And the Craziness Continues...

March 7 --  Spent the night and day battling the same stomach virus that landed my dad in the hospital.  So did, apparently, my sister.  And my mom.  But somehow she got herself to the hospital anyway.  My father is not doing well at all.  Completely unfamiliar with his surroundings, scared and exhausted from lack of sleep, he is sliding further and further into a deeper state of dementia.

Today, he started to do what has been my mom's lifelong fear -- he spoke only in Polish, his native language.  None of us can understand a word he is saying.

Tomorrow I hope I will feel better, well enough to go back to the hospital and be with him.  If he is discharged, my mother is not strong enough to pick him up if he falls.  And right now, he can't walk.  He is so weak, and with the Alzheimer's, he has forgotten how to walk.  If he goes to rehab, it will be more of the same.  More disorientation, more fear, more stress on his mind.  I have no idea where this is heading, but it doesn't look good.

But we have no choice.  It is all part of the journey.

Sick

March 6 -- Suddenly, I do not feel very well.  Am going to bed.  Shortest entry ever.

Yoga and Dad

March 5 --  I went to yoga class at the gym this morning.  It was an excellent class and the instructor worked us really hard.  When I left there I was like, yessss!  Great workout!  I was even more excited for the empty schedule for the remainder of the day.  Besides Riley's basketball party, there was nothing on the books.  And we had plans to go to the movies tonight.  I hadn't had a Saturday like that in ages.  Woo hoo.

Then I got home.  And then I got the phone call from my brother.  My dad was sick and the doctor on call told my mother to get him to the hospital immediately.  So she called the ambulance.  Fifteen minutes later my sister was in the driveway to pick me up.  And that was how we spent a good part of the day with my mom and dad in the hospital, waiting to hear what was wrong with my dad.

It just goes to show that being a member of the 'sandwich generation' is unbelievably challenging.  When I told Brian I had to go the hospital, he shot me a look of sympathy.  I was like, "this is life.  What can I do?"

But my dad stabilized and stayed over tonight for observation.  And I went with Brian and friends to see "The King's Speech".  I am so grateful those plans still worked out because it was an awesome movie with an amazing message -- push past your fear, no matter what limitations you might perceive you have.    I love that message because truly, as I watch my elderly parents struggle with illness and old age, I become even more acutely aware of the fact that fear never goes away.

 The same message was one of the themes in yoga class this morning -- recognize the fear, see the fear, embrace it...and move on.  And so I am.

Friends -- they make it all easier

March 5 -- After the events of this week, I suddenly saw myself at our new favorite wine and beer store, shopping for, wait for it...wine and beer.  Brian and I spontaneously invited some friends over tonight and we needed to stock up.  (Due to the fact that stress drinking had basically decimated our supply...)

Anyway, when I got to the store, there was nobody there.  I had some time so I wandered throughout the shop reading wine labels.  I talked to the manager for a while, picking his brain about bargain wines.  At some point, the back door opened and an older man walked in looking fairly bedraggled and worn.  He was unshaven and his hair was a mess.  He was in and out of the store within minutes but for some reason, after I left the store I couldn't get the image of him out of my mind.  The contrast between us was so distinct -- I was there with my running pants and gym clothes on doing wine research and thinking about what else I needed to host the gang coming over tonight.  And he came in, grabbed his six pack and left.  At two in the afternoon.  I don't know why but I suspected he wasn't going to share that beer with friends.  Or maybe he was.  But I doubted it.  Not when I considered the look of sadness I saw quickly pass over his face before he turned and shut the door behind him.

I thought about him again tonight after everyone left.  It was so much fun to catch up with friends Brian and I haven't really seen during this unbelievably long winter.  Swapping kid stories...sharing parenting insights.  Somehow, as the evening wore on, any leftover stress I might have had about Riley and the baseball saga or any of the other current issues with the other kids just abated.  I wondered to myself -- did that man have someone he could call?  Someone who might offer him solace, or advice or make him laugh?

I don't know.  But I pray that he does.  Because having friends is, indeed, an amazing blessing.  Right up there with beer and bargain bottles of good wine.  (kidding.)  Okay.  Not kidding.  No really.  Kidding. Sigh.

Little League Issues Part 2

March 3 -- To continue from my entry last night, remember that Riley went to bed without knowing -- for sure -- that he was on a minor's level baseball team.  I know that even though I explained the likelihood that this was how it would turn out for him, I am certain he still held a tiny speck of hope that he might be called by a coach at the major level.

