I hope you can forgive the absence of an original post today.

I just finished six uninterrupted hours of data entry. Which reminded me of exactly how much I despise data entry.

This afternoon, it seems like a good time to bring back one of my favorite posts from this blog’s early days.

NOTE: You might think this post is out of date, since I couldn’t possibly suck at Wii as much today as I did a year ago.

You would be wrong.

Originally posted August 27, 2008

Last night Abby talked me into playing Wii Baseball with her. This means I really love her, because I generally stink at Wii Sports.

Not surprising, being that in the real world, I have the same experience with every sport that involves a ball:

SOCCER + Asthma = Goalie (which might be okay if I could ever block the ball)

BASKETBALL: can’t dribble, can’t shoot, don’t understand the rules, hate running (see: asthma above). I can’t even play HORSE.

And don’t get me started on GOLF or TENNIS. Hitting a small ball with a long stick is completely outside of my ability.

With VOLLEYBALL, I can’t spike at all, but I’m a decent setter, so people at least let me play.

As for BASEBALL, it’s the only sport I actually played as a kid. For one year. At age nine. Girls didn’t play much Little League baseball back then (Thank GOD, for reasons you will soon understand), so it was actually fast-pitch softball.

I played left field. Not because I could catch well or throw accurately or far (I couldn’t. At all.), but because the girls in our league rarely hit out of the infield, and I had the third baseman AND shortstop between me and the ball.

And I’m SURE the only reason I was allowed to bat (not that I was begging to or anything) was because I’m a lefty. Back then, the nine-year-old pitchers that I faced were completely flummoxed by left-handed hitters. (Nowadays, they probably KILL by age nine.)

Most of them could not throw even one strike for me, much less THREE.

Fortunately, this smoothly dovetailed with my batting  strategy: NEVER SWING.

Since not swinging at enough “balls” gets you a “walk,” I probably got on base more than all the girls except the coach’s all-star daughter.

And every single time I got my inevitable walk to first base, everyone shouted “good eye!”

As if I’d assessed each pitch, seen that it was not a strike, and resisted swinging. Yeah. In actual fact, I had stood frozen in place, just praying that a pitch didn’t hit ME.

At the end of the season, the coach even handed me a trophy:

The Good Eye Award.

(He did this with a straight face. I admire him for that now.)

Anyway, last night I discovered that my foolproof strategy is useless on the Wii. I suddenly had to SWING.

(Every flick of the wrist by the pitcher is a strike. Even if the aforementioned flick is delivered while hanging upside-down off the front of the couch. Hypothetically, of course.)

It’s okay, I told myself. I’m much more mature than I was back then. Surely 30+ year later, I’ll be less likely to choke.

Wanna know how well I did?

My five-year-old struck me out almost every time. In the entire game, I got two hits. Yes, TWO.

And I have no idea how or why. So I can’t even learn from the experience.

I think I need Remedial Wii.

This is Mii on the Wii. Yes, I hit a home run. I'm smiling because I have no idea how I did it.

They showed a clip of this on Good Morning America today, and I had to go find it to share with you.

Computer animation has come a long way since that creepy dancing baby on Ally McBeal, huh?

Abby, twirling on the sand at sunset.

***

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The color fades from the sky, lightening to pale blue, which then grays as it gradually mixes with black. The first star appears overhead, and the tree frogs turn up the volume.

Now they seem to drown out the noise of big rigs on the freeway just over the hill. And here on the side of the road, even the cars that drive right past have a hard time making themselves heard over the frog cacaphony.

We sit in the back of the pickup, the kids and I, and wait for full darkness, with its promise of sound and light and the smell of smoke. This is the time of day when I most appreciate Georgia summers.

The recent departure of the sun has brought relief from the July heat. Comfortable warmth, along with a pleasant breeze, remains. And the kids swing bare legs over the tailgate as they take turns asking,

“When will the fireworks start?”

