♫ We are Fam-i-ly...I Got All My Sisters With Me....♫

I have two sisters. Marty is two years older than I am.  She lives near Little Rock, Arkansas with her husband and her four kids.  Robin is almost two years younger than I am.  She lives here in Arlington with her husband and their blended family of 7 boys!  (We also have a younger brother, Dave, who lives in Flower Mound, Texas with his wife Shelley and their 8 children, but this story is more about the Logan girls than it is about him - and I am sure he won't mind that a bit!)

Last Sunday evening at around 9:00, we received one of those phone calls that everyone with an older parent dreads.  Our 74-year-old dad had suffered a heart attack and was in the Cardiovascular ICU in Tulsa.  The Logan girls sprang into action and by 10:30 on Monday morning, we were standing at our dad's bedside in the hospital. We spent the next few days there caring for him and enjoying each other's company. At some point during the time we spent there, I observed the dynamics of our three- sister relationship and wondered how that might translate to my own three daughters down the road.

I'll start with myself.  I am the organizer and the planner. That is my "gift" and that is what I bring to the table.  The Logan family does not take a vacation or have a reunion that I haven't controlled planned to the last detail.  During these events, a day won't go by without some sort of organized activity for the whole group or a beautifully presented meal (because we Logans are a traditionally sedentary bunch and left to our own devices we have been known to spend entire days sitting around in our jammies and accomplishing absolutely nothing). Thanks to my "gift" (insert my sisters rolling their eyes here) our vacations and get-togethers include scavenger hunts and hikes and river-rafting trips and elaborate New Year's Eve celebrations (which usually end at around 10-10:30 because we Logans are also not known for being able to stay awake very late).  As fun as it is to have my role in the good times, it is even more essential to the family dynamic in the bad times.  When my mom passed away, I remember the four of us walking into the funeral home to make the final arrangements and my siblings all took seats in the background and somehow shuffled me up to the front to sit across the desk from our funeral consultant. As the event-planner in the family, I was fully aware that the funeral fell completely into my job description and I reluctantly took on the task of leading in the planning of a fitting tribute for our mother.   Last week, I was thrown into action again after receiving the phone call about our dad.  Within an hour of getting the news, I had booked flights for all 3 of us, and even had Marty connecting in Dallas with the flight that Robin and I were traveling on.  I had reserved the rental car, booked a hotel and mapped out everything. I asked Mike to call the hospital and get hotel recommendations and status updates that he could email out to the family.  I emailed itineraries out to my sisters and all of our travel plans went off without a hitch.

Thinking ahead to a day hopefully far, far down the road, I can see Macy taking on this role in our family.  She is the planner and organizer out of my 3 girls.  She manages her own life, as busy as it is, and makes living in two houses look so simple and natural. She has a real eye for presentation and detail and she appreciates and notices those who go the extra mile to pull things off. Recently she took a picture of a nice spread of food one of her friend's dads had set out for them and texted it to me just because she knew I would also appreciate the effort on the presentation. She has been known to prepare a Power Point Presentation to convince her dad to send her to a theatre camp in New York for three weeks, complete with details on cost and travel requirements.  Yep - she will be the one who will get everyone home in my time of need.  No worries there.

My younger sister, Robin is the nurturer in the family.  Nurturers, by definition, are quiet people who believe in order and who diligently care for those they love.  This was so evident once we arrived at the hospital.  Robin was the one to be hands-on with Dad.  She was always fluffing his pillows, covering him up, searching for more blankets and pillows, making sure he always had water and that the bed was adjusted just right.  She helped him when it was time to get up and around and she dimmed the lights when she thought he looked like he needed a little sleep.  She is the warm and fuzzy one.  She is the one who will make a casserole when you are sick and isn't afraid to get her hands dirty when needed.  Nurturing is her gift and our family wouldn't be able to get along without her contributions.

In my family, Lily is my nurturer. Lily is perhaps the sweetest child I have ever known.  She is constantly trying to take care of me and she is loving and caring and has such a pleasant disposition.  I know that when the time comes and I need some special care, Lily will be the one to cuddle up with me and make sure I am comfortable and well-taken care of.

As I shared my observations with my sisters on our trip, Marty listened patiently as I explained my take on each of our contributions to the family.  When I got to her, she could barely wait for me to sing her praises.  I looked at her and I said, "And you, Marty, are the comic relief...the class clown!"  She wasn't sure how to take this at first. She was offended, I could tell. She felt as if I was trivializing her contribution to the family, when in fact I wasn't at all. William Shakespeare was well-known for incorporating comic relief into his work.  Comic relief represented a brief humorous escape from a serious drama or tragedy and was designed to give somewhat of a respite from the tension in an otherwise serious situation.  This is exactly what Marty does for our family and the contribution is anything but insignificant!

