle of a wild, raucous Church Service, a few minutes of peace and introspection were carved out during Communion.  As I walked back to the pew from the altar, quietly pensive and pondering the birth of our Lord, I sat down next to my mother, then kneeled to pray.  After a few moments with Jesus, I sat back down.  Mom leaned over to me and quietly whispered in my ear,

"That was really good wine they were serving!"