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9.10.2015
Why Moms Can't be Sick on Picture Day
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~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In the fall of 1988, I had a terrible case of strep throat. Besides the razor blade sore throat, I had a fever and a headache that kept me in bed for a few days. I wanted to die. If not for Alexander Fleming and his penicillin discovery, I think I might have.
I vividly remember this week because it was picture day at school for our fourth grade daughter, and I had to pass off the morning "getting her ready" duties to my husband, who was scooting to work the minute she was on her way to school.
Let me just say up front, my husband's a good guy. That needs to be clear. Because when you see the harvest from picture day, you'll think he walks through life with half a brain cell.
I have to back track a bit...the previous year, for Halloween, our daughter was a skeleton. You'll see why I share this with you in a moment. I painted all the bones in black onto a white sweat shirt and sweat pants. It was a cute get-up, and our girl loved it. In fact, over time, this costume became her P.J.s because the sweats were soft and cozy as the weather turned chilly.
More back info...our daughter often had a single French braid because yours truly loved braiding her thick auburn hair. Our girl could not have cared less what her hair looked like. She favored a quick pony tail; anything to get it out of her way so she could climb trees and tear around with her brothers. But, if mom wanted to braid her hair, fine. Whatever. (To this day, our girl allows me to play with her hair. She's cool that way.) If she slept in her braid, we had a fuzzy mess in the morning, but no biggie, we'd undo the braid, wash it or wet it, comb it out and start over. More fun playing with hair.
Back to picture day.
I can't begin to tell you.
Just see for yourself.
Clearly, yesterday was braid day, and somebody didn't notice the child was heading off to school in her P.J.s.
I can only imagine what the photographer was thinking: Is this kid homeless? Does she not own a comb? What's with all the bones?
Did not one teacher (at the time, all women) take this child aside and brush her hair out? Did they really think this was the look we wanted on picture day? Thank God I spelled 'clavicle' correctly. It will be forever immortalized in this picture.
Twenty-seven years later, I can only laugh (howl, really) at this photograph. It's representative of a phase in our life when we had three kids that were in too many activities, and Dad didn't notice his beautiful daughter, on that morning, resembled a scarecrow.
Grade school pictures are often, years later, good for a chuckle, but this one...when I came across it yesterday, I laughed until tears were running down my face.
Across the nation, school pictures will be taken soon. Let this be a cautionary tale to moms everywhere.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In the fall of 1988, I had a terrible case of strep throat. Besides the razor blade sore throat, I had a fever and a headache that kept me in bed for a few days. I wanted to die. If not for Alexander Fleming and his penicillin discovery, I think I might have.
I vividly remember this week because it was picture day at school for our fourth grade daughter, and I had to pass off the morning "getting her ready" duties to my husband, who was scooting to work the minute she was on her way to school.
Let me just say up front, my husband's a good guy. That needs to be clear. Because when you see the harvest from picture day, you'll think he walks through life with half a brain cell.
I have to back track a bit...the previous year, for Halloween, our daughter was a skeleton. You'll see why I share this with you in a moment. I painted all the bones in black onto a white sweat shirt and sweat pants. It was a cute get-up, and our girl loved it. In fact, over time, this costume became her P.J.s because the sweats were soft and cozy as the weather turned chilly.
More back info...our daughter often had a single French braid because yours truly loved braiding her thick auburn hair. Our girl could not have cared less what her hair looked like. She favored a quick pony tail; anything to get it out of her way so she could climb trees and tear around with her brothers. But, if mom wanted to braid her hair, fine. Whatever. (To this day, our girl allows me to play with her hair. She's cool that way.) If she slept in her braid, we had a fuzzy mess in the morning, but no biggie, we'd undo the braid, wash it or wet it, comb it out and start over. More fun playing with hair.
Back to picture day.
I can't begin to tell you.
Just see for yourself.
Clearly, yesterday was braid day, and somebody didn't notice the child was heading off to school in her P.J.s.
I can only imagine what the photographer was thinking: Is this kid homeless? Does she not own a comb? What's with all the bones?
Did not one teacher (at the time, all women) take this child aside and brush her hair out? Did they really think this was the look we wanted on picture day? Thank God I spelled 'clavicle' correctly. It will be forever immortalized in this picture.
Twenty-seven years later, I can only laugh (howl, really) at this photograph. It's representative of a phase in our life when we had three kids that were in too many activities, and Dad didn't notice his beautiful daughter, on that morning, resembled a scarecrow.
Grade school pictures are often, years later, good for a chuckle, but this one...when I came across it yesterday, I laughed until tears were running down my face.
Across the nation, school pictures will be taken soon. Let this be a cautionary tale to moms everywhere.
9.07.2015
Dear Grandson, Meet Cal Ripken, Jr.
We recently learned our preborn, first grandchild is a boy! It was hard to tell in his first photograph. He just looked like a tornado.
But, now we know. So, we're thinking blue and Tonka trucks and Spiderman underwear. Who-hoo!
That tiny tornado of energy is now about the size of an apple. Or maybe a baseball. I could hold him in one hand, if he was here already, which I'm glad he's not, because he still has growing to do. So, I'll wait. In the meantime, I'll write him a letter:
Dearest grandson!