After this point, because she was a little put-out by my label,  Marty became determined to stand out as a nurturer herself, and that only added to the comedy as she raced around and tried to do things for Dad before Robin had a chance to.  She suddenly became smothering and over-bearing and over-nurturing and it was hysterical (and completely proved my original point). Marty is probably the funniest person I know.  She is quick-witted and will say just about anything.  She livens up a room and livens up our entire family.  I can't imagine sitting in a hospital room for days with my dad without her being there.  She is the one who would fill in the awkward silence when Dad would accidentally flash all of us from under his indiscreet hospital gown.  She is the one who kept the nurses coming back in to check on dad just because they could hear we were having a pretty good time.  Most importantly, she kept Dad laughing too. He even laughed every time she tried to convince the new shift nurse that what he really wanted was a nice long sponge bath.  We all laughed when we noticed she had rearranged all of the family portraits in Dad's house to highlight her own children.  You see, picture placement in her house is like a competitive sport.  There is a certain place where the spotlight shines down on the pictures and her kids have a constant battle over whose picture should be in the spotlight.  Every time you walk by this group of pictures they are in a different order and each time a different child has somehow been moved into the coveted spotlight position.  She also has a set of angels she puts out at Christmas.  There are four little angels and each one holds a letter to spell out the word NOEL.  It is not uncommon to walk by this grouping of angels and have to take a second look because the angels will spell out LEON.  This happens in her household because she has fostered a fun and playful atmosphere for her kids.  They have learned to not take things so seriously and to find the humor in simple and funny little traditions that they will always remember long after they leave home.

This probably goes without saying, but in my family, Chloe is our comic relief and our class clown.  I can't imagine life without the laughter that Chloe brings to us on a daily basis.  The most recent thing that comes to mind is our conversation over Thanksgiving dinner. As we were eating, someone suggested that we go around the table and say what we were thankful for.  That's pretty routine, right?  Well, not at my house!  Somehow we got the idea to require everyone to name something specific for each letter of the alphabet.  We started with "A" and went all the way through.  Any attempts at being serious were soon squelched every time it was Chloe's turn and we had to hear her say that she was thankful for her "Homies" (her "H" word) or for "Illegal Immigrants" (her "I" word) and finally she was thankful for having "Swagga" (her "S" word).  I promise you we have never laughed so hard at a meal before in our lives.  I  have no doubt that when my girls all come to care for me some day, Chloe will provide the much-needed comic relief, that will be so beneficial to my health and my spirits.

  

Dad is doing really well now.  He is back at home and is getting stronger every day.  I like to think that we all played a little part in his quick recovery. Our individual personalities and quirks were nothing too special or spectacular when viewed individually.  However, when our talents and contributions were combined, the results were nothing short of amazing.  It was simple really.  We showed up. We gave him the special TLC that only his daughters could give him.  Finally, as cliche' as it sounds, we gave him days and days of laughter, which truly is the best medicine of all.

You Know You're An Air Force Brat When......

Just a little something fun for my siblings....in honor of our parents on Veterans Day.


You know you're an Air Force brat when.............


...the most complicated question someone can ask you is, "Where are you from?"  (The answer for me, after a long pause,  is always "All over" after having lived in Virginia, France, South Carolina, Ohio, Washington, Taiwan, Oklahoma and Texas)


...you and your siblings were all born in different states or countries.


...you went to the airstrip after church every Sunday to watch the planes.


...you get annoyed when a jet flies over and some "civilian" misidentifies it.  You know that the Thunderbirds fly F-16s and the Blue Angels fly F/A 18 Hornets.


...you don't even flinch at the sound of jets breaking the sound barrier a few times a day and you are used to the sound of the dishes  clanking in the cabinet when it happens.


...you always wonder if it's thunder or the guns at Fort Lewis making that noise.


...your dad has a USAF Thunderbirds calendar on the wall of his office and you have been to more air shows than you care to count.


...you can't sleep unless you can hear the airplanes.  Living in the "final approach" path of any airport is an amenity you seek out instead of avoiding.


...your senior-citizen dad wears some sort of flag shirt for every Patriotic holiday.


...you know what TDY and MAAG and OSI mean and you try to give everything in your life an acronym.


...you remember how big of a deal it was to turn 10 and get your military ID card.


...all of your food came from the commissary and your clothes from the PX.


...your family could pack a house and move in no time at all.


...you are amazed when you hear that some people live in the same town and even in the same house their entire lives.


...you remember each school you attended by the base you lived on and you attended more than 8 schools in 12 years.


...you were used to every house on your street being exactly the same except for the color.  


...you remember when they played the National Anthem before the movies in the theaters on the base and you stood up for it.


...you consider base housing the ultimate in gated communities.


...your free weekends were spent flying "Space Available" on military planes to places like Tokyo and Thailand and The Philippines.


...you've lived in a house where it was common to have gecko lizards on the wall.


...you've flown overseas in a cargo plane with airmen in flight suits as your only flight attendants.


...your siblings are your best friends because they are the only ones you take with you when you pack up and move every two years.


...you lived in a hotel while waiting for base housing to become available.


...you answer your house phone with your version of, "Logan residence, Leanne speaking" and you always said, "Yes Sir and No Sir."


...you learned military time before you learned regular time.

 ...you had to get a new set of shots every time you moved to a new exotic location.


...you never knew the first names of any of your parents' friends....it was always, Major and Mrs. So-and-so, or Colonel and Mrs. So-and-So.


