making lemonade

I had big plans for Connor and I today (after church, of course). We were going to hop on the bike trail not far from Kalamazoo (the “yes there really is a …” place) and ride into my office, grab some ice cream and play at the park before making the not-that-far trek back to our car.

We were full (from church and lunch) and dressed and started to load up the bikes. Or rather, I attempted to load up the bikes. I should have known before getting too far ahead of myself with plans that my road bike alone doesn’t fit all that well in my car so it was pretty durn likely that Connor’s bike wouldn’t just slide neatly on top of it. Fifteen minutes, a few new scratches by the trunk and a shirt full of bike oil and I gave up. I’m not gonna lie … tears were forming.

Just then, Connor said “it’s okay, mom.” He said that and I took a step back and realized that it was, in fact, okay. My rationale for trail-riding was for his safety more than anything. But I figured we could ride along the side of some of our local side roads pretty safely and hit the park a few miles away.

We were well on our way when Connor had just hit the dirt for the eleventy-billionth time and I said, “you have to make sure you’re paying attention.” Not twenty seconds later, he was on the ground. It really happened so suddenly that I can’t even say what he did. Regardless, his first words were, “i broke my leg. i broke it.” I scooped him up off the road and evaluated the situation. His leg definitely was NOT broken, but he did have a nice asphalt burn. Shoot.

He decided it would be best for us to turn and head back home. We had to stop for a break when we were about a mile into the ride back and it was … nice. We just sat for a few minutes and enjoyed the warmth and the horses grazing just down the road. We didn’t have anywhere else to be on a Sunday afternoon and I loved that.

perfect day

perfect day

We were back quite a bit earlier than I’d anticipated and I wanted to keep playing outside while keeping his safety top of mind … so we hit the driving range.

 

 

talking about celiac disease

This is my guy. He’s the best thing I’ve done yet. And, he is special. He’s special because he’s one of the millions who has been diagnosed with celiac disease.

one special kid

one special kid

May just happens to be National Celiac Disease Awareness Month. Last May, I wouldn’t have known that. I mean, I knew people at the time that were dealing with celiac but it was definitely not on my radar as a concern. Continue reading

he’s got a feeling

When Connor was just a couple of weeks old, a nurse told me he had an ‘old soul.’ I had, of course, had some inclination before she shared that with me. I could see it in his eyes.

I’ve never stopped believing that nurse was right and it becomes more evident as he gets older. Connor is, indeed, wise for his age. Sometimes his wisdom is misguided and sometimes I know it’s because he’s already been through so much at his young age, but he’s wise nonetheless.  Continue reading

pray-er

[122.365] i'm so proud

unfortunately, he may have gotten this from me.

Okay, so the photo has nothing to do with the post. It just made me giggle. And would you look at those skinny little legs?! He definitely doesn’t get that from his mother!

Anyway, when Connor and I have just a couple of days together, I always get super sad when we get home late. But, Spring means sports and sports means less time at home. That’s just the way it is. Of course I love it. I love watching Connor play soccer and baseball. I love (for roughly 5.25 minutes) when he demands playing on the playground after practices or games, and when he makes goofy faces at me because he is annoyed I’m trying to capture another photo.  Continue reading

use your words

Guess what?! Spring finally arrived this weekend. It felt like as soon as the sun was up Saturday morning, we were out enjoying it. We played soccer and then, after a few errands, some ball practice and a visit to a playground not far down the road.

Connor found one slide that he reeeeaaaly liked. He would grasp the top and repeatedly ask me, “Mom, can you see my shoe?” Sometimes I couldn’t, sometimes I didn’t really want to bend down to look and other times it was in plain sight. “Yes, Connor, I can see your shoe. What is this game again?”

After getting nice and dizzy on the tire swing, he was back in the tube. When I half-expected to crane my neck again to see his shoe, I heard him ask, “Mom, what does a-s-s spell? Does that spell ass?” Yes, yes it does, Connor. And please, don’t use that word.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love this age where Connor is reading and sounding out everything. I’m not even mad at him for asking me what it was he was trying to piece together.

Nope. I’m mad that someone felt it necessary to etch on the inside of a slide a word that my seven-year-old shouldn’t see at.the.playground. It’s sort of like the time that he went into the restroom at a restaurant and came out asking me what f … (you know what I’m getting at, right?) spelled.

Even then, I wasn’t mad at him for asking. I was upset that someone chose to put that language on a counter in a bathroom. And it wasn’t like they etched it into the surface at a level where an adult might see it. Nope, it was at perfect eye height for an almost six-year-old.

I am all for freedom of speech, expression .. all of that. But, really? Really? I don’t know … maybe it’s healthy and good for Connor to be exposed to things like that so he can ask the question, and thankfully I was there to answer. But, then I also have to think that it might not be all that helpful because 1.) he’s seeing how common and apparently cool it is to destroy someone else’s property and 2.) words are just words that apparently should be read by everyone, especially CHILDREN. On a SLIDE.

I think we all know how I feel about words. They aren’t just that. At all. Sadly, I saw a few other words drawn into the wood and other features of the playground that I’m really happy Connor did not see to ask me about. I wouldn’t have known how to explain some to him.

Point is … I won’t be there all the time to explain it to him and as much as I’d love to keep whining about someone else’s choice to infiltrate his brain with nonsense, I might as well just do my best to make sure he knows that activity, in and of itself, is not okay with this mama and if he ever feels the need to send a message to someone else, I hope it’s a positive one.

showing the slide a little love.

showing the slide a little love.

 

our mother’s day

Image

Mother’s Day is coming up. It’s actually just a hop, skip and a jump away. I hear it’s being celebrated on May 12. PSA over.

Today, though, is MY mother’s day. Like, my mother. It’s her birthday. And she is *cough*sixty-one*cough*. Darn. It didn’t seem as obvious when I just tried that out loud. I know she will never forgive me for that. But as I stated in a message to her this morning, embrace, accept and celebrate! Age ain’t nothin’ but a number anyway. Continue reading