I think this is our fifth year “attending” these fireworks. I put that in quotes because we’ve never really gone to the “show.” Years ago, long before we moved to the country, a kinda-fancy resort hotel plopped itself down in the middle of farmland.

Even as it’s slowly been hemmed in by suburban neighborhoods and strip malls, the hotel is still an island in a sea of ball caps, chewing tobacco, and gunrack-sporting pickup trucks. We hardly notice it until Independence Day, when the staff puts on a very good fireworks display.

And less than a mile away, the view is perfect. Sure, we could dive into the mini traffic jam and see better at the resort. But I don’t think we’d get a better seat. We pull over with a few hundred other small-town and country folks on both sides of the long, straight frontage road.

Soccer moms with minivans from sparkling new subdivisions park next to battered trucks with old farmers in overalls. And vehicles and lawnchairs stretch as far as the encroaching darkness allows us to see.

“When will the fireworks start?”

Boom. Boom. BOOM.

Finally.

I could write a lot of things about Independence Day. Freedom. Tradition. Pain and promise and sacrifice.

Incredibly important concepts, all. But as I sit under stars and power lines with my kids, surrounded by other parents doing the same, I’m most impacted by other ideas:

Family. Contentment. Home.

Sure, it’s after 9:30 and the kids are punchy and irritable. And in the back of my mind I’m nagged by worry about how grumpy they’ll be at church tomorrow.

But then an elbow dents the soft flesh of my belly. And a little hand seizes my arm, hugging it like a pillow or a beloved stuffed animal. Wow and Shh! and Did you see that one? punctuate the silence.

And I’m glad. The only thing that matters is this moment.

FLASH. BOOM. Sparks crackle and sizzle as they float to earth.

Ahhhhhh!

Shouts of appreciation are followed by near-silence. Just the voices of tree frogs and the hum of conversation fill the air. The scent of smoke wafts by.

In my plastic Adirondack chair with the cracked seat that keeps pinching my thighs, I cradle my girls on my lap. Together in the bed of our redneck pickup, we watch and listen and feel.

I’m grateful for my country.

But I’m blessed by my small community and family.

After the finale, with headlights and rumbles and purrs of engines, we clamber into our vehicles. The road fills as we flip U-turns and wave to our neighbors. Soon the frontage road is empty and nearly-silent again.

The tree frogs continue their chorus.

Well, it’s taken a few days here at the beach to figure out how/where to get internet access. The “DSL” advertised for this rental turned out to be a cable DSL modem with a USB cable for a wired connection. Sadly, while our laptops do connect, they can’t actually communicate with the modem.

(This is as technical as I get. All I know is that clicking on browser seems to equal error message.)

Fortunately, at least one house on this street has entered the 21st Century with a WIRELESS router. And it’s next-door. Charlie and I spent two days wandering our house with laptops in hand before we finally pinpointed the best location from which to borrow a cup of bandwidth.

(Front corner of house, in case you were wondering.)

So far we’ve ….

• Boogie boarded (Turns out, my kids are naturals. Even Abby, who technically does not swim.)
• Sunburned (Public Service Announcement on behalf of my husband, Striped-Awning Man: Spray-on sunscreen should not be applied in a stiff wind.)
• Dug holes (Seriously, it must be in the genes. I don’t know why we all enjoy that so much.)
• Watched Looney Toons (A sadly-neglected cultural experience for my children.)
• Driven in a thunderstorm (Obviously. We ARE in Florida.)
• Watched lightning over the ocean last night
• RELAXED

Hope your week is as good as ours!

Hello!

Today we are traveling, on the road to the BEACH.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned my love for the BEACH.

But I heart the BEACH, I do.

After all, I spent ten years in San Diego. Three of them overlooking the ocean.

Of course, the Florida coast is not a lot like the beaches in Cali. As in,

The water temperature is closer to bathwater than iceberg. (GOOD)

Ten yards offshore, your feet can still reach the bottom. Because the water is at your knees. (GOOD)

Jellyfish. (BAD)

Teensy waves. (BAD, if I were a cool surfer chick. But for me, this is kinda GOOD.)