...you swelled with pride every morning watching your dad leave the house in his uniform, usually in a warm shirt that you helped to iron for him.


...your dad came home every night just after his office closed at  1700.  Dinner was at 1730 and you ate together at the table every night with the family.


Finally, a tribute to honor all of the military brats out there.  I couldn't have said it any better...


I Am A Military Brat

My hometown is nowhere, my friends are everywhere.
I grew up with the knowledge that home is where the heart is and the family....

Mobility is my way of life.Some would wonder about roots, yet they are as deep and strong as the mighty oak. I sink them quickly, absorbing all an area offers and hopefully, giving enrichment in return.

Travel has taught me to be open.Shaking hands with the universe, I find brotherhood in all men.Farewells are never easy.Yet, even in sorrow comes strength and ability to face tomorrow with anticipation....if when we leave one place,I feel that half my world is left behind. I also know that the other half is waiting to be met.

Friendships are formed in hours and kept for decades.I will never grow up with someone, but I will mature with many.Be it inevitable that paths part, there is constant hope that they will meet again.

Love of country, respect and pride fill my being when Old Glory passes in review.When I stand to honor that flag, so also do I stand in honor of all soldiers, and most especially, to the parents whose life created mine Because of this, I have shared in the rich heritage of Military life.

Anonymous

Shoes You Can Run In

Anyone who has ever tried to awaken a sleeping five year old will understand the sense of trepidation I felt as I approached my daughter’s bed. Seeing her sleeping there so soundly, I was first amazed at the very sight of her, and then filled with pride and amazement that I could have possibly given birth to something so perfect and angelic. Even so, I was keenly aware that one never really knows what you will get when you awaken a small child, until the first words, or moans as they are, come out of her mouth. Their very tone hints at how the rest of your morning will go. I have tried everything to get her to wake up on her own, to somehow relieve myself of the blame and resentment that will likely be showered down upon me if I am the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. I have opened and closed doors rather aggressively, turned lights off and on, rearranged covers and moved things on her nightstand, all to no avail. I have waited until the last possible moment to wake her, without putting us into a situation that will undoubtedly make us rushed and late for her preschool. “Chloe...Sweetheart... It’s time to get up,” I said to her in the sweetest and gentlest voice that I could muster. She looked so cozy and content that I hated to disturb her. I nuzzled up to her neck and started rubbing her back, anything I could think of to wake her up in a gentle way, which usually leads to a more pleasant experience once her eyes do open. This particular morning, I was in luck. She rolled over and with no thought to the fact that she could use a breath mint, got right in my face and began to negotiate. “I’ll get up,” she offered, “IF you carry me.” “Why do I have to carry you?” I asked her while I considered that her conditions could be worse and I might be inclined to carry her if it would help our morning run smoothly. “Because, I am the Princess,” she said, like it was the obvious answer and I should have known that without asking.

She moved through breakfast with an unusual amount of cooperation and grace and I was pleased. I set her clothes out for her and I was immediately met with our first problem of the day. “I can’t wear that today,” she said. “Why not?” I innocently asked her since I felt like I had followed all of her well-known rules of fashion and fabulous-ness in the cute little number that I had picked out for her. “Today is Valentine’s Day and I need to wear something red.” Well, of course it is, and of course you do. Chloe was in the unfortunate position of being my fourth child and my third girl. Those first three  children of mine would have had red outfits to wear on Valentine’s Day. Their outfits would have been shopped for and purchased months in advance in anticipation of the holiday, and there would have been hairbows and necklaces and cute little favors for their classmates. When did I stop thinking all of that was fun? I was able to reevaluate the outfit for the day and was able to come up with something cute, and red, and it passed inspection as the perfect outfit for Valentine’s Day. In a moment of sheer brilliance, or so I thought, I remembered seeing a brand new pair of shiny red clogs in the shoe bag that we pass back and forth from her dad’s house to my house. Chloe’s stepmom had purchased these, no doubt in anticipation of the holiday (you see, she only has one child so this idea was still fun to her), and they just might save the day and be the perfect accessory for our chosen red outfit. I retrieved the shoes and presented them to Chloe with a triumphant look on my face, as if it had been my plan all along for her to show up in shiny new red shoes for Valentine’s Day. Chloe took one look at the shoes and she said, “I can’t wear those.” And, once again, I ignorantly ask, “Why not?” And Chloe responds in an increasingly less patient voice, “Because I can’t run in those.” Well, of course. How could I have not realized that? You see the highlight of my daughter’s day was recess. And recess meant that there were boys that were gonna need chasin’ and boys that were gonna need runnin’ from – and those shiny red shoes would have relegated her to spectator status in an activity that she longed to be a part of. We found a suitable substitute for the shoes and we were left with just her hair to contend with. 


As I was struggling to get her to sit still for that ordeal, I reminded her again that we needed to hurry or we would be late. Being the fourth child, Chloe is also the last one to leave for school in the mornings. Unfortunately, that often meant that she bore the brunt of the cumulative effects of any stress or lateness that resulted from my trying to get the other three out the door. Sometimes, through no fault of her own, she is forced to make up for their shortcomings. However, even though I was rushing her and doing everything that I normally would do that would push her over the edge, she remained calm. Finally, she just looked at me and said, “Mommy, Relax, I am the line leader at school today and no one is going anywhere until I get there.” 