I wanted you to know I'm making you a quilt. Something to keep you warm and cozy on chilly nights and something soft to lay on once you begin to rest on your tummy and practice lifting your head, which will feel like a bowling ball when you first start. You'll bang your nose against the floor while you're getting the hang of it, so you need a soft quilt under you.
There's a theme with this quilt, as you can see. Someone who is already smitten with you (your dad) loves baseball, so I suspect you will hear a lot about it as you grow up. See this fabric here, with the blue baseball gloves? I made a quilt for your dad with some of that same fabric, so you will have matching quilts, kind of. His is worn out because he likes it so much and has used it a lot. I hope you like yours too. If not, your dad may snag it.
In the many tales of baseball you will hear from your dad growing up, one will be about a very honorable player named Cal Ripken, Jr. He played 2,632 baseball games in a row. He never missed a game during 16 seasons of major league baseball. This broke a record in baseball, because the last number of games a player had played in a row (his name was Lou) was 2,131. So, Cal was celebrated and highly praised for coming to work every day and working hard to play 2,632 games of baseball in a row. Your dad will undoubtedly tell you about Cal Ripken, Jr. (Click here for video of Ripken's record breaking moment: RIPKEN'S 2131)
I'm telling you a bit about Cal, because how he played baseball taught us all some lessons about life. Sometimes it's very tempting not to work hard, even though you have promised to do so. You will meet people in life who will look for an easy way around work. You will meet people who will say they are going to do something, and then they don't. Cal didn't do that. He was a man of his word. He showed up at the ball field every work day and did was he was expected to do.
Cal Jr. got a lot of attention for playing 2,632 games of baseball in row, but when he was asked about it, he always responded that he was just doing his job. He didn't think going to his job every day and working hard was anything exceptional. He was humble about his dedication and his commitment. He was a responsible, honorable ball player. And many young kids (and grown ups too) really admired him. He showed us all what a good man looks like.
I know your mom and dad will teach you how to be an honorable boy/young man, too. They will help you learn how to work hard, how to do things you don't want to do, and keep the promises you make. They are good at doing those things themselves, so you are blessed to have good examples.
But, in case you don't pay attention...Cal Ripken, Jr. is a good guy to read about and learn some life lessons from. You might pick up a few tips about baseball, too.
Waiting in the dugout to meet you.
Love, Granny/Nana/Lulu/Mimi/Maybe-I'll-let-you-name-me.
Earlier letters to the babe:
Letter #2
Letter #1
But, now we know. So, we're thinking blue and Tonka trucks and Spiderman underwear. Who-hoo!
That tiny tornado of energy is now about the size of an apple. Or maybe a baseball. I could hold him in one hand, if he was here already, which I'm glad he's not, because he still has growing to do. So, I'll wait. In the meantime, I'll write him a letter:
Dearest grandson!
I wanted you to know I'm making you a quilt. Something to keep you warm and cozy on chilly nights and something soft to lay on once you begin to rest on your tummy and practice lifting your head, which will feel like a bowling ball when you first start. You'll bang your nose against the floor while you're getting the hang of it, so you need a soft quilt under you.
There's a theme with this quilt, as you can see. Someone who is already smitten with you (your dad) loves baseball, so I suspect you will hear a lot about it as you grow up. See this fabric here, with the blue baseball gloves? I made a quilt for your dad with some of that same fabric, so you will have matching quilts, kind of. His is worn out because he likes it so much and has used it a lot. I hope you like yours too. If not, your dad may snag it.
In the many tales of baseball you will hear from your dad growing up, one will be about a very honorable player named Cal Ripken, Jr. He played 2,632 baseball games in a row. He never missed a game during 16 seasons of major league baseball. This broke a record in baseball, because the last number of games a player had played in a row (his name was Lou) was 2,131. So, Cal was celebrated and highly praised for coming to work every day and working hard to play 2,632 games of baseball in a row. Your dad will undoubtedly tell you about Cal Ripken, Jr. (Click here for video of Ripken's record breaking moment: RIPKEN'S 2131)
I'm telling you a bit about Cal, because how he played baseball taught us all some lessons about life. Sometimes it's very tempting not to work hard, even though you have promised to do so. You will meet people in life who will look for an easy way around work. You will meet people who will say they are going to do something, and then they don't. Cal didn't do that. He was a man of his word. He showed up at the ball field every work day and did was he was expected to do.
Cal Jr. got a lot of attention for playing 2,632 games of baseball in row, but when he was asked about it, he always responded that he was just doing his job. He didn't think going to his job every day and working hard was anything exceptional. He was humble about his dedication and his commitment. He was a responsible, honorable ball player. And many young kids (and grown ups too) really admired him. He showed us all what a good man looks like.
I know your mom and dad will teach you how to be an honorable boy/young man, too. They will help you learn how to work hard, how to do things you don't want to do, and keep the promises you make. They are good at doing those things themselves, so you are blessed to have good examples.
But, in case you don't pay attention...Cal Ripken, Jr. is a good guy to read about and learn some life lessons from. You might pick up a few tips about baseball, too.
Waiting in the dugout to meet you.
Love, Granny/Nana/Lulu/Mimi/Maybe-I'll-let-you-name-me.
Earlier letters to the babe:
Letter #2
Letter #1
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