Fasting for Left Tackle

Fasting is not one of T's favorite things to do.

He gets hungry.

He gets cranky.

He gets distracted.

He's eleven.

It's a pretty normal response, I think.  To his credit, bless his heart, he always gets on board with the rest of us for Fast Sunday.  He does his best and is always so pleased when 'Slow Sundays' make up the rest of the month.

I think it's hard as a parent to really teach the power of fasting to kids.  We do it once a month.  We practice it, but honestly, I don't think I ever really got it myself until I was late teens and early twenties.  Meaning, I didn't really find reasons, have desire, whatever, until then.  I knew it was important.  I'd been taught all the Primary lessons, I knew other people who had done it with success, but I hadn't really applied it myself.

Enough said.  I finally figured it out.

One Friday night last fall, Hub's football traveled to the other end of the state to play a football game.  The team they played is an inner city, rougher neighborhood, tough team.  The coaching staff and players went into the game knowing the chances of a bench clearing brawl were highly likely.  At some point in the 4th quarter the Left Tackle took an illegal hit to his knee. It was bad.

So bad that he couldn't limp off the field.  He was done for the game.  His season might be over.

It was like a punch in the gut.

This coaching staff, like most coaching staffs I would say, love their boys.  Sure, it ebbs and flows from one year to the next, but this group of coaches with this group of kids, had a special bond.  There wasn't just one kid that stood out as something great, there were many.  One of them was Left Tackle.  He was a team captain. He was a leader. He was a good kid. Now his future as a player, not only in high school but college as well, was instantly questionable.

After one of the next plays, the bench cleared. Of course the bench cleared.

I was at home listening to the game on the radio, chewing the side of my cheek waiting for the game to end.

I talked to Hub after and I could hear and feel the concern in his voice. He didn't know what the doctors would say. His concern first, over Left Tackle and second, what his absence would do to his line was deep. He told me the closest thing he could describe it as was if one of our own boys was hurt.

Hub doesn't say stuff like that.

They got home and the word got out that more testing had to be done, his recovery may be long, and anyone who wanted to join in could fast for him on Sunday.

We decided as a family to do just that.

Sunday morning T came to me saying he wasn't sure he could do it.  He was really hungry.  We talked and I told him I thought it was important for him to try his hardest to fast.  That fasting is one way we can show Heavenly Father we're serious about what we're asking for.  That maybe every time he got hungry he could think of how bad he wanted Left Tackle's knee to get better, and decide if he wanted that more than chips, or pizza, or a sandwich.  He looked at me like it was a no-brainer.  'Of course I want his knee better more that I want that stuff.' he said.

We ended our fast later that day before dinner and waited to hear more.

Hub got a call from the head coach.  Left Tackle's MRI had come back that it was a pretty good hyper extension, but nothing had torn, and with some physical therapy and rest he'd be back within about 3 weeks.

I think the heaven's parted and I could hear angels singing.  I was great news!

I went to find T.

I told him the news and he hugged me tight.  He said he'd been praying all day quietly to himself that Left Tackle would be ok.

'Mom, fasting works.  I know it does.  Because I prayed and Heavenly Father heard me.'

Now, I will never say I'm glad Left Tackle took a helmet to his knee in a cheap shot.  Ever.

I will say though, that I'm glad Left Tackle is who he is.  He's made a good impression on my kid.  He works hard. He's polite. He's smart and tries his best in everything he does. He's always smiling. That counts for a lot in my book. He made my kid think that kind of stuff is cool.

He's also the oldest son of a single mom. He has a sister with a major heart problem. He hasn't seen his father in who knows how long and let me tell you, his father is really missing out.  It's not like he has a perfect life.

Left Tackle came back to play his guts out for the rest of the season 3 games after his injury.  The rest of the season included a last second win in the state championship game and signing to play with a State College.

He's a great young man.  He will probably never know that impact he's made on T.

But T does. I do. For that, I am so grateful.

No Need to Wash...Really.

Hub is the only one who really likes getting his haircut at our house.