As I was driving home after dropping her off at her school, I was struck by the lessons that my five year old daughter taught me that morning. These are lessons that are so simple, but worth considering in my own life.

Lesson #1 - Always wake up feeling like a Princess
While we may not be fortunate enough to be born into royalty, no one says that you can’t just wake up and declare yourself a princess. Carry yourself with dignity and grace and expect people to treat you with dignity and grace…and there you have it…you’re a princess. You can even throw on a tiara for the day and really live it up. The bottom line is just to believe that you are worthy of a little special treatment. Treat yourself well, and expect to be treated well by others. 

Lesson #2 – Wear a Festive Outfit
From now on, I vow to dress the part. I am not sure when I stopped doing this. We all have our little outfits that we wore as children to Christmas parties or Valentine parties, but somewhere along the way, we quit dressing in fun clothes and became slaves to fashion or comfort. From now on, I will wear red on Valentine’s Day and orange on Halloween and green and red on Christmas. I will wear my team’s colors to all football games and baseball games, even if I have a really great outfit that would look so much cuter on me than the Hunter green t-shirt that I will wear to support my team (Go Mustangs!).

Lesson #3 – Relax and realize that the party won’t start till you arrive
How many times do we rush and stress about getting somewhere on time, only to find that we didn’t miss anything? How much better would it be to just slow down and take the attitude that no one is going to have any fun until we arrive anyway? I have two best friends and we always have a good time together. When just two of us are together, we have fun, but not as much as we have when we are all three together. For those close friendships, the ones that matter, rest assured that your presence is missed and the real fun starts after you arrive.

Lesson #4 – Wear Shoes You Can Run In
This lesson is so simple and makes so much sense, but once again I have fallen victim to fashion dictates and I can’t even imagine attempting a slow jog in some of the shoes that I wear. How many times in life have I not danced, or not taken the stairs, or not hiked a trail I’ve come upon…all because I was wearing the wrong shoes? Most importantly, I am a single woman, and as such, I am bound to encounter men along the way that are gonna need chasin’ and some that are gonna need runnin’ from, and I need to be prepared. From now on, when my girlfriends stop by to show off their latest pair of 4-inch-heeled Jimmy Choos, I will admire them briefly, and then reply, “Sure...They are super-cute, but can you run in those?” 

Gettin' Blogged Down....

I want to take a minute and thank you for the encouraging words about my blog.  During my first week of blogging,  I had over 450 hits ( from the United States, Canada, and the Czech Republic (Thank you, Jessica)). This has been so fun.

I have been writing about my life for a long time.  Most stories were shared only here and there with my close friends and family.  My friends have been telling me for years that I needed to write a book, and I have wanted to do that for a long time.  Blogging seems to be a natural step along the way to see if I have anything to talk about, to hone my skills and become a better writer, and to develop a readership which might lend some credibility to my efforts down the road.  I appreciate your comments on Facebook, on my blog and in person.  It  provides the needed feedback and lets me know that you are enjoying what I am doing so far.

From time to time, I will post something that I wrote a couple of years ago.  Some of you may have read a piece  already, but I want to get all of my favorite things in one place, catalogued in this blog.  Be patient with me if you see something you have already read,  and check back for new posts occasionally!

Thanks again for reading and commenting!

Forever Changed

By now, you know that my beloved Rangers lost in Game 5 of the World Series last night.  There will be no World Championship for us this year.  Fittingly, the fall-ish-perfect baseball weather of the past week, has given way to gray and gloomy skies.  The heavens have opened up and are crying down big sloppy-wet tears, which only adds to the dreary anticipation I have for the winter and the 150 days that stand between me and Opening Day 2011.  Real life beckons and I must get back to it.  There is no big game to get ready for, no lucky shirt to wash, no watch parties to plan...It's over.  The end of the season of a lifetime.


It was never supposed to play out the way it did in the first place. If you had asked anyone in town what the big story in local sports would be this year, you would have heard nothing but talk of the Cowboys and the Super Bowl.  Pre-season hype had the Cowboys not only hosting the Super Bowl in our brand-new stadium, but also having a very good chance of actually playing in the big game.  Cowboy stadium, in all of its shiny, space-age, death-star, state-of-the-art, over-sponsored, over-the-top, trophy-wifeness, loomed in stark contrast to our ballpark.  Our ballpark, standing proudly in the new stadium's shadow, remained a stately, respectable, unassuming, stable and reverent home for our Rangers.