So I went to bed knowing we would tell him in the morning.  I tossed and turned all night, dreading the inevitable conversation.

And this is where I have to say that one of my most profound and grace filled experiences as a parent is when I recognize that often, it is the child who is the teacher, and not the other way around.

Riley came into our bedroom when he got up.  Brian and I were sitting there, quietly drinking our coffee.  When Brian told Riley he was on the minors, Riley's facial expression didn't change.  He just looked at Brian and said nothing.  And then Brian told him the coach's name. And that's when Riley smiled and did a small fist pump in the air.  "Yesssss!" he hissed.

I was in shock.  I mean, I like the guy coaching but I couldn't believe Riley's joyful reaction.  It was totally amazing!  I think he was just relieved to finally have something of an answer, even if it wasn't what he had most hoped for.  We talked about the pros and cons of playing with the younger kids while most of his friends would be at the major level.  "You know what?" he said, "I will be having so much more playing time.  That's a really good thing. "  And he walked out of the room to get ready for school.    Brian and I looked at each other and were like, alright!!

Later this afternoon, I checked my emails when I got home from work.  Ping, ping, ping, the emails tallied up on the screen.  Several moms whose boys had made the major level sent emails titled, "Re. Majors Teams" communicating what team their son had been assigned to.  Needless to say, my stomach turned.  Didn't they think of the people whose kids might not have been so fortunate?  Apparently not.  Oh well.  I wanted to respond but I didn't.  It just wasn't worth the time and effort. I'm sure they were proud of their kids and happy.  And truly, I am happy for them.  But my number one dude was standing next to me and that's why I was bummed.  There it was again -- my kid was the only one on the mailing list who didn't make the majors. Of course it hurt to see those emails.  How could it not?  When Riley asked me what the emails said, I  told him.  And he spun into a little funk again.  "Really?  How were they better than me?"  I shrugged my shoulders.  "I don't know honey," I said, "but apparently they are better. In baseball, that is."

We sat on the couch together for a few minutes while he processed this information.  And then he asked his brother, "wanna go throw some balls outside?"  Once again, he was squaring his shoulders, standing tall and pushing himself to move on.

Honestly?  I couldn't be prouder of him.   I still don't like the idea that he has to pose the question in the first place -- asking himself why or how he was he lacking in his tryout.  I mean, sure, there will be plenty of times -- school teams, college applications, break-ups with girlfriends etc. --  when dealing with public rejection will be an important life lesson.  But at age 10?  Really?  I go back to my question raised yesterday.  Why is this necessary in baseball?  Even Riley pointed this inequity out to me today when he said, "if they had extra kids, couldn't they have just made another team?  Like in rec basketball? Why can't kids in the same grade all play together?"  Again, I have no answer.   Nonetheless, it is what it is.  When we let Riley try out for the major level teams, we opened the door to this possible result.  So we live with it.  And we learn.  A lot.  From all perspectives.

Little League Issues

March 2 -- My kids have always done sports -- soccer, baseball, lacrosse, cross country, crew, football...it runs the gamut.  Needless to say, Brian and I have had a lot of experience with the various sports rules and expectations.  As a result, I have gained a decent perspective of how various sports go about  putting teams together.  And that's exactly why I question the logic of little league tryouts.  Why does every other rec league sport segregate their teams by age and baseball is the only sport, the only one, which separates by skill?  Why?

I posed that question tonight after I found out that Riley did not, in fact, make the "majors."  After two days spent checking emails and running for the phone every time it rang, Riley finally went to bed.  An hour later, his coach from the minor leagues called, a lovely man whom Brian likes a lot.  We both agree he will be a great coach.  He talked about Riley "taking the lead" for the team.  Riley is, after all, one of the only fifth graders on the team.  Apparently, many other fifth graders "moved up" to the major level leaving a small percentage of "undesirables" to play with the fourth graders at the minor level.  So yes, Riley will be the "big man" on campus.  But at what cost?  He is old enough to understand that on some level he was judged and rejected.  And he is sensitive enough to feel the pain of knowing that nearly all of his friends were accepted into the higher level.  And he was not.

I get the whole thing about teaching our kids about overcoming adversity.  We are actually quite good at it.  And our kids are faring pretty well for the most part.  Riley will be fine.  I truly believe that.  In fact, because he is athletic -- he just finished an amazing basketball season where he went from being somewhat timid on the court to being one of the strongest defenders with steals and blocked shots in every game -- I do believe he will become a stronger player this year.  And maybe, like his brothers, he will ultimately decide he doesn't like baseball after all and he will join the growing number of kids in our town who play lacrosse.  If he decided to go that route, I wouldn't blame him one bit.