Heat and humidity 24/7. (BAD at noon. GOOD at 10 pm, when you don’t need a parka to go outside.)

So we’re staying at the beach. Just the five of us. In close quarters. I’ll have my computer and internet access, but will be online only sporadically.

But you’ll probably hear from me at least once or twice. Depending on how much blog material this trip yields.

(See: five people, close quarters. I’m betting on … A LOT.)

Enjoy your week!

When I get home, I’ll post a pic of me with my tan face. With the attractive mustache-like age spot that appeared when I hit 35.

(FYI: Just because you tan easily does NOT mean sunscreen should be limited to nose and cheekbones. I’m just sayin.)

Happy Belated Father’s Day!

And thank you for all the great comments on my last post about piano lessons. Even the kids’ teacher, Pam, gave some great input.

(NOTE: Looking for a fantastic piano teacher in the northeast Atlanta suburbs? Email me & I’ll connect you w Pam.)

I think the consensus is:

1. Music education is GOOD.
2. Nobody likes to practice.
3. Being evil and rotten is GOOD PARENTING.

I heart validation.

This week I’m dragging my girls out of bed every day for basketball camp. They came home today chattering about foreign concepts like “defense” and “5-on-5″ and “dribbling.”

You have any idea what they’re talking about?

Me neither.

But I do have a theory after almost 12 years of parenting:

Parents, if you want to expose your kids to a sport in this hyper-competitive culture, make sure to start them around the same time as everyone else.

I know this sounds like following the herd and not being counter-culture enough and all that. Kids these days are overscheduled and rushed into doing EVERYTHING.

That’s what we said when we put it off with our kids. And it’s mostly true. That’s why we still have a strict rule about the number of extracurricular activities a child can do at once.

But here’s the thing:

If you put your son or daughter in soccer or baseball for the first time at age EIGHT (8), they will play with – and against – kids who’ve practiced the fundamentals of the sport for at least THREE (3) years.

Maybe some children can handle being that far “behind,” but not so much my perfectionist mini-me’s.

It’s a lot like how my hubby felt when he started taking Tae Kwon Do. In his early 40’s. There he was, a grownup surrounded by little kids, being taught martial arts fundamentals by teenagers. Humbling, for sure. He ended up sticking it out and going on to earn a black belt. But he was also an adult who knew that the prize of mastery and accomplishment would be worth the price.

With my kids and sports, I’ve found that we have to get the price down as close to zero as possible. They don’t have enough wisdom/life experience to see the prize on the front end, and they sure won’t believe us when we try to describe it to them. (See: piano lessons.)

And when the price was too high – like when LC joined a soccer team at age 8 – the prize got permanently obscured by the price. They lost every game, and the coach was more of a screamer than a teacher. Now LC has no desire to play on a soccer team ever again. And he doesn’t enjoy playing it for PE either.

So anyway.

If you want my advice, here it is:

Certainly, don’t put your kids in EVERYTHING. But at the same time, make them “try on” SOMETHING.

(And I mean MAKE. We waited too long for LC to express interest in a sport. Not sure why; that’s not how we handled piano. Now I think our piano model is better.)

Even with the opportunity to learn the basics of a sport, like the girls are getting this week, my kids will probably never want (or be able) to be pro athletes.  (Thanks to the pesky artsy-geeky genes they inherited from us.)

But it WILL give them confidence. Learning a new skill is hard enough. Trying to learn after everyone else already has can make a child believe it’s not even worth the effort. I’d guess this also applies to art, music, Legos, math, reading, etc.

What’s your take? Am I smokin’ something? Do you have any insights to add?

P.S. I really do want to know: What is a basketball jones? Is it something that can be discussed in mixed company?

Or should my husband stop singing “I got a basketball jones” over and over and over and over because it’s apparently the only line from the song that he knows?

(In case I wasn’t clear, I’d appreciate an answer that would get Charlie to STOP singing it. Thank you.)

