competitive cartoon artists

I envy these moms. First of all they have it together enough to want to go to multiple ball games in a week, clearly, they have enough underwear that they don't do laundry as often as I do. They get into the game, they know the right things to cheer and they sit on the hot/cold/rainy/bug infested evenings in a bag chair, just to watch their child play a sport. I sat there the last couple of weeks, twice a week, trying to learn. Trying to watch and listen. Trying to hone some competitive instinct in me. It was probably the quietest I've ever been.

And in those weeks, I realized, I've got nothing. I haven't a competitive bone in my body. I wanted to try, for the sake of Oscar, to get into the games, but at the end of a game I was like, "well, you did your best..." Clearly, not the best sports-pep-talker. I am proud that he tried something new, even though his teammates were seasoned ball players, and took a lot of guts. Every game, when he would walk out on the field, it was like watching "Rudy" Ruettiger walk out onto the field- different sport, but same premise. The notion of wanting to do something enough to not care that you were new or inexperienced. Some might think it’s foolish, I thought it took moxie.

But, moxie wears thin at times, as eventually, I saw myself. There he was standing on the field, and not a competitive bone in his body. Things sort of started to shift. Being compared to people your age, in an area that is completely out of your wheelhouse, is difficult, let alone not a whole lot of fun. This sort of comparativeness, while I know goes on for the rest of a person's life, after a while stings. Watching my boy, who has never really played sports outside of the side yard before, at times was painful. He just looked as if he was thinking, "let's just get this over with." And near the end, I can't say I blamed him.

Then a wonderful thing happened. One of these inspiring, afore mentioned moms congratulated him. She told him that despite the fact he was new at this whole thing, he did a great job and he should be proud of himself for giving it a try. Considering my lack of sports knowledge, and even though I had said the same thing to him, it was like getting a compliment from Babe Ruth himself...and I was so very grateful!

But, through it all, I think he we learned a few valuable lessons. The one lesson, that was inevitable as he was bound to learn it in puberty, is comparing yourself to others is dangerous. Noticing all of your inadequacies rips at you from the core. As I sat there, watching him do his best, I thought, "I wonder if any of these boys are good at drawing?" I had to chuckle to myself, as it didn't matter. There's no competitive cartoon artists, or book illustrators, or authors for that matter. They find their drive someplace different within them, and there is no competition. The creative side of life is his stolen base or home run...and clearly, I hope he at least learned more baseball terms than I currently know.

...fist bump?...really?

I've said it before...and I'm saying it again. I love this little town I live in. It's small enough that you willingly wave to strangers. When you are sitting in your driveway, it's common for someone to pull up, park their car and stay a while. To some, living in a small town means everyone knows your business. To me, it just means a few more people looking out for us, even some I've never met...there's a silver lining there.

Last summer, I was sitting on the edge of the town pool...hoping to soak up some sunshine, watching my kids swim, and more importantly wear them out. There was a young mom sitting next to me. I knew we had met before, but of course my long term memory problem erased her name from my brain. We exchanged pleasantries. Then, she leaned over to me, and said, "...I don't know if you know this, but I'm a widow too..." She began to tell her story, and I sat there in awe. She was just 24 years old, with a nine month old and pregnant with another child when her husband unexpectedly passed away...

As she was telling her story, and answering my questions, I knew we had met for a bigger reason. I was in such shock of what she had been through, and how she really understood where I was more than most people...I did the most embarrassing thing...I fist bumped her. I ACTUALLY FIST BUMPED ANOTHER WIDOW?! What the hell was wrong with me? In that moment, I hope she understood that I had meant it with the utmost respect, and really with loyalty. At times, it's hard to put into words what being a widow is like...all grief is different, however some of the struggles people have in dealing is the same. Dealing with your grief and your children's grief is also a very individualized process. The fact is, we had something in common, that no one really WANTS to have in common with anyone...

Again, it's not an accident that we met. Today is the nine year anniversary of her husband's passing. Even though she's younger than I am, she will never know how much I look up to her. She is patient, understanding, kind, funny, a loving mother, a wonderful friend, and a very real human being. She has had to be a parent to her children, and continually remind her boys about their parent they've never met. She understands the ebb and flow of life, parenthood and grief that most parent's never have to...I've thought about you a lot today Sarah. And while I never got the chance to met him, Bleu would be so proud of the parent/woman/mother/friend you are today...love to you today and always.