He shoots, he scores!

For his birthday, we got Jackson a basketball hoop that we keep on the porch. It's quite a bit taller than he is and we knew it would take him awhile to figure this out, but there was no doubt he'd outgrow the other option in just a few months. (He outgrows pants often enough that I wasn't going to buy toys with a short shelf life.) And these days, this kid is always asking to go outside and, "sshheewwwt!"

His first attempts were unpredictable at best, but now that he's getting the hang of it, he takes this very seriously. He'll stand in place, bend his knees (hilarious), and concentrate so hard the ball starts shaking in his hands. I'm proud of his determination and clear desire to succeed, yet slightly worried that he's going to be his own worst critic...just like his mother.

One day last week Jackson's daycare was closed for staff development, so Chad stayed home with him. And on a rainy, cold February afternoon, this is what they were doing.

 

This way, that way

There are many things you do as a parent in the hopes of fun and creativity that come back to bite you in the rear when you least expect it.

Last Monday, a bunch of ice led to delayed federal government and daycare openings. And since Chad's sports car doesn't do anything on ice but slide around, we all carpooled to work together. Jackson's daycare didn't open until 11 and I had to be at the office for a meeting at 10:30. So Chad, wearing his creative parenting hat, decided to kill the half-hour in between by driving around the city and letting Jackson choose the direction in which they went. They had a jolly old time, and he thought it was hilarious.

Fast-forward to Tuesday. I picked Jackson up from school and he was ready to tell me how to get home. (Keep in mind he does know most of how to get places, and if you ever divert from that due to traffic or whatever else he'll start opining from the back seat: "Wrong way! Wrong way!")

In typical toddler fashion, Jackson wanted to take me on a joy ride when all I really wanted to do was get home from work. I swear he'd been planning this all day. And when I didn't oblige...here came the exasperation. The drama. The t-e-a-r-s! For the entire 45-minute drive home (because traffic is always particularly bad on the evenings your child decides to have a meltdown), Jackson was pointing and yelling, "Other way! Other waaay! I want other way!!!" ... except for the very rare occurrence when we were going to turn in the direction he was expecting.

I do love my child, but I could not get him to bed fast enough that night.

Fast forward to later that week, when I went out to lunch with a potential business partner. She mentioned that she had an 18-year-old son, and in the next breath talked about an upcoming vacation. I asked if she was bringing her son with her to the Caribbean. "No," she says. "He lives with his father. I don't see him. Sometimes he sends me a text."

I squinted my eyes and wrinkled my nose, which is what I always do when I'm trying to figure out if people are joking. She wasn't. I went on to hear about how there comes a time when your kids just don't want to spend time with you and that it comes faster than you think. Then I start thinking about how I could never in a million years imagine what I'd do if this happened to me. I might very well turn into a stalker.

After that uplifting conversation I counted the minutes until I went straight to daycare, and said a little "thank-you-and-I'm-sorry" prayer to the Man Upstairs when, at the sight of me, Jackson literally dropped everything he was doing and started jumping up and down with his daily exclamation of, "That's MY mama!" I was the highlight of his day, and he was mine.

I gave him an extra-long hug. And let him stay up late, too.

Stomp, stomp, stomp

I'm just not even going to apologize for the delay in these posts. And I'm not going to try to catch up on the last five months of happenings because there was WAY too much and that's the reason for the delay in the first place. So let's just pretend that didn't happen, ok? Ok.

Last weekend we took a very much needed trip to the Shenandoah and brought along a birthday gift Jackson got from his Uncle Evan: a stomp rocket. Now this is a gift that I never would have thought to buy anyone, but this just goes to show that only boys know boys. As you can tell, Jackson had a blast.

 

It's raining...

We've been getting some nice rain out here, which is a welcome relief to the parched yards and dying flowers. (Parched yards and dying flowers are no strangers to our family in the Midwest, either.) Last Sunday we got a really nice rainstorm right after Jackson got up from his nap - which is the reason for the lack of pants. But he sure was excited to watch it rain! And he sure wanted one of us to take him out to play in it.