Within the tradition-steeped brick walls of Ranger Ballpark, a story slowly unfolded.  This story, OUR story, could not have been scripted any better. Even the most creative wordsmiths who frequent the best-seller list, would not have penned our story the way it actually happened for fear that their readers might find it all too far-fetched to be true.  Our story included courtroom drama, bankruptcy filings and million-dollar secretive deals.  Our story included a hero (a couple of them actually) in the form of a former player and a regular guy from Pittsburgh. There were last minute trades. Unexpected riches came to us in the form of an ace pitcher who, by all accounts, was all but certain to end up with our arch rivals.  There was a Walk-Off-Hit-By-Pitch which caused us all to say, "Now I've seen everything," until a few days later when we saw a Walk-Off-Strike-Out which made us say it all over again.  Our story included a first-ever division series win in dramatic fashion in a winner-takes-it-all Game 5.  The drama increased in a 6 game face-off with the hated New York Yankees and climaxed with a couldn't-have-been-more-perfect strike-out of a player who represented one of the biggest disappoints in our franchise history.  This "Casey-at-the-Bat"- like moment secured our place in the World Series, and ensured that there was no joy in Yankee-ville that night, which made it all just a little sweeter.  In our story, the good guys were well on their way to the proverbial happy ending.


Unfortunately, our story didn't have a feel-good ending by Hollywoods' standards.  There was no world championship, no trophy, no ginger-ale inspired celebration on the pitchers' mound for us this time. Are we sad?  Sure.  Are we disappointed?  Sure.  But, we remain forever changed by the experience. Each of us has those special and distinct memories we will cherish and which can never be taken from us.  Historically, we have never been a ballpark where everyone showed up in team gear and not everyone you knew owned something with "RANGERS" emblazoned across the front.  Well...Now, they do!  You can bet when April 1, 2011 rolls around, there will be a full house for Opening Day. The crowd will no doubt be decked-out from head to toe in anything team-related and the stands will be exclusively overflowing with red, white and blue. However, this time our Ranger shirts will no longer look fresh-from-the-store and brand-new. Appropriately, our shirts will be battle-worn, faded and possibly even a little tear-stained from the journey.... from that year we went to the World Series.

Mommy? Are you crying? Over a BASEBALL game?

In high school I dated THE cutest boy in school.  He played baseball.  When he wasn’t playing baseball, he played softball.  I knew the game.  I had watched my brother play Little League. I had even watched my dad play softball on a church team and I had spent many afternoons watching my dad’s beloved Dodgers on TV with him.  So, when I was asked to keep the scorebook for my boyfriend’s team, I didn’t hesitate.  I soon learned the numbers behind the game.  I learned that when the batter hit a ground ball to the shortstop and then was thrown out at first, that would be recorded as a 6-3 in my books.  Everything that happened in the game would be recorded in a series of codes and numbers.  This made sense to me.  If only real life could be as neat and tidy as the recording of the most difficult 5-4-3 double play.

Life moved on and so did that relationship.  After college in Oklahoma, I took a job in Arlington, Texas.  My first apartment was in North Arlington, just a stone’s throw away from the old Arlington Stadium.  It was 1983.  Many nights I would hear the announcer at the stadium from my apartment.  Some nights early in the season, I would open a window just a little so that I could hear a little clearer.  In those days, when our third baseman came to the plate, I would hear “Buddyyyyy Beeeeeellllll.”  As our catcher came to bat, I would hear, “Jim SUNDberg.”  Pete O’Brien was announced something like, “Pete OOOOOO’BRIen.”  I could hear the occasional fireworks from my apartment and I was drawn outside each time to see if I could see them from my vantage point. 

Soon, the lure of the stadium drew me in and I attended my first Texas Rangers baseball game.  It was my first ever Major League Baseball game…..and I was hooked.  I can’t remember what happened that night.  I can’t tell you who we played or who won, but I can tell you how it made me feel.  Maybe it was the fact that I had moved to a new city, had a new job and new relationships that left me yearning for something familiar.  I just don’t know.  All I know is that the ballpark offered that security, that familiarity, a reminder of something that had not changed.  The game was still the same…. and it still made sense to me.  It was like a big ol’ serving of my favorite comfort food.  Done.  I was a Texas Ranger Fan!

Sadly, if I had known at the time of the heartbreak and the disappointment my new status as a Ranger fan would bring, I might have thought twice about it all.  But, I delved in full-steam and bought the Ranger shirts and picked a few games each season to attend, watched the television coverage faithfully, and supported my team.  The highlight of the following season came on the last day of the regular season (which goes without saying because that is all we ever played back then – there was NO post-season for us).  I had invited my dad to the ballpark on September 30, 1984 to see the Rangers play the Angels.  It was hot!  Mike Witt was pitching. We sat out in Center Field and we talked and ate hot dogs and sweated and enjoyed the game.  In about the 5th inning, we started to take notice of the pitching.  Mike Witt had a perfect game going.  We didn’t say too much out loud, but watched each inning and it soon became obvious that we were going to see something spectacular that day.  As it turned out, Mike Witt did pitch a perfect game that day and my dad and I were there to see it!  It was one of only 6 perfect games EVER pitched in the American League and WE WERE THERE!  Ok, that’s the good news.  The bad news is that Mike Witt pitched for the Angels!  We lost the game 1-0 on a RBI from Reggie Jackson.

