I enjoy my kid's sports too much and it's scaring me.

I don't know how to say this without sounding like an imbecile so here goes: I'm too into Bode's sports. I get too much satisfaction out of it. I'm ashamed of myself, but I can't tame the beast.

But, seriously, look how cute:

What I'm not: A screamer. A you-better-win-at-all-costs person. A you-could-have-done-better parent. And because I'm not that kind of crazy, I have convinced myself that I've got a handle on this and that I'm a "balanced parent."

I'm an encourager. I pay lip service to things like teamwork and leadership and exercise and working hard at stuff. I say all the right things because I'm an educated person and I read fancy articles based on actual science.

But here's the sad truth about my life: Knowledge does not always equal wisdom. You're shocked. I know. Also, miniature baseball, football, and basketball teams aren't real. They matter not. I tell myself this on a regular basis. Yet, I love the whole, time-sucking thing.

I find myself canceling coffee dates to watch 9-year-olds try and pitch (bless). I've been known to reschedule actual meetings about important things like college kids' mental health so as to not risk being late to a flag football game (or as I like to call it, a fancy game of tag).  

Andy and I have had serious conversations, on a date no less, about how the basketball team is going to do this year. The third grade Oakdale basketball team.  I'm guessing this is defined as a new low.

There is this delicate balance between supporting your kids and their things and sending them the message that their performance is what gives them value in your eyes. It's some murky water and I don't want to get this wrong.

And when I feel myself getting a little left of center I try and make up for it by reminding Bode of all the gifts the Lord has given him and telling him how much fun the engineering program is in college.

And then he tells me that he won't have time for engineering because he will be playing basketball and baseball, which is very rare for college athletes but definitely not rare for him.

And I give up. For now.

I have a fever, and the only cure is more little league.

I'm teaching the kids how to use Uber. It's the only way to survive.

So, I remember when my kids were babies and I thought that as soon as they could wipe their own rears I would be set. But the thing with kids is their is always, always a catch. 

They can now wipe themselves (although with Bode, at times, it's questionable) but with that wonderful ability came things like hobbies and passions, and because I'm a sucker I've indulged their desires to be involved in....wait for it....activities. 

As a result of these activities, I will not be available for coffee, dinner, a simple chat on the phone, bunco, meal prep parties, botox and wine get togethers (I've heard this is an actual thing and I love it), showers (the baby, wedding, and cleaning of the body kind), mani/pedis, proofing my texts before I send them, continuing ed, hair appointments, any kind of preventative care doctors appointments, yoga, spin class, a leisurely walk, grocery shopping, a deep conversation, naps, spring cleaning, or girls road trips until August of 2025. 

So please don't give up on me. I'll be back in no time at all.

Until then it's theater and sports. And I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty fun. A different, exhausting, living-in-the-car-eating-food-from-drive-thrus kind of fun, but fun nonetheless. 

Because I'm not organized enough right now to make informed and timely decisions, Mia accidentally got cast in two shows at once. It's insane. Music Man and Aladdin all mixed together in a sea of scripts, rehearsals, and loud shower singing.  Her life is bizarre. 

Two of these theater girls are 18 years old, and Mia, an innocent 11-year-old, looks just like them. I blame chicken for this. I've seen the documentaries. I'm no fool.

And this is the year we transition to kid-pitch baseball. For a mother of a catcher, this is terrifying. For a baby-boy catcher this is the most thrilling experience of his life. Only because he is now wearing a "cup." I'll tell you what's not a thrilling experience: Asking your kid, for the hundredth time, to quit punching himself in the cr0tch, and for the love of your future grandchildren, to quit letting his friends do it too.

I know this will come as a shock, but my life is not glamorous. 

School started and stuff.

School started with minimum fanfare. It's like the kids are finally resigned to their fate.

Bode has a new (to Oakdale) teacher for third grade this year. She was naive enough to let Bode and three of his bffs sit together. After six days her positive resolve faded into the sunset and she rearranged the seating chart.  

 Mia started 6th grade. And just as I predicted, she's come home every day with homework and an attitude. 

This is the first year Bode has been old enough to kind of get into the Olympics. This was his official Olympic watching outfit. Our family had our own Olympic sport of seeing how much ice cream we could shove into our mouths during the timed events. Bode won. 

 And it turns out the Olympics makes us all painfully aware of how much talent we don't have. In order to cope, we watched YouTube videos of Olympic divers belly flopping, and then laughed hysterically at their failures.  We are amazing parents.

 And while we are on the subject of amazing parenting, every time Bode sees a giant hole in the ground, he assumes it is there specifically for him to pee in. I don't even care anymore. 

And, without further ado, I present to you my daughter, AKA woman-child, AKA woman. She is officially wearing my clothes and my shoes and here is the real kicker: She looks better in them than I do. 

Dear God, get me (and her) through this season relatively unscathed. That's all I ask. 

Every time I go on vacation I wonder why in the hiz-nell I live in Oklahoma.

Except when I go to Houston, or pretty much anywhere in Texas, or Florida, or Kansas, or Nebraska. But other than that, I just can't figure it out.

Case in point:

 My Uncle Breezy passing down the tradition of traumatizing children with his ghost stories. I loved listening to them as a kid and now my children can experience the thrilling sensation of being terrified and excited all at the same time. I love it.

 They are the same person. 

 Cassia Sparrow. The most fearless 5-year-old I know. She runs across gravel barefoot. My kids' city feet couldn't handle it. Weaklings.

 Mia was born for country life. I'm convinced she'll live way off the grid someday with nothing but her books and a few wild cats.

 This time Uncle Breezy taught the kids to gut their own fish. Mia wanted to save their hearts in a baggie. 

 The best thing about traveling with family? Free babysitting. (Actually, that's the best thing about family in general.)

 This vacation included both sides of the family, which was a double blessing. We met up with the Lashleys the second week.

 The only thing better than hiking with your bestie is not hiking with your bestie. The things I'll do for Darci...

Oh, my heart.

There are times in your life as a parent that you shouldn't overthink. These are times you just need to whisper a "thank you" to Jesus and love and enjoy every minute of it because they don't come around all that often. That's the truth.

For me, those times happen when I get to watch my kids killing it at the one thing they love the most. For Mia, that's theater. And I will just be honest, for every perfect role that Mia gets, there are ten (or so) rejections. Theater is not an "every kid gets a trophy" kind of thing. And that's good for her.

But, man-oh-man, she rocked the whole Dorothy thing. She just did.

It's not a bad thing when your Uncle is a TV personality on a morning show:

 Her theater besties:

 Her cousin besties:

 The between shows dinner runs are so fun for me. Listening to these kiddos gab on and on about the show is hilarious:

 Three shows in one day requires multiple Walgreens candy runs (for me):

 Mis has a gift with children. Yet another way that we are completely different.

 She's the kid whisperer:

 And little girls totally dig her:

 Theater kids are strangely awesome.

I love the young woman that she is becoming and I pray she is blessed with a few more perfect moments in her sweet life. 

But, more importantly, I pray she continues to use the gifts that the Lord has given her to His glory.