Flutter Butters

For much of her soccer playing days my daughter served as goalie and as the last line of defense the team’s fortunes often rested in her hands, literally. I felt the flutter butters at the beginning of each game and every time the opposing team mounted an attack.

She stopped more than flubbed because she was a pretty good keeper and she was prepared.

Still, I got the flutter butters.

I felt the same way all day Friday before Michael’s show. I wasn’t surprised by the fluttery buttery feeling, I’ve gotten flutter butters prior to seeing him on stage from the very beginning. It is a 50/50 mix of nervousness and excitement. I want so very badly for him to do well and so excited for him to be where he most wants to be.

The nervousness 50 fades once he’s on stage. The nervousness that I probably shouldn’t be experiencing yet, I am powerless to stop, because I know him. I know his preparation is legendary. His confidence is boundless. His excitement for being on stage drives him to excellence. I know all this and have witnessed it for years, yet . . . nervous flutter butters.

But, like I said, the nervousness side of the flutter butters make way for the excitement side once I see him on stage, for he’s Paul (or Othello or whomever) on stage. On stage he is . . . home.

Friday's performance went well. I have it on some authority, that the opening went well also. Still, as Michael (who won't read the reviews until the end, if ever) says, “it’s the beginning not the end, there are 20 more performances. I, or rather we, have to be on point every time out!”

And though I may be a little bit nervous I can hardly wait for my next trip to the theatre, for I have little doubt that Michael, channeling some of a goal keeper mentality of his own, will give everything he has for the performance.

It is so much fun watching him play!!

Twice In One Week

Going to the grocery store is not my most favorite thing to do. In fact, it is pretty far down on any favorite things list I might ever compile. It is a necessary thing as we (the humans and fur babies) must eat and so to the grocery store I must go.

Part of what makes the trips to the grocery store so distasteful is the check-out line. As often as possible I use the self-check out, but even the self-checkouts can be a trial. I could go on and on about the various aspects of line waiting antics, check-out clerk ineptitude, self-checkout fails, and various other factors that serve to rankle one’s calm, but I won’t.

Ok, just one:

I was in line behind a mom who was balancing her ‘bux drink, talking on her phone (via Bluetooth), trying to corral her wandering toddler, while writing a check (yes, an actual check—but don’t hate, I do to on occasion, though I usually have it written long before getting to check-out) for her purchase of organic peas and Greek yogurt.

After the fact, one can find humor in such a scene. While in the midst of it, not quite so funny.

. . .and speaking of ‘bux drinks, I was riding shot-gun with daughter recently and we passed a woman on a bike. I know, you’re thinking, ‘big whoop Deborah’! Hear me out: the woman was on a bike outfitted with one of those rickshaw type covered child carrier carts, she had two tots in tow, riding along side of her were two older kids on sidewalk bikes…they were all in the street, a side-street with little traffic, but still…the street. The kids on bikes were helmeted, but the woman (I’m presuming mom) was not. And now you’re saying, ‘Deborah, what does this have to do with the ‘bux drinks statement you started with’. Well, let me tell ya, the woman was leading this caravan of kid-lets on her bike while trying to balance a ‘bux drink, grande I think.

The drink, not the action. The action was . . .well, thankfully no one else was on the street. I don't know how far she rode, though I do know she had to navigate a cross-street. . .

Beyond that, my week has been mostly un-eventful, except the recruiting (have I told you about the recruiting?) is done and someone has been hired. I have to check, but I don’t think I’ve told you anything about the recruiting…I’ll get on that after the weekend.

I get to see my young man on stage tomorrow. Wooooo Hooooo! AND I get an early birthday gift, daughter scored tickets to a Red Stars game for Sunday.

The Young Man

You know my son.

Well, you know of him.

You know what I’ve written, you may have seen the post of one of his old poems to me, and you’ve seen pictures of him.

He’s an actor, you know, my son.

During his sophomore year in high school, he joined a spoken word club. He and a class-mate formed a spoken word team and they won a school sponsored competition. The team performed outside of school at local venues; coffee shops, clubs, and the like. One of the drama teachers caught wind of Michael’s performance, and suggested he take a drama class. During his junior year he auditioned for three plays and got roles in each one, playing the lead at least once. Over the course of the next year he was in several more plays, performed in poetry in many more venues. Somewhere in the midst of all this performing he made the choice to attend Columbia College, where he continued in the same way he finished high school. He was in no fewer than two shows a year through-out college and since graduating has had a number of acting jobs and though

I haven’t seen any of his writing since he moved out two years ago, I know he’s writing, still.
Now, though he isn’t able to make a living through acting alone, he’s developing a repertoire of work and a following among the Chicago theater community. They guy is a networking fiend, I tell ya.

I’ve mentioned before he’s garnered a role that has fascinated him since high school. The play, currently in rehearsals, opens to previews next Thursday. I’ll be in attendance on opening night, Sunday, the 26th after which, I’m sure I’ll have more to say. In the meantime, hear a bit of what he has to say.

Game. Set. Match.

Serena beat her sister Venus (again) to capture the 2009 Wimbledon crown. The victory edges Serena ahead of Venus in their head-to-head match-ups, 11-10. I had one eye on the match while the other was watching me braid my mom's hair. She asked, "how'd that be for you, beating your sister?" Odd query, considering I don't have a sister. But, I considered the question in the hypothetical, in the spirit it was posed, I presume. I'd want to be better than my sister, but I don't know that I'd want to beat her on the world's stage. But then again, I don't have a sister, I might want the world see me beat her butt. Just once. Maybe.
The conversation got me thinking about my two. A bit more than three years apart, different genders and not having much in the way of sporting interests in common beside park district basketball and soccer, there wasn't much in the way of competition between them of a sporting variety. There was (and is) however, a healthy rivalry of the sibling variety, but it is all very friendly.