So, that’s how it went.  The seasons became a series of moments to remember, but never seasons to remember.  The late 80’s brought Nolan Ryan to the team and we celebrated his 5,000th strike-out.  The early 90’s brought Nolan’s 6th and 7th no-hitters and construction began on a new ballpark.  The first regular season game was played in our new ballpark on April 11, 1994.  We lost.  That season, the Rangers actually won the division (with a losing record, no less) and qualified for the play-offs  To add insult to the ever growing injury for Ranger fans, the MLB strike began and no post season was played.  The Rangers qualified for the playoffs in 1996 and lost to the Yankees in the first round.  In 1998 AND 1999, the Rangers won the AL West title, but were SWEPT by the Yankees two years in a row in the first round.

By this time, I was completely focusing on my love of the GAME, admittedly, not on my love of our TEAM.  Once Max was old enough to enjoy games with me, we would go together.  One long-standing tradition is that we go to Opening Day.  We don’t miss it.  Ever since he started Kindergarten (he is now a sophomore in high school), he has been able to count on the fact that I am going to show up at his school at around Noon on Opening Day, and make up a bogus reason as to why I need to check him out of school (most times I am all decked out in my Ranger gear and not fooling anyone at all…but they play along).  Nothing beats the feeling of Opening Day on a beautiful Texas afternoon in the spring.  I love the smell of the ballpark food, the choked-up feeling I always get during the National Anthem, the pre-game jet fly-over, the sound of the organ during the prelude to “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”.  Opening Day brings all sorts of possibilities of rebirth and all disappointments of the previous season are soon forgotten once we are in our seats.     On a side note, Max and I have always been convinced that our Ranger Ballpark is the most beautiful ballpark in all of America.  And that’s something, right?  We may not have EVER had the best team, but gosh darn it we have the BEST ballpark.  And we would know.  We began a quest to visit all of the MLB parks when Max was about 8 years old.  Each season, we try to hit at least one new ballpark.  We have been to just about half of all of the ballparks in our country and we can still say that we DO have the most beautiful ballpark of them all, right in our backyard! 

So…… back to the timeline.   Life moved on.  I got married, and cheered on my Rangers.  I had 4 babies, and cheered on my Rangers (but more often from my sofa since getting to the ballpark was more of a challenge).  I went from “Boo”ing Steve Buechele at the ballpark, to dropping my daughter off at his house to visit her best friend.  I mourned Johnny Oates, ignored the steroid scandal, skipped the All-Star Game we hosted and cheered on my Rangers.

After my divorce, one of the first things I bought was a season ticket mini-plan.  Maybe I was once again turning to something familiar to ground me.   Maybe it was a desperate attempt to find myself. Maybe I needed to have my own place in the world. That place became Section 37 – Row 23 – Seats 3-6.  And that is where I have been, year after year, cheering on my team and hoping and believing that SOMEDAY my faithfulness would be rewarded.

And now, it’s 2010.  The Rangers won the AL West title and advanced to the play-offs for the first time since 1999.  And then my Rangers, who have only ever won ONE playoff game, immediately went two games up against Tampa Bay and returned home to continue the American League Division Series.  The whole city was in a tizzy over it.  At the ballpark, I was overwhelmed with the show of support for our team.  It was like nothing I had ever seen.  And, then the team did what the Rangers have done since I have been a fan.  They blew it.  They returned home and lost two games to Tampa Bay to force a Game 5.  This was a familiar feeling.  The familiar response to this would be for the whole city to turn and walk away and adopt a “we knew this would happen” attitude and go about our business and focus on other things.  But oddly, that didn’t happen.  Everywhere I looked I saw signs of support for the team.  The overwhelming mantra of the day became, “I Believe!”  It felt like the scene from The Grinch when the people of Whoville wake up and just decide to go ahead and have Christmas anyway, even without the gifts!  And so we watched Game 5, and hoped beyond hope that history would be made for our franchise that night. 

And then it happened.  The Texas Rangers WON A PLAY-OFF SERIES for the first time in franchise history!  For the First .Time. Ever.   It actually happened!

And so to answer your question, Kids…. “Yes.  I cried.  Over a baseball game.”

The American League Championship series brought the Yankees to town.  In the first game, the Rangers blew a 5 run lead in the 8th inning and lost the game.  Again, this city and these fans were undaunted.  Fans turned out in full force for Game 2 and we eventually watched our Rangers win 3 in a row against the hated Yankees!  Game 5 went to the Yankees in New York, but everyone had the feeling that was supposed to happen. The Rangers needed to return home  to win this in front of the hometown crowd.  Game Day for Game 6 was a BIG day in Arlington.  Big...Huge!   As I sat in my seats and the ballpark slowly filled up, I couldn't help but think about the day in which you could come into the stands and sit just about anywhere you wanted to sit.  Today, there would be standing-room-only.  The die-hard Ranger fans sat alongside the newer, but equally as excited, fans.   The old-timers wore faded and worn out Ranger shirts, while most wore the first Ranger shirt they had ever owned.  It didn't matter.  We were together in this and everyone was vested and welcome, no matter what the level of support up to this time had been.  The difference came with that last pitch. As the fireworks went off and the confetti swirled over old-timer and newcomer alike, those of who knew what this meant, who remembered the road we had traveled to get to this point, felt it all just a little deeper and the victory was just a little sweeter.