I don't know.  For now, I do know that this leveling of skill creates a sports caste system -- those who are better and those who are not.  Parents who know their kids are better and parents who know their kids are not.  Parents who care an awful lot about this and parents who kind of ride it out, knowing that life has a way of ultimately evening things out again.   With the exception of my current heartache for my son -- which I know will pass eventually --  I guess I kind of fall into this latter category.  Sometimes my kids are up.  Sometimes they are down.  It all evens out.

Having watched many kids (not just my own!)  go through elementary, middle and high school, I have witnessed, over and over again, how this leveling starts at such an early age with the travel teams and the Little League baseball team rankings and continues straight into high school.  But the good news is that it ends there.  It really does.  These "super athletes" who reign above the others in junior high and high school go on to college and, with the exception of the tiny minority who play college sports,  poof! -- their magic is gone.  They are, once again, on the same playing field along with everyone else.  And here is the interesting part.  Often times, it's the kids who were not the sports superstars, the kids who pursued non-athletic activities as well, who are in a stronger, more confident position when college begins.

In the long run, I know Riley will be fine.  I actually kind of expected this outcome.  But for now I know he is very disappointed in himself.  He shouldn't be.  He is  a lot younger than many of the other kids in his grade and he is, in fact, a slow bloomer in the testosterone department.  But it's coming -- the male intensity. I saw it this winter on the basketball court.  It's starting,  I can tell.  As his mom though, I just hate for him to feel lousy about himself.  Especially since so many of his friends are stronger athletically right now.  But friendship is based on many, many fronts.  His true friends will stick by him.  And if they don't?  He will make new friends.  This, I taught him at an early age.  My kids have never, ever, ever stuck by kids who are mean to them.  That life skill is very important to me.  Their ability to reject mean kids and make friends with nice people -- cool or not -- will take them far in life.

In the meantime?  I still don't get it.  I still don't understand why Little League baseball picks their teams by skill and not age and all the other sports don't.  Maybe somebody can explain it to me.  But something tells me they won't be able to.  And that's why, despite my inner vibe that all will be well, I am still kind of pissed off right now.  And maybe a little lonely.   I don't like being the only one who, by virtue of my kid's current experience, has to contemplate this apparent inequity.

But I will be fine.  It is whatever I make of it.  And the same goes for Riley.  We will deal with this together.  We are, after all, a team.  One forged not by athletic skill, but by God's grace and love.

Unearthed

March 1 -- I have discovered a new album by E.S. Posthumus that I really like a lot.  It's called "Unearthed" and I found out about it, in all places, my spinning class.  The spinning teacher used the track "pompeii" two weeks in a row and I just fell in love with it.

So Luke put it up on my itunes listing on my computer and as I write this entry, I am listening to it with its haunting singing and inspirational beat.  The combination is awesome, almost majestic.  I love it.  But what I almost like more is the album title.  It kind of describes how I feel these days -- heaved out of the ground and yes, unearthed.  As though I am raw and exposed.  One would think it is this blog which makes me feel so vulnerable but it's not.  It's my kids and everything they are going through.  It's my parents and the act of watching them hold onto each other for dear life as they navigate each day, forging through the challenges of dealing with my dad's illness.  Watching everyone I love so much deal with their ups and downs -- my heart just aches from my feelings of helplessness.   Sometimes it's all I can do to hold back the tears.

Don't get me wrong.  There is so much joy, so much hope and pride in all that they do.  My son trying his hardest at his Little League baseball tryout and then waiting, anxiously, by the phone and computer to find out if he made the majors.  So much stress for a game that he will probably only play for a few more years, at best.   I know already he is not destined for baseball greatness.  Destined for many other wonderful things, yes, but I would not put my money on baseball.  When I think of the positives in my life I see my mother, reaching out for my father's hand as he desperately tries to remember what it was he started out to say only seconds before.  I see the love, the ambition, the hope.  So why does it hurt so much to watch?

I want to fix it all.  I want everyone to be happy.  But I know only too well that life is filled with ups and downs.  Rejections from colleges and good news from others.  It's the waiting that is unearthing me.  The act of trying to figure out how things will turn out combined with the reality that in this moment, I know nothing.  Nothing except for what I told Riley as I tucked him into bed.  He is a little boy who is loved very much.  Life is long.  As long as we make the most of each day, as long as we reach out and support each other, all is well.  All is well.