Tag: family Page 9 of 18

This week is an odd duck of sorts–I’m between the end of the spring semester and the beginning of the first summer term in my graduate program–and it’s a little bit like having a vacation. My stress level’s returned to normal. I can contemplate watching TV after the kids go to bed.

It’s also the week-after U8 soccer ended its spring season. We played the last game in a steady (and at times heavy) rain, beating our opponents 5-0. Julia came away with a pair of goals (!!) and Thomas contributed well offensively. I helped coach the team with Kirk Lawton, and once more I finished reminded of how much joy there is in watching groups of young people coalesce and grow together.

We are entering the age range of youth sports, however, in which the comments from the parents’ side of the field occasionally veers into queasy territory.

Read More

DIARY

Oh, the smiles you inspire.

Dear Annie Elizabeth:

Your voice, I’ve come to realize, is like birdsong. Your chatter in the mornings as we get ready for work and school, the kind where you are preoccupied with little figurines in the midst of some drama, is easy and bright. Something there is so lovely about a child-soprano tittering throughout the house.

This verbal measure has increased noticeably as you’ve approached your third trip around the sun. When you were younger, your mother and I laughed that with two talkative siblings, you may never have a chance to get a word in edgewise.

You’ve shown no signs of letting Julia and Thomas get in your way, though.

Read More

DIARY

Of girls, and creation, and the truth revealed in the depths of our shadows.

Dear Thomas Alan:

First, we should talk about girls. I think it should now be universally acknowledged that you, my boy, are much admired. Without us even realizing it, you’ve become the idée fixe of an increasing line of young women, several of whom have expressed an enthusiastic interest in becoming your betrothed.

And in your earnest defense, your reliable reaction to this news, which I share in this triennial birthday letter to you with only a hint of jealousy, is a dramatic, committed eye-roll. Which is to say, you’ve at least determined at this point in your life not to let such flattery define you. That’s worth something.

Last night I carried you in from the car after you’d fallen asleep on the way back from supper at your grandparents’ house. You were running a fever, and even though we worked to make sure you would blow out your candles and open presents in spite of not feeling well, it was clear you were spent. Your eyes were uncharacteristically weak; the bright flame of your curiosity had retreated. It wasn’t long before you’d nodded off.

Read More