And so, once again, "Yes. I cried. Over a baseball game."

Doc in a Box

We had our annual school carnival Saturday and all of us were looking forward to spending the whole afternoon there.  As fate would have it, Chloe got hurt in one of the bounce houses in the first 30 minutes. It looked like her wrist might be broken and she was inconsolable.  I'm going to go ahead and preface this story by saying that I don't handle things like this well at all.  My older three kids rarely ever get hurt.  It helps that those three choose to be involved in very low-risk activities.  Musical Theatre and Show Choir are not known for being inherently dangerous.  Despite the complicated dance routines, very few students ever step-ball-change their way into Arlington Memorial's emergency room.  But then there is Chloe. She is fearless and boisterous and athletic.....and she gets hurt.  We nicknamed her Coco, not because it is short for Chloe, but because it is the Spanish slang for boo-boo.  And Coco gets plenty of boo-boos.


Mike and I took Chloe home and propped her arm up on some pillows and iced it down.  She alternated between being calm and settled one minute, and then an emotional ball of mush the next.  She had a major meltdown at one point when she realized her injury might prevent her from attending a friend's birthday party at the roller-skating rink the next day. We finally determined that we should get it x-rayed and began to discuss where to go.  Mike suggested Care Now, his Urgent Care Facility of choice.  I mentioned another place that I had frequented occasionally and I decided we should take Chloe there.  It was off the beaten path and a little bit of a drive from our house, but I remembered that it had been fine for getting school check-ups and there was never a wait.  I made the final call and we loaded Chloe up and headed out to the clinic I had chosen.  On the way, Mike tried to explain to Chloe what was going to happen and how they might have to manipulate her arm to get the x-ray and that it might hurt a bit.  I quickly changed the subject and gave him a "look" (since kicking him under a table wasn't an option while he was driving) to stop with the scary talk, lest she completely break down before we even get there.


We walked into the clinic of my choosing and it was clean and nice and, just as I had so wisely predicted, there was no one else waiting to be seen.  At this point, I was feeling a little smug and extremely proud of my choice, as I thought of all the suckers who must have been waiting for hours at Care Now, while I walked right up to the counter of my little hidden gem of a clinic. I gave Mike a little "told you so" glance and confidently walked up to the counter to check in. I moved the tacky little vase with the plastic flowers to one side and searched in my purse for a pen to use to sign in. When the lady working the front desk took my forms, I accidentally handed her my pen.  When I realized this, I said, "Oh wait, that's MY pen!"  Then,  I added (just to point out the clinics' shortcomings so that they might be able to improve their customer service in the future), "There were NO pens sitting out for me to use."  Without even looking up, she pointed to the little vase that I had pushed aside and then to the sign on the counter that clearly  read, "THE FLOWERS ARE THE PENS."  Well, of course they are!  They got tired of people walking away with their pens, so they chose to tape a big fake yellow flower on the end of  each one and arrange them in a clear vase filled with green marbles.  It was an ingenious plan really.  I had no desire to even touch one of the blossom-enhanced writing utensils, much less sneak one into my purse to take home.


When Chloe's name was called, we all made our way back into the patient area of the clinic. We were greeted by the front desk lady, whose job description obviously read Receptionist / NURSE.  Now that she was standing up, it was surprisingly evident that she was about 6 feet tall.  She was quite an imposing figure, rather gruff and downright scary.  Add to this the fact that she was already ticked at me for my little pen comment, and we had the makings of a really great experience for all of us.  She examined Chloe and then announced to us that the Doctor would be in shortly to look at Chloe's arm, while she would go and get the x-ray room ready. Then, she looked at me and asked, "Does she know that I am going to have to move her arm like this.....and like this .......and like this........and it's probably going to hurt?"  Well, I guess she knows NOW!  Chloe's eyes got so big and the tears started to flow and I looked over at Mike and suddenly HE had the "told you so" look and he said, "And you were worried about ME scaring her?  I'm thinking if you had let me finish, I could have broken that news to Chloe a little more delicately."  And then I'm pretty sure I heard him whisper under his breath, "I'm SO glad it wasn't MY idea to come here."


The Doctor finally came in and he was as laid-back as the nurse was scary.  He was an older gentleman, a little plump, and he walked with more of a casual shuffle than with the confident and determined gait you would expect to see in your trusted health care provider. (The old man character played by Tim Conway in the Carol Burnett show came to mind). He looked at Chloe's arm and announced, "Well, we hope it's not broken, but it very well could be!"  My attitude was quite sour by now and I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, "Yep, that's pretty much why we're here, Captain Obvious!  Oh, sorry...DOCTOR Obvious!"  He left the room and McScary came back in to get Chloe for the x-ray.  She wouldn't let me go to the x-ray room with them because she said, "It's a real tiny room and you probably won't fit in there with us."  Seriously? Whatever! Surprisingly, the x-ray experience was pretty painless and Chloe came back to the room in good spirits.


