~ David's first weekend without his Kitty: David has slept with Kitty, which is actually a stuffed tiger, since he was around nine months old. At the time, he called it "Ya-Ya" because when you asked him, "What does a kitty say?" he would reply, "Ya-ya," instead of meow. Man, I miss those sweet days. There have been many times he's been headed to a sleep over in which he's tucked Kitty into the covers and told her good-bye for a night, but this weekend was the first time ever that he's just altogether forgotten her. He's tucked her away underneath clothes in his bag for several tournaments so his friends wouldn't see, but this weekend she was left cold.
~ Madalyn's first dance recital: I must say, I am so glad the recital is over and so are the dance classes. Thursdays have been a thorn in my side for the past few months. It was a two hour rush around - drop Madalyn off at dance, leave and drop David off at practice, go back to the dance studio to pick Madalyn up, then return to the practice location to retrieve David. Not fun. Madalyn enjoyed her time on the big stage at the BJCC Concert Hall. When we left from our rehearsal on Friday evening, she turned to me and said, "Now I'm a star." And all I could think was, "In more ways than you know, sweet girl..."
~ The first time I've ever seen a homeless man throw up on the ground beneath him: I have to say, it was one of the most humbling experiences I've had in my life. I got a little turned around looking for a parking space at the BJCC on Friday evening, and I was taking a ride around the block to get back on track. I looked to my right and saw an older man, obviously homeless, leaned back on some sort of planter, hunched over with his head between his knees. And he was vomiting. Below him was a puddle of vomit, and in his heart I'm sure a puddle of shame ten thousand times as big. My heart broke for him in that instant. I couldn't help but wonder about his circumstances - who he was, where he came from, how he came to be the homeless man vomiting on the side of a city street. Does he have children? Does anyone miss him or love him or think about him? I don't know... stuff like that just really bothers me. I am sure he'll be on my mind for several days to come.
~ The first time the Bandits got shut out on the baseball field: We got our booties handed to us in a basket yesterday. Shut out. It's never happened before. We're the team that other teams fear. We do the shutting out, not the other way around. It was humbling. Disappointing. Makes you question whether the all work it takes to get to the tournament is worth it. But I guess it's a part of life - getting trampled upon. Sometimes the greatest lessons in life are learned from the biggest failures. But that doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
~ The first time I told my son that one of these days I would be forced to smack him in the face: This one's probably the toughest first of the weekend. I can take a lot from my kids. It comes with the territory, you know. You learn as a mother to let a lot of things roll of the back and you just move on. But a Crazy Mama can only take so much - especially from a soon-to-be-nine-year-old who should know how to speak respectfully to his mother. And so, when David rolled his eyes at me and sighed his little "you are such an idiot" sigh at me for the 13th time yesterday, I took the chance to tell him this: "Son, one of these days real soon, when you do that thing that you just did... you know, roll your eyes and those noises and sighs you make at me... I'm going to smack you in the face. Because one of these days, I'm just gonna have had enough. It makes me angry for my son, who I've raised to know better, to treat me in this way. I just want to give you the fair warning that if you don't stop your behavior, you will be put in your place." We were all four in the car on our way home from Mississippi. Needless to say, the car fell silent and remained so for a good ten minutes with the exception of a few sniffles from David's silent cry-fest. Call me a bad mom if you want. Call the authorities and tell them I am threatening physical smacks to my child. But you can also call me one fed up mom that has an almost nine-year-old acting like an entitled 14 year old brat. And it has to stop. I've tried the nice way. I've tried the whole, "God made me your mother and you should respect me," approach. We've tried the daddy talking to him man-to-man. None of the above has been effective. So I'd say when all else fails, fear of being slapped in the face by your mother just might be the only solution. We'll see how it works.
That should just about cover it...