Blah, blah, blah Mo, Blah, blah, blah

This entry should actually go on this blog, but since I am not a contributor (although I do leave the occasional comment), I'm putting it here.

My daughter loves to babysit Princess and Mo and when she comes home she relays every cute or hilarious thing they say or do. This can sometimes take a long time, because as most of you know, Princess and Mo do and say many hilarious things.

This was my favorite from last night.

Mo wanted to wear flip flops outside, just like Princess (he worships her), so Babysitter told him he could if he would leave them on his feet and not take them off. He put them on and they all went outside. As soon as they got out there, Mo took off the flip flops and laughed. Babysitter put them back on, and Mo took them off again. The ensuing conversation went like this:

Babysitter: "Mo, you have to leave the flip flops on or we are going to have to put on different shoes."
Mo: (blank look)
Babysitter: "O.K. Mo? We will have to put on different shoes if you take them off again."
Mo: (smiles)
Princess, (who was probably watching with pity as this conversation went on), tries to help by offering this tidbit to Babysitter: "Oh--Mo doesn't understand words."


This is hilarious for more reasons than one. These two have a very funny relationship. Mo will do anything--anything for Princess, even take a beating from her without so much of a flinch, because he loves her so much. She tends to boss him around, and he follows her every whim. After hearing Princesses' telling comment, I started to wonder if she sees him as some sort of obedient pet.

I don't really think so, but it is always funny to see inside a 4-year old girl's mind as she relates to others in her life.

The other funny thing about this is the fact that Princess reminds us soooo much of Babysitter when she was that age. Very eloquent in speaking, also very profuse in speaking (still is, which is why it takes so long to hear about the adventures of Princess and Mo). Babysitter used to try boss me around when she was that age as well. Declaring things as they were--with no room for compromise: "Mommy, I am Anne of Green Gables and YOU are Yogurt (Gilbert), and you are going to rush in and save me, etc. etc. etc."

Hmmm...I wonder where Babysitter gets her profuseness in speaking? Can I post even a medium-sized entry, let alone short?

To My Little Basketball Warrior

You were born with a love of sports--a love of all things "ball." You were born with a natural athleticism.

You were born with Cerebral Palsy. Your life has been a mix of highs and lows in the quest to get stubborn "lefty hand" and "lefty leg" to work properly. Surgeries and procedures, therapy, stretching and casting. After many hard-fought battles, much success has been had, but you are still left with difficulty.

A love of sports, athleticism. Cerebral Palsy. Things that seem to contradict each other.

But.

You were born with determination. Like I have never seen in a child before.

As I sat yesterday at your first instructional session for Jr. Jazz basketball, I watched as you ran over to your group--boys you didn't know. I watched as you listened to your coach. I watched as you went through the stretching exercises. Anticipation and excitement filled your eyes. If there was fear or apprehension, it did not show.

I watched as you began the drills the coach was teaching you. You didn't know it, but I knew that at some point, you would be asked to dribble from righty to lefty and back and I was afraid. Afraid that the coach wouldn't understand about lefty. Afraid that the boys would tease you. Afraid that lefty wouldn't work the way you wanted and that you would get frustrated and decide to give up. Afraid that you were afraid of the same things I was.

I pondered my options, as I did when you started soccer, when you started T-Ball, when you were struggling to ride a bike, when you were tiny and wanted to climb to the top of the jungle gym at the park, as I have so many times in your life:

Should I go in and explain to the coach that he should not ask you to try things with your left hand? Should I go in and warn you that you are going to have to do some things that will be hard for lefty? Should I go in and help you when it is your turn, so that I can protect you from any adverse reaction? Should I talk you into trying something besides basketball? Something that you don't need a left hand to do? Should I "rescue" you?

I decided, as I have also done so many times, to shove all of my motherly instincts into the toe of my shoe, and watch. And wait. I tried to look as nonchalant as possible, "reading" my book, occasionally looking up to see what was going on and smile my best brave, "you're doing great" smile at you. But I knew the hand-to-hand dribble was coming and my stomach didn't like it.

It was time. I watched the coach demonstrate how to dribble back and forth from one hand to the other, and instruct you to start the drill. I stood up, trying to look like I was just getting a better look at what was going on, and put on my "wow, isn't this interesting to watch these boys dribble from hand to hand" face. I watched each boy execute the drill, and anticipated what would happen when it was your turn. My stomach flip-flopped. I looked at your face. Your eyes still betrayed no fear, no nervousness, just the usual, excited boy "I can't wait for my turn" look.

Your turn came and I watched as a very adept righty started to dribble the basketball. I could see the concentration on your face as your brain tried to figure out a way to get lefty to reach out and dribble the ball. I could see lefty tighten into a fist, like it does when you are really trying. After three righty dribbles, lefty reached out awkwardly and hit the ball! Righty caught the skewed bounce from lefty and corrected it. Two or three more dribbles from righty, and then lefty struck again...righty a few, lefty one, righty a few.

It wasn't textbook. Lefty's fist didn't even open when it hit the ball. But to me, it was amazing! No. YOU were amazing. I stood there, feeling that now familiar mix of pride and pain that I hadn't felt in my life before I knew you, and watched you finish and run to your place in line.

You looked for me, with that huge "I did it" smile on your face and gave me a "thumbs up." I gave you a "thumbs up" back and mouthed, "are you having fun?" with my best "isn't this the funnest time we are having?" face. Your smile never faltered. "Yes," you mouthed back.

I sat back down, no longer afraid that you would get frustrated and give up. I have been pondering this since yesterday. I don't know why I always worry that you will get frustrated and give up. Because while I have seen you extremely frustrated, and rightfully so, my son...I have yet to see you give up. I have never, ever seen you give up.

Practice finished, and you motioned to me that it was time to go. You came up to me and asked me if you could have your Gatorade because you were thirsty.

I asked you if you had fun. You replied that you had. I casually asked how lefty did. "Good," you said.

Just like after every practice or every game of every sport you have ever played, you never mentioned how hard it was to get lefty arm or lefty leg to do this or that. You never mentioned how amazing it is that you were even out there, how unbelievable you are at figuring out a way to make it work.

To you it isn't amazing or unbelievable. To you, you are just being a boy, going to practices, playing sports, just like all of your friends. You are just doing what you do, being who you are.

To me, you are a warrior hero.