J hates it because he's 14 and thinks long shaggy hair is cool. Secretly we call him 'Beebs'.  (Ok, not so secretly, we pretty much call him that to his face.  With a lot of love.  Lots.) I know I can't control the length of his hair forever and it's a battle I'm eventually going to lose.

However...

Until he's a sophomore, he'll be sporting short hair and looking mighty handsome if I do say so myself.

Lu likes doing hair stuff, but only when it doesn't hurt.  And on every day of the week that doesn't end with 'day'.  She has the prettiest hair too. I relish the moments when she becomes my dolly and let's me do it.

Sigh.

T is really who this story is about.

T doesn't like to get his hair cut for 2 reasons. One, J doesn't like to get his hair cut and therefore T doesn't either. Two, he hates sitting still. Truly.

One Saturday evening I cut Hub and J's hair and for whatever reason T slipped out of the rotation and into the shower and into bed.

He thought he was soooo smart.

Until the next morning when I got him out of bed and my clippers out of the case.

I clipped, combed and pleaded with his cow-licks to behave and whipped them into shape.

Then I told him, much to his dismay, to take another shower. The conversation went something like this...

'Whaaat?!'

'Yes, shower. Again.'

'But, I just took'

'Shower again.'

'A shower last'

'Doesn't matter, take another one.'

'NIGHT!'

'Take another one. And make sure you scrub. And get all the hair off.'

'But...'

'Now. Shower.'

It's amazing to me that I have to remind him to scrub. I mean seriously, but I do.

He grumbled all the way down the hall and got in.

Later when we were in church, he laid his head on my lap. On my black skirt.

I didn't think much of it until my leg started going to sleep, which happens regularly because the boy can't sit vertical in church.

When he sat up I realized I had a lap full of hair. Not just a little. Full. Hair.

I rubbed my hand up the back of his #2 attachment clipped head and little hairs flew everywhere.

Soo. Per. Fun.

I looked at Hub, who then looked at T, who then looked at me, who then tried to burn a hole in him with my eyes. He knew he was busted.

I got up and took T by the hand, nicely. I have to say nicely, because I had to focus on that word. As we headed to the car, I secretly plotted all the mean and nasty things I could do to him for revenge.

I'm joking, but only a little.

Once we got to the car I yelled. Then I drove home threw him in the shower, scrubbed his head myself, twice.  Then I got him dressed again.  In the cleanest shirt I could find. That didn't have hair on it.

He said he was sorry.  He's really good at that.

As we stopped at the front door I took his face in my hands and kissed him on the forehead.  Told him I loved him and that someday we'd laugh about this experience.

Love that boy.

Being Late & Being Accountable

T has ball practice 3 times a week.  It’s always the same days.  It’s always at the same time.

Sometimes it’s hard for him to be responsible regarding being ready for practice.

I've tried really, really, really, REALLY hard to make it easy to get ready.  Really.

There’s a spot for his gear, a spot for his water bottle, a spot and a system for his practice and game clothes.  He should be able to get ready in about 5 minutes.  My hope was that he would get into a system that would work for him.  And one that he would make work for him.  Sigh…some days go better than others.

Yesterday he wasn’t ready on time.  He had been reminded.  Then scolded.  Then reminded again. Then he got left behind because his ride had responsibilities too. 

Then Mom came home and I scolded, and huffed, then talked and pleaded.  Then drove.

It’s not as simple as him not wanting to play or practice.  He does.  He loves it when he’s there.  It’s the getting there that’s the issue.  I’m afraid he’s got the procrastination gene from me and I was really hoping it would skip a generation.

As we drove I reminded him of a player on his team who consistently doesn't give his best effort.  I asked him if he remembered telling me how irritating it is to work so hard and know they guy next to you isn't giving his all.  Then I told him, with all the love I could muster, that he wasn't being much better than that guy.  That by not being there on time he was basically telling everyone on his team he didn't think very much of them or himself.

Being committed is hard work.  It’s easy to do the stuff you want to and it stinks to do the stuff you don’t.  We talk a lot in our family about taking care of business and how the small things count.  When those are done and done right, it  leads to the big things.  The fun things and sometimes the even harder things.  Specifically for T, I want him to realize the level of control he has in his own life.  I want him to embrace it and not only expect a lot from himself, but achieve the standard he sets and know he can.  Get the have-to’s over with and get on to the want-to’s already!

