Isn't that backward?

Katie: Gracie and I are going to play babies down in the basement.

Me: OK, sounds like a great idea.

Katie: Can we take Kara and pretend she's a doll?

Father's Day Far Away

It's Father's Day. I'm a big fan of holidays and holy days. I love to make a fuss. But I am going to admit, this one slipped off my RADAR screen--the victim of being between the infamous weekend and the trip to Denver. I've had a wicked sinus infection all week and I've been bumbling about trying to get ready to go again. "Daddy" was around a bit this week, getting into trouble  playing with the kids, but it didn't hit me until late yesterday, as we were driving to the airport, that he was leaving town and would miss Father's Day here on the east coast. I'm a bad mommy. We should have celebrated yesterday. Maybe we'll move it to Tuesday.

For now, the best I can do is lock myself in his office and call California so we can start the day with a long phone call. I'll tell him how much I love him and how I know of no other man on earth as dedicated to his children. I'll probably cry because it will hit me that he's alone in a hotel room on Father's Day and that just doesn't seem fair when you've worked so hard as the father of eight kids. And then I'll feel really badly for neglecting to tuck some special reminder into his suitcase. Finally, I'll tell him to log on because someone in this house didn't forget.

Wholehearted Blogging

This morning, I discovered that the Clarkson family of my favorite, most inspirational homeschooling book ever, Educating the WholeHearted Child, has a quiver-full of blogs. Looks like they are under construction but if enough of us leave comments, maybe they'll be inspired to get up and running. And it looks like Sally has another blog here, where she's got a few posts to wet our whistle.

What the neighbors must think...

It has been noted before that the games played in and around my house are of the over-the-top competitive variety. When my husband enters the fray, and he and the children play a game of family soccer or family basketball, it's a no-holds-barred proposition. Those famous Kennedy games have nothing on us. But this morning was one for the books. As in "Book 'im!"

I had just put the baby to sleep when I heard the doorbell ring. I found this very irritating because it had taken me forever to get the baby to sleep because Mike and the kids were outside playing basketball and I could hear their wailing and moaning and screaming  cheering and encouraging through the front windows. Patrick, in particular, was going on and on about someone's shooting ability or lack of it.

As I went to the door, my heart leapt to see a sheriff's deputy through the front window. Outside, were four police cars. The tree was in the way and  I could only see two of my children. My head raced as I thought about streets and basketballs and cars. I opened the door.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

"Except for the fact that you're scaring me, I'm fine."

"Is there anyone else in the house?"

"A sleeping baby--everyone else is out here."  I could see my husband now, punching buttons on his Treo. Good grief, must he check his email now? Doesn't he even notice the heavy presence of law enforcement?

"Ma'am, we got a 9-1-1 call from this location. A child was screaming in the background and we heard him say something about a shotgun."

"Um, no, not from here. I'm the only one in here and the baby was with me."

" The call was from your husband's cell phone."

There he was, standing there holding the Treo, grinning at me a bit sheepishly.

And there was a flash of insight.

"Officer, I think maybe the phone got bumped  and it dialed while they were playing and you heard my son yelling about a shot. A missed shot (I made a basketball shooting motion with my hands). In basketball."

And now I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, exactly what it sounds like to the rest of the world when my family plays a friendly game of basketball.

The weekend in pictures

When you are a good blogger, you blog frequently, chronicling the events of every day. When you are a good mother, you write things like this:
A neglected blog is a terrible thing. But neglected deadlines areworse. And a neglected family is the worst thing of all. So you shall have to carry on without me. But you will be fine. The weather is beautiful and I am sure you have a baseball game to get to. If you don't, though, please don't tell me. My psyche shall surely suffer if I find out that there is life beyond baseball and that other people are enjoying it without me. (HT: Danielle Bean)
And when a this blogger-mommy reads it,  she mentally exchanges "soccer" for baseball and hums about her ridiculously full IRL day.

But all day long, it nags at her that she hasn't recorded THE WEEKEND. So, she uploads some pictures and calls it all good--no major philosophical ponderings of the enormity of the milestones we marked, no hours spent trying to get the pictures to line up just right. Because Danielle said not to neglect my family for my blog. And she's very wise.

First there was the  State Cup Almost Win (pictures of tears deleted).
Then there was a beautiful ballerina who danced her heart out and made us so very proud.
And then there was graduation (by this time I was completely sick). Note to self: don't think that you can do the calligraphy on your son's diploma yourself. No matter how many times you've written certificates and envelopes and all matter of lovely things, this time, your eyes will bur and your hands will shake and you will not be able to figure out why. My favorite picture of graduation is this one of my husband and son. Mike spoke about Michael's accomplishments and was so overcome with pride (and not a little sadness that this time has come to an end) that in the end, all he could do was give him a big hug.
Then there was the gift of the children to their big brother. Patrick had designed a rosary and supervised as his siblings helped to string it. The spacers in the first decade are sapphires, Katie's birthstone. Michael will remember to pray for her when he prays that decade. The second decade is for the October birthdays--Karoline, Patrick, and Mary Beth. The third decade is Nicky's, the fourth Stephen's and the fifth, Christian's. Each of the Pater beads is surrounded by my husband's birthstone, so all the Our Fathers are for him. And I get the three Hail Marys at the beginning. With the rosary, we promised Michael our first decade of the day. It's still so hard for me to believe he won't be here in the fall when our days begin...
And then there was the scholarship presentation the next day. Nicole Megaloudis was a talented young college soccer player whose family was involved in the sport on every level from the youth game to MLS--much like ours. Nicole was Bobby's dear friend. Nicole was fond of saying, "Make it happen." I hope Michael remembers that life is very short and we only have a finite amount of time to make it happen. Live it-- live all of it-- like every minute matters. Because it does.