Before and after

When we moved into our new house last fall, there were a number of things we loved. But there were lots of things that we didn't.

First there was the retaining wall that was falling over on itself.

And the dilapidated shed.

And the bricks falling off the front steps.

And - ugh - the seafoam green shutters. I don't like seafoam green.

And, and, and...But we're making progress.

Here's the house we bought. We liked it, but it wasn't perfect. Nothing is. (Note there are no photos of the backyard.)

This winter, we replaced the retaining wall. And put in a new fence.

New wall, old fence. And really old shed. Oh, and a weird little garden next to it that wouldn't grow things.

Chad took this down in a matter of hours. (Note new fence.)

Then Nick built us a shed (covered with a tarp).

We roofed it. And painted it. We still need to organize it.

Our front steps were another story.

They were patchy and holey, and my high heels loved to get stuck in them. We're lucky we never fell down these with Jackson.

So we got our steps fixed.

And then we spruced up the shutters, the door and all the trim. I spent a long, long time at the paint store. This just makes me happy.

You may think I'm done, and we are - for now. But wait til I get started with the landscaping.

Lessons from the old guys on the field

More than ten years ago when Chad started his DC softball career, he was on the very best teams around. Over a dozen 20-year-old guys. Young. Nimble. In peak physical condition. Took the game seriously.

But they could never get to the championship because of all the old dudes. Old people ruin everything.

I remember back then, when I used to play in the occasional co-ed Saturday game, getting so frustrated when we'd consistently lose to the same group of old folks. They were sloppy. Out of shape. They showed up five minutes before game time and it was clear their bag hadn't been opened since the previous week's game ended. It wasn't out of the question for one of them to pull a hamstring, or need to sit down because they got too hot. They were a disaster! But they were unbeatable.

It's funny how things come full circle. Last night Chad's very-old team (by DC standards) won the Arlington men's softball championship with a two-run homer in extra innings.(That's Chad in the red hat - not wearing his knee braces, I see.)

Much like all those "old" teams in the past, they shouldn't have won. They've got 15 years on some of those players. Half of them have families. Most of them don't go to the gym every day. And all of their lives are consumed by something other than Tuesday night softball.

But they've been playing together a long, long time. They know the quirks of their own team and how to work around them. They know in advance how to compensate for the guy who tends to throw too short over to first base, and how to cajole their pitcher to lift his spirits if he's having a rough game. And they see the opportunities: how to place a hit right in the middle of a hole in the outfield, or when to stretch a double into a triple because that right fielder hasn't proven to be accurate and they don't think he would be again.

Maybe this season's champions weren't the most athletic. But you can be sure they were the smartest. So they eked out a win over those 20-somethings, proof that maybe there is something to be said for this aging thing.

Funny what age, and softball, and the importance of really knowing your team can teach us sometimes.

Dance, Dance, Dance

There are some days my spirited child just exhausts the hell out of me. There are many other days that this energy and enthusiasm gives me a boost that I need to bring a smile to my face when I get frustrated or makes me push the gas pedal a little harder when I'm heading to daycare in the afternoons.

When we were back in Illinois over July 4, Jackson demonstrated his love for the King by busting a move every time my mom would turn on her Elvis tunes. (Further proof that this child is a Shragal through and through - that side of the family has had Elvis jokes going back 25 years.)

And ever since then, Jackson will walk up to a radio or an iPhone, proclaim "DANCE!" and put his hands into fists then wait for the music. Sometimes when there is no music, he'll just sway side to side singing, "Dance, Dance, Dance..." in the hopes that he can carry himself through with the thoughts in his head.

Let me preface, I have no idea where these moves come from - the spinning, the gestures, the rhythm...no idea. But, oh man, this little dude makes me laugh. As one of my good friends said, "Save that one for the wedding video."