Basically, it’s life, and he’s ten-going-on-eleven.  And I worry.  I worry that if I let it slide once then it will be easier for me and for him to let it slide again.  Is it the end of the world because he was late to one practice?  Absolutely not. Am I focusing so intently on the one tiny tree that I’m not seeing the forest?  I don’t think so.  What we repeatedly do becomes habit and shapes who we are. 

When we got to practice, I talked to his coach, in front of T.  Not to shame (well, ok, honestly maybe a little…) but not to demean.  I told him that T didn't have a good reason for being late.  He wasn't ready and missed his ride.  I told him T owed his coaches and team an apology and I expected him to work it out and get it done.  I also told him if he needed to run him extra for being late, we supported him in that. 

He looked shocked and didn't know what to say.  Then he kind of smiled, nodded his head and said, “Thanks.”

I know this is not the last time he will be late, do something insensitive, or (gasp) make a mistake.  T is an awesome boy.  And he will grow into an even better man.

When I picked him up I saw the last few minutes of their team meeting.  I saw him stand in front of his team/friends and coaches and then he took a knee again.  I didn't ask him what he said.  I just asked him if he took care of it and he said he did.  I hope he said he was sorry and meant it.  I was proud of him.  I hope he resolved in his heart to be more responsible.  And at the very least, to give it his best effort.

Saying No to Toots

He asks.

I say no.

He asks again.

Again I say NO.

He yells.

I yell.

He storms off.

I throw my hands in the air or slam a door.

He quietly sneaks to my side and leans on me.

I lean back.

We are both forgiven.

This is a regular occurrence at my house with Toots.  He is determined to say the least.  I often wish secretly to myself NOT to break his spirit, but to simply guide it.  Simply...ya, that's a laugh.  I'm very lucky he's so quick to forgive.

Last night he wanted to get on the internet.  I said no.  I have my reasons. It's my house, my computer and he's my child to start the list.  Mr. Man and I have a rule that there shall be no internet perusing unless one of us is there.  It's a rule, that the older brother breaks often, dang him.  Thankfully he's pretty trustworthy for 13, but he's sure not making it easy for us to have a single standard.  That's an issue we have to deal with and I feel password protecting and some gnashing of teeth coming on.

It's not my kids I don't trust...it's the world-wide-web.

I could have gone with Toots and looked at what he wanted to see.  It wouldn't have been that big of a deal.  It wouldn't have taken that long.  But I was busy with dinner.  And I said no.  Then I said no again.  Then logic left and me winning became paramount.  I stopped being the mom.  Then I yelled.  Then I leaned.

I'm not convinced I handled it all that badly.  Except for the part about losing a momentary grip on logic, and the part where me winning means he must lose. I usually fail miserably at this part of parenting and resort to the "Fine, have it your way." tactic, which helps no one and makes me cringe because I can hear my own mother's voice, bless her heart.

This time though, I decided to throw caution to the wind and handle the ending differently.  I stopped what I was doing and I looked that boy right in the eyes.  Even though I've done this before (like, a million times) I explained to him the why.  I tried to let him see in my eyes just how much he means to me and why the answer was no.  Because 10 is too young to wander the internet alone.  Because the internet is wonderful and yet dangerous all at the same time and a little help from me will help him learn to be responsible.  Because fixing dinner for the family is important too.  Because when I say no, he should honor that.  I told him I loved him and that we'd have a chance to look at stuff another time, but it wasn't going to be right then.

This time it worked.  He hugged me and moved on to helping me with dinner, which was AWESOME.

I don't know why he and I play this scene out over, and over, and over again, but we do.  I can't give up on him.  I can't just let him run will-nilly without regard for rules.  If I don't handle it at 10, imagine what he could be like at 15.  Two things are for sure.  He's going to keep pushing and I'm going to keep pushing back.  I have to.

I found this post this morning and I wonder what list he would make of the negative things I throw his way.  I'm pretty sure I could change up a few phrases and maybe get some better results.

Then maybe there will be less leaning for forgiveness for both of us.