Hats
Note: Several people have mentioned that they thought my last entry, "Red Friends, Blue Friends. . ." was going to be about politics. Ha! I don't think I can blog in that particular arena quite yet, but maybe we'll get there in November 
Now, about those hats. . .
I have so often referred to myself as a baseball mom, probably because of the mass of sunflower seeds, bats, mitts, chairs, Gatorade, and dirt that all live in my van. I love watching my sons play baseball in the summer— sunglasses, a chair, a bottle of water, and a baseball game—these all speak of summer to me, and I relish the warm evenings, the cheers, the big wins (or a character-building loss), the drippy Popsicles, the time spent together. Seeing Jono on the mound on the same day as I watch Sam hit from the tee is such a strong reminder of how fast time flies. I am thrilled that I have years to watch Sam play. I will treasure the next few years of watching Jono on the field. When did it become "real" baseball? This game is in his heart,and because of that, it is in mine. Yes, I wear the hat of a baseball mom for sure. (A cap, probably.)
And I wear the hat of a dance mom. This year, during her recital weekend, I was more able to stand back and watch Abby take care of her things, make her lists, organize her tights, her hairpieces, her leotards, her shoes, and I was on call for quick hairstyle changes and cool water bottles. I love watching her grow in her confidence, create a real sense of self, and become a leader. This year, she and her friends seemed to be straddling a very fine line between being young dancers and being grown-up ballerinas. In fact, they may have crossed it. They were graceful, they were breathtaking. How is my girl not the tiny dancer in the tutu but instead, the lyrical dancer, the tapper, the jazz performer? I watched her dance, with her whole class, but mostly I was watching Abby and her friend from her very first class, Emily. They met as baby dancers, in the aforementioned tiny tutus, with dance already in their souls. I watched Abby and Emily dance openly and honestly to "She's a Butterfly," and as they twirled and leaped, I watched them as butterflies. Spreading their beautiful wings. Growing in strength and courage and becoming who they are meant to be. Yes, I wear the beautiful hat of a dance mom.
I wear other hats, too, for sure. Don't we all? The hats that describe the gifts that God gave us, and the hats that describe just the crazy things we do, or the things we love, or who we are. Mom, writer, friend, girlfriend, volunteer, wife. . . you name it. . . there's a chapeau! The baseball and ballet hats are worn in honor of the passions that my children so truly and deeply feel, and to the commitments that they have made. Both hats are fun, both are exciting, both can be hot and sweaty, and neither is a hat I ever wore as a child. I love nurturing these God-given gifts and though I don't own these talents, I do have an amazing ability to cheer at a game (loudly) and to applaud at a recital (loudly) and to sit back in awe that they do what they do. And for this, I take off my hats to them.
Now, about those hats. . .
I have so often referred to myself as a baseball mom, probably because of the mass of sunflower seeds, bats, mitts, chairs, Gatorade, and dirt that all live in my van. I love watching my sons play baseball in the summer— sunglasses, a chair, a bottle of water, and a baseball game—these all speak of summer to me, and I relish the warm evenings, the cheers, the big wins (or a character-building loss), the drippy Popsicles, the time spent together. Seeing Jono on the mound on the same day as I watch Sam hit from the tee is such a strong reminder of how fast time flies. I am thrilled that I have years to watch Sam play. I will treasure the next few years of watching Jono on the field. When did it become "real" baseball? This game is in his heart,and because of that, it is in mine. Yes, I wear the hat of a baseball mom for sure. (A cap, probably.)
And I wear the hat of a dance mom. This year, during her recital weekend, I was more able to stand back and watch Abby take care of her things, make her lists, organize her tights, her hairpieces, her leotards, her shoes, and I was on call for quick hairstyle changes and cool water bottles. I love watching her grow in her confidence, create a real sense of self, and become a leader. This year, she and her friends seemed to be straddling a very fine line between being young dancers and being grown-up ballerinas. In fact, they may have crossed it. They were graceful, they were breathtaking. How is my girl not the tiny dancer in the tutu but instead, the lyrical dancer, the tapper, the jazz performer? I watched her dance, with her whole class, but mostly I was watching Abby and her friend from her very first class, Emily. They met as baby dancers, in the aforementioned tiny tutus, with dance already in their souls. I watched Abby and Emily dance openly and honestly to "She's a Butterfly," and as they twirled and leaped, I watched them as butterflies. Spreading their beautiful wings. Growing in strength and courage and becoming who they are meant to be. Yes, I wear the beautiful hat of a dance mom.
I wear other hats, too, for sure. Don't we all? The hats that describe the gifts that God gave us, and the hats that describe just the crazy things we do, or the things we love, or who we are. Mom, writer, friend, girlfriend, volunteer, wife. . . you name it. . . there's a chapeau! The baseball and ballet hats are worn in honor of the passions that my children so truly and deeply feel, and to the commitments that they have made. Both hats are fun, both are exciting, both can be hot and sweaty, and neither is a hat I ever wore as a child. I love nurturing these God-given gifts and though I don't own these talents, I do have an amazing ability to cheer at a game (loudly) and to applaud at a recital (loudly) and to sit back in awe that they do what they do. And for this, I take off my hats to them.
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