They are friends and frankly, I'm a little surprised (plesantly) by that fact. I wonder what they used for a model.

Throughout most of my children's my relationship with my brothers has been fractured. And while I may yearn for such better, friendly or even cordial relationship with my brothers, I don't have any illusions that such will ever come to fruition.

That my two champion one another's causes and cheer one another's victories is a great gift. That they are friends as well as siblings, the greatest gift.

Score: 3 - Love

The End? No, Somewhere in the Middle

You know about the quest. The Shrinking Piggies have come to the end of the term. I've written a brief account of the journey. As noted, this is not the end. Though I didn't achieve the goal within the term, I'm very much encouraged by what I did achieve.

I know that weight loss is inextricably tied to moving my body; walking, riding, dancing, jumping (rope), tennis . . whatever form the movement takes, moving must happen. daily.

I find it fitting that I completed this leg of the journey with 0 loss. I knew going into the weigh-in Monday morning that the 8-mile ride on Sunday would be too little, too late, for the previous six days yielded very little movement, or at least, much less than previous weeks.

The goose egg provides added incentive, and illustrates yet once again, that a body must M O V E it to L O S E it.

Simple.

Loquacious

Remember? Remember, when I made that art project for you, spelling out your name and assigning a description of you to each letter? You asked what loquacious meant and agreed that the descriptor fit you to a Tee. You were very much then, you are very much now, loquacious.


I adore your loquaciousness. True, I like peace quiet now and again however, I admit when you are not talking I grow concerned. For often times with the talking, what usually inevitably follows is that beatific smile. A really good talk-fest yields not only the beatific smile but also that snort filled guffaw. That? Love. It.



From the very beginning, dear daughter you've been a talker. Your very early mutterings weren't discernible to anyone but you, but talking you did. All. The. Time. I won't lie and say that it was always a joyful noise, but there was much joy to be had. Having you for a daughter has been a treat, and to be frank, an un-expected treasure trove of yum. I didn't know I wanted a daughter until you decided to gift me with the quintessential daughter. My, my only daughter.



Granted, we have had some trials. At least two of your teen years had my intestines twisted beyond their normal configuration. Your leaving to live with your father broke my heart, but I realized it was something you needed to do, an experience you needed to have. The move very likely saved the both of us for very different reasons.


We've survived that time. We are here to tell the tale.

The woman I see shaping before my eyes very nearly mirrors the the young woman I wish I'd been. You have a sense of self, bravado, and gumption (most of the time) that I lacked in my early twenties. You know very much who you are and what you want. I know that with diligence, fortitude, and hard work you will get to where you want to be.

You possess and flash a wisdom that beyond your years. You also possess a joyful playfulness that speaks to the exuberant child that lives within your heart. You exude life and all the glory, joy, pain, ups and downs that is life, the kaleidoscope.

The many faces of Danielle are etched forever and beyond on my mind, in my heart, and throughout my soul. Keep on smiling (and talking) my daughter, my friend.

Message to Michael

Not that Michael, but my Michael.

Some have labeled you an enigma. These folks, I trust do not know you well at all. Because, an enigma you are not. You are not a puzzlement, nor contradictory. Your goals, motives and actions are clear, at least to this trained eye.

Well, when put that way, I guess to some you may in fact, be an enigma. I can see how others might be puzzled by what they see when they meet you, what you present when they do get to know you a bit. You are not what most folks deem, typical. So, I suppose to those folks painting you with the enigma tag may seem appropriate.

You are a classic, gentle man. A talented man who found a calling and are pursuing it not only with fervor but also with sense and sensibility. A man who weathered the typical teenage storms as well as some not so typical. Much had been asked of you as the first born elder son and big brother Michael and you have delivered on every score.

Folks are quick to congratulate me, praise me for the man you have become. To my mind, I am not the one to praise, not that I'm discounting my role and my input relative to your carriage, but some credit belongs elsewhere, as you've have marvelous teachers, mentors of other stripes, and influences from a number of avenues. For your willingness and ability to glean the best of what these folks presented, to utilize the tools and resources at your disposal, I submit you deserve some credit as well.

You did the work, the traversing up each rung, I simply held the ladder in place.

How so very lucky I am to have been graced with a boy child possessed with a spirit such as yours; the light in your eyes, bright, your laughter, infectious, and your style, impeccable.

The puzzlement for me is pointed elsewhere. I am puzzled as to why and how mediocre has become the standard. I am puzzled as to why the excellence you seek to achieve is seen as a superlative. I am puzzled as to why this is seen as a-typical for so many. Given that is the case, then I guess yes, you are an enigma for some.

To me you're Michael, All-American Male, as enigmatic as apple pie. That is not to say, however that you're not a super man, for that you truly are.

So typically...you. Cheers!!

Meet Molly

This is Molly. Molly McBear. Molly hangs out (literally) in the living room. She was a dumpster dive rescue many, many years ago. Molly's greatest quality is her ability to be "every" girl-bear. As you can see, she has a style all her own.

Molly wishes everyone on this wet (in our part of the country) a happy, safe fourth.


As an aside Molly won't mind (much) if the fireworks are cancelled due to the rains. But, if they do go on, she'll roll with it, she's that kinda girl-bear.