George was ready for the pitch.

With a hit, George found himself on first.

His teammates moved him around the bases.

Rounding second.

And crossing the plate to score a run.

He even played his position well!!

Do you suppose they are discussing free agency?

*Despite my love for several sports, LM has shown little interest in the years in anything athletic. His only exposure to baseball had been a trip to Baltimore several years ago to see my cousin play ball, or the games he has seen on television. He thought he was well prepared for George’s game by bringing binoculars. Boy, was he surprised to find our seats were in the front row along the third base line with a perfect view of the entire field!!

I just can’t figure out where the years have gone. Today, LM turns 12. My martian speaking Heybub; my cord-loving little boy; the one who would clap every time he heard music, even at the grocery store; my boy who could read Cat in the Hat at 4; my Little Man is 12. TWELVE. A dozen years have gone by in a blink.

Tomorrow, we will party. Today, we will savor our time together (and by time together, I mean LM playing his new PS2 game, until he opens his gift from his father (Nintendo DS) and then watching a couple movies together). Tomorrow, we will have 30+ people from school and church join us for a swim party provided by my sister. (Yeah, she’s cool like that.) and then we will have LM’s favorite meal out at my sister’s house (burger on the grill, corn on the cob and fruit salad).

Hug your children. Love every single moment you have with them. Treasure the tears, the sorrow, the heartache, the joy the preciousness of the everyday. It’s going by way too fast. Tomorrow he will be gone.

But today, we will celebrate.

This morning, as most mornings go, I stood at the bus stop before the sun has risen with Eli at my side to see LM off for his school day. And this morning as every morning, we said goodbye and I headed back to the house with the dog.

Only it struck me this morning.

LM says, “Love ya!” first to me as he boards the bus. And I always respond with “Love you, too!” I’ve always let him say it first as it’s his dignity at stake (even if there are only three witnesses to his proclamation including me).

I wonder, as my boy turns 12 tomorrow, how many more days do I have until he won’t say it anymore? How many more days until he’s embarrassed that I say it at all? How many more days will he even let me walk him to the bus each day?

How many more days do I have to cherish these moments?

Please let them be many.

Please.

I have found, if I just turn on the local sports station for any and all Tigers’ games, it makes the yelling and screaming and occasional cheers from my neighbors make more sense.

It doesn’t decrease my disdain for apartment living, nor does it drown out the noise, it just gives it a reference point that at the very least gives some reason for the commotion.

For now, I guess that’s the best I can do.

(Although I admit, watching the beat the Yankees this week has been a perk in and of itself!)

Stacy allerted me to a new book by the author of Peace Like a River. I found it on the HotPicks list at our library and brought it home eager to dive in. Within a few days I set it back down again remarkably disappointed. Remembering Peace Like a River as a fantastic novel, I returned to the library to return So Brave and checked out Peace once again. Three days later, I am remember why I loved Peace so very much and wondering how on earth did Enger follow up a novel like this one with So Brave?

While I highly recommend Peace Like a River to anyone who hasn’t read it, and even to those who have, trust me, it’s as great the second and third time as the first, I equally suggest restraint for those rushing out to buy So Brave. Check it out of the library first. Save your money.

So Brave tells the story of a writer, who by strange circumstances ends up on a journey to Mexico with an outlaw of sorts. Neither character was profoundly interesting to me. Their partnership was a bizarre arrangement at best and I never felt compelled enough to understand the purpose of the journey to begin with. It was a slow moving tale the likes of which even the wonderful story telling voice of Enger could not redeem.

But again, even a lousy second novel cannot diminish the wonderful tale Enger created in Peace Like a River. I’m not sure when I sold and gave away my books how it slipped through the cracks as I don’t own Peace any longer, but I’ll cherish my days of borrowing it from the library.

I might even persuade LM to give it a read. I suspect he might enjoy it, too.

…to a late Michigan frost…

…flowers from my sisters yard that were going to perish tonight. Instead she let me take them home and enjoy their beauty for a few more days.

Thanks, Sis. (And while I won’t say it often, I’m actually thankful for the cold spell tonight.)

(Oh, and don’t mind the dirt on her face. That’s just part of her costuming for performing arts. I’ll have to blog about that later, too.)

Just in case you were feeling youthful and full of life this spring, we turned on the tele tonight to find a 25th Anniversary showing of “War Games” on AMC.

Of course, LM has seen it before (I’m a good mom that way) but he’s totally engrossed all over again.

Now, if only he would stop asking me what all the military acronyms stand for…(doesn’t he know, NORAD wasn’t on the teacher’s exam?)

I have subbed in George’s first grade classroom several times. As is often the case in the early grades, this teacher has set aside a time of the day to read aloud to her students. It’s almost always a Boxcar Children adventure, right at the end of the day.

From the first day I was in her classroom and every time since, each time I sit in the rocker to read out loud, the kids swarm around the chair begging me to let them scratch my back. I was initially shocked and responded perhaps too adamantly when I said, “No. Thank you.” From the look on the one girl’s face, I realized she needed further explanation and I went on to share that I really don’t enjoy having my back scratched. She then happily sat at my feet and rubbed my leg the entire time I read.

I’ll admit, it was disconcerting.

You see, people don’t touch me. I have a 12 year old boy who was never much of a snuggler. Every now and then he’ll take a hug, or will sit on the opposite end of the couch, but all in all, we could go several days without really touching. Other than the very occasional hug by a friend, or a familiar student, that’s about all the physical contact I have in my life.

Today, on about the tenth time of being in her classroom, I gave up the battle of trying to fight these kids off during the read aloud. If I’ve explained it once, I’ve explained it each and every time I’m there that no, I really don’t need to have my back scratched and yes, I know she even has a special back scratcher thingy for that exact purpose. Today, I just let them be.

And I had five sets of little hands rubbing my arms, my shoulders, one was even playing with my hair until I just had to ask her (very nicely) to please stop.

And as delighted as they all were, I have to admit how difficult it was for me. I had goosebumps the entire time. It was the strangest feeling. Almost creepy.

Two things are clear: One: It’s been way too long since someone touched me, even in the most casual of ways. Two: I have to figure out how to wear six layers of clothing before Thursday, when I’m back in George’s touchy-feely classroom.

This compilation of short stories was written by the author of “The Memory Keeper’s Daughter” and given to me to read recently by my second mom with the caution that only a few of the stories were actually any good, but it was worth a read nontheless.

I couldn’t agree more. For the most part, I didn’t enjoy the stories. For some, the topics were just so distant from my life that I couldn’t find a way to relate to the characters or the point or the environment. But there were a couple that seemed to provoke my interest and held my attention through the few short pages.

All in all, I wouldn’t run out and buy this book, but if you had the chance to flip through it and browse a few of her stories, you might find one or two that struck your fancy.