B has a friend over this evening, and I could walk you through the whole evening, but let me try to recall how mythankfulboy recapped it earlier in the evening. It was something like, “Oh my gosh – we are sitting in a car with my mom outside a grocery store, eating pie and making fart sounds through straws stuck in our kneepits, after playing dodgeball.” Yes, I’m pretty sure any one of those things alone could potentially make one a misfit, but the whole lot together? Priceless. We laughed ourselves silly. I will probably be sore tomorrow from the laughter. A soreness for which I will be thankful.
Tag Archives: dodgeball
It’s a momma weekend – a weekend I get Mythankfulboy all to myself. It’s quite the luxury. Friday night it was back to dodgeball (after the completion of Crossfit for baseball, he can get back to his other sporting love), Saturday we braved a snowstorm to do batting cages and Waffle House, and today we shoveled and shoveled and now are each doing our own version of screen time. B today came up with the idea that there should be a shoveling index in the same way there’s a cold/heat index – that for each inch of snow, it either feels like an inch, or, if it’s wet and heavy, it feels like 2 inches, or, if it’s icy slush the snow plows churned into your driveway, each inch feels like 4 inches. He’s probably not the first to float this idea, but I found it to be quite clever, because it’s so true…
On weekend nights, there is not a set bedtime, which means the chalice lighting can happen at any time. Last night, I was sitting in front of the fire when B ran past to get a snack during a break in his game. As he ran into the kitchen he asked, “So what are you thankful for?” I said, “Really?” He said, “Yeah!” So I thought quickly and said, “Driving around in the snow with you!” As he ran back by with a granola bar and some fruit snacks, he yelled, “Batting cages and mommas who will take you in the snow!” (imagine his voice falling away as though he was falling off a cliff).
I think we should call this the drive-by chalice lighting.
I think Thursdays are the hardest day of the week for me. I start early and end late for work, and B has baseball in the evening. His dad takes him, but I get him dirty and hungry around 8pm, when I’m just getting home myself. I feel at loose ends on Thursday nights – like I don’t have enough time to start anything of consequence, but I can’t afford not to get something done. I’m working on being okay with sitting on the couch for a few minutes. Tonight B plopped down beside me and did a web search for “cool hairstyles for men”. Hee hee.
When we made our way to the chalice lighting tonight, B was exhausted. We turned the crank on his palatal expander (oh the fun!), and then turned out the lights. He was thankful for baseball, dodgeball, his laptop, and the fan beside his bed. I was thankful for cooler days. He was not thankful for shorter days. I wasn’t either. And that was it. Some nights it’s short and sweet.
Tonight, at the chalice lighting, B was thankful for dodgeball, even though snowy roads meant he missed travel team practice tonight. I was thankful for the sweet message I got from the mom of one of B’s friends, bragging on B’s comportment at her son’s birthday party, and said out loud that I was thankful for my son’s show of good sense.
Then we got the call that there would be a 2-hour school delay tomorrow, and B bounded out of bed with glee. I’m guessing that snow delays might just win out over dodgeball if we were to do the chalice again!
Last night B had a dodgeball practice to which his dad took him, and I took the opportunity to work late, so we both arrived home just after 8pm, tired, but glad to see one another. We sat down and, over the hometown baseball team’s game on tv, we caught up on the day’s news: he won a dollar for the best bellyflop at the pool. he made a catch at dodgeball by sandwiching the ball between his hand and the side of his face when he was really just trying to protect his face from the ball, he and his coach beat all the other players in a mock game. I took five middle and high school boys with autism on a rapid transit system to a dollar store where one of them, given his choice of anything in the store, bought dust masks. Love that kid. After the news of the day we both quickly pooped out, so we did our chalice lighting and went to bed. B was thankful for his dodgeball coach, who I just figured out this week is a pro dodgeball player (who knew?!) I was thankful for a job I love and the freedom to do it the way I think it should be done.
As a side note, because I don’t want to forget it, over the weekend B and I were at a bookstore and I saw Anne Lamott’s book Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential Prayers. I showed it to B, letting the magnitude of the words sink in for a minute. He didn’t take a minute, though, to say “It should be ‘Help, Thanks, Mom'”.