After a few minutes, McObvious came back into the room and announced that Chloe's wrist was officially NOT broken.  He put the image up and started to show us how good it all looked and I was thinking, "Of course it looks good, that's the WRONG ARM!"  Turned out he had taken an x-ray of both arms for comparison.  We eventually did view the correct x-ray and it all looked good. So, McObvious announced that it must just be a sprain and then he started to walk shuffle away.  I expected a little more guidance or some closure at this point so I called out to him, "Is there anything we should do for it?"  He stopped and thought for a minute and then said, "Well, maybe you could immobilize it in a brace or something?"  I wondered if he was telling me or asking me at this point.  He started to walk shuffle away again and Mike, who was also not feeling like we had quite gotten our money's-worth yet,  suggests, "How about some ice on it?"  The doctor thought for a minute and then shrugged and agreed that ice might be a good idea.  McObvious started to walk shuffle away again, only to be stopped again by Mike asking the million dollar question, "So, what about activity?  She has a party tomorrow and she wants to go roller skating. What do you think?"  McObvious answered, "Well, I think that would just be asking for it."  McScary chimed in, "Unless she's just a REALLY good skater."

A Day Without Baseball is Like a Day Without.... Productivity, evidently.

I've spent every waking minute of the past two weeks gloriously wrapped up in Ranger baseball!  The last few days have been consumed with getting ready for the game....watching the game...analyzing the game. Yesterday, there was no game and I felt a little lost.  Here is how I managed to fill my day without the the 4 hours of baseball to look forward to........

• Dropped everyone off at school early and came home to check Facebook.  Noticed I had 388 friends and thought about how cool it would be to have 400.  Scanned my kids' friend lists to see if I could solicit a friendship from any of their friends (which my kids have expressly forbidden me to do - but I was bored enough to risk the fallout).  That felt lame and a little desperate, so I gave up and decided to be content with the knowledge that I had over 300 very close friends, including way more high school friends than I was actually friends with in high school.  Turns out, the popularity that eluded me in high school has finally manifested in cyber-space.  I'm virtually popular!
• Spent a completely unreasonable amount of time deciding on a new font  for this blog post.  I was going for something a little more spectacular than the over-used, predictable and boring Arial Black, and a little less fancy than a full-blown Lucinda Handwriting.  What do you think?
• Saw a promo for "30 Rock" in which Tina Fey announced she had just discovered her first gray toe-knuckle hair.  Wondered if I had any of those so I decided to check.  Couldn't find my glasses, but I didn't see any that were visible to the naked eye, so I think I'm good. 
• Had to run to Wal-Mart for a few things I needed for the Larson Carnival this weekend.  Made a note to go back anytime I was feeling fat or unattractive.  I left feeling pretty good about myself. 
• Thought about cooking an elaborate meal, since I had the time.  I looked up some recipes and one of them called for lemon zest?  I am not sure what that is, but I'm pretty sure if I used it, one of my kids would complain that their meal was a little too "zesty" and it's just not even worth the hassle. Got overwhelmed by all of the options so I ran to the store and picked up some pre-made hamburger patties that I ended up throwing on the grill.  I didn't cop out - it was just a really nice day to grill some burgers. Don't judge.
• Googled "Hot Flashes" and other sub-categories like,  "Spontaneous Combustion, "  "Has Anyone Ever Died from a Hot Flash?" "Aren't I Too Young for Hot Flashes?" (Turns out I'm not - greeeeaaaat).
• Counted the days until Spring Break..... it's 141, in case you were wondering. 

Never has TGIF been more applicable.  Thank GOD it's Friday and a GAME DAY!  GO RANGERS!

Finding the Funny!

"What was the best part of your day?"  "What was the worst part of your day?" 

For years, I have asked my kids that question over dinner.  I am sure the idea was not an original one.  I am almost fairly certain that I got the idea from a movie a long time ago.  However it came about, it has given us some fun things to talk about.  The best days are when no one can think of the "worst" part of the day.  The tough days are when no one can think of anything good that happened that day. Something I was reading recently prompted me to change the question that I pose to the kids.  So, the other night, we were standing around the kitchen island eating the pizza that was just delivered  sitting down to a healthy home-cooked meal around the table and I asked them, "What was the funniest thing that happened today?"  I guess I was expecting too much from the first night under their new mandate.  The answers were all things that were obviously funny, like someone tripping over something, someone spilling something, accidental gas emissions....all good dinner conversation, no doubt, but not really what I was looking for.  So, I challenged the kids to find the funny in each day.

 If everyone is laughing, then that is not the funny I am looking for.  The funny I am looking for has to be sought out, it has to be reached for, it has to be conjured up and pieced together from small moments in their day that add up to something amusing.  The ability to do this is not only a skill and an art, it's a coping mechanism that I have found to be invaluable in life.  If I can teach my kids to find the humor in every day life, I truly believe I will have given them a great gift and left a wonderful legacy.

This blog is for me, and this blog is for them.  It's my record of the funny moments in my family's life.  It's a record of all of those moments about which I have always said, "I should write that down!"   I invite my friends to read along if you like and I hope that we entertain you.  But, even more importantly,  I hope we inspire you and your family to Find the Funny!