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that my kids take piano lessons. They all started around age 5, and their end-of-the-year recital is this Saturday. Everyone’s been practicing, and I think they’re gonna do well.

Not that they practiced because THEY wanted to. All year, all three have vehemently protested and resisted when it was time to practice. Every. Single. Time.

For a long time I thought I must be handling it wrong – like maybe if I could better “sell” or “explain” the value to them later in life of playing an instrument, they’d go,

“Oh! Well, that CHANGES things. Now that I finally understand, I shall practice with joy, always giving thanks for the obscene amount of money you spent on this piano.”

Yeah. I know. Now I’m satisfied with grumpy obedience.

So anyway, with the exception of Abby who LOVES piano, the kids beg every year to be allowed to quit. And Charlie and I finally agreed to let all of them choose their instrument when they enter middle school.

We’re still mean and hateful parents who insist on forcing them to make beautiful music on SOMETHING, but we’ll give them another option at age 12.

As the oldest, LC is the first beneficiary of this policy. And since he was the loudest and most-determined protester, imagine our surprise when he said he’d be willing to keep up piano if he can focus on more modern music and learn more on an electric keyboard.

DONE. I signed him up for another year before he can change his mind.

I’m still amazed that now there’s a chance that someday in an FAO Schwarz near us, it will be MY son dancing on the giant keyboard a la the movie Big. Like these guys:

Although Bach is most definitely still classical music. He’d probably be happier to play something from Deep Purple or Led Zeppelin.

(Yes, we believe that a well-rounded musical education MUST include Classic Rock.)

You know these guys? I didn’t until I moved to Georgia 12 years ago. Back then Chick-fil-A®, a chicken-only fast food place, was mostly in the South.

And all I could think when introduced to them was,

• “Oh cute. Those cows can’t spell,”
• “I will never remember how to spell the name of that restaurant,” Because The Editor Force is strong in this one.
• “Hey! Those are Holstein cows. They’re raised for milk, not beef. DUHHH.” Because clearly I am both a farm girl AND a dork.

Anyway.

I have young kids. So I am also a connoisseur of fast food places with playgrounds and kids’ meals.

This is why I like Chick-fil-A®:

1. With their kids’ meals, they don’t give out useless crap-that-I-try-to-throw-away-before-it-gets-in-the-house. Yay for books, CD’s, and computer games!
2. Their chicken is deliciousness in a bun/strip/nugget. And nobody chopped it up and remolded it into the shape of  a star.  Or an amoeba.
3. Their playgrounds are the cleanest and coolest, AND you aren’t allowed to eat in them, which gives parents an excuse to sit in the grownup area outside of the soundproof kid box. In other words, they are heavenly.
4. Hello? Kid-size ice cream cones for CHEAP! Also? REAL MILKSHAKES!

This weekend, I have another reason to love Chick-fil-A®:

Atlanta Area Chick-fil-A® Restaurants are ‘Shaking Up’ Father’s Day!

Catchy, huh?

In honor of Father’s Day, the Chick-fil-A® restaurants in the greater-Atlanta area will give dads who visit the restaurant WITH THEIR CHILDREN a FREE Chick-fil-A Hand-Spun Milkshake.

Did you get that?

FREE.

Dude. We are SO there. I might even dress up in my Sk8er Boi costume and take a kid in with ME.

***

If you’ll be in the ATL, here are the details:

This offer is good on SATURDAY, June 20 (the day BEFORE Father’s Day) from 10:30 a.m. until close.

(NOT Sunday, cuz they’re never open on Sundays.)

All fathers who visit the restaurant with their children will receive a free 14 oz. milkshake in the flavor of their choice – Chocolate, Strawberry, Vanilla, Cookies & Cream or the NEW limited-time only Peach flavor!

***

And if you don’t live near Atlanta, but you DO have Chick-fil-A in your area, DON’T DESPAIR YET!

Several other markets and individual restaurants nationwide are participating in this promotion or similar ones. Check with your local restaurant*.

Cute AND Creative.

We couldn’t be more proud.

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