Neatly Summed Up in One Example

I love my daughter to death. I mean, seriously, sometimes I want to kill that kid I love her so much.

I really worry about her making her way in the world and so I am hard on her. Probably too hard, I know. But we somehow still manage to have a pretty darn good relationship and it seems to be getting better as she gets older.

But I will never understand that girl.

We are so fundamentally different that it is sometimes hard to believe she is mine.

But yet, we are so much the same, that we can drive each other nuts. How does that even work?

This year she is finally able to play on her school sports teams and she loves it. (Same as me.) She already made the volleyball team but she plans on trying out for her two favorite sports, basketball and softball. (Same as me.) She is strong and tenacious but not fast so she tends to be the scrappy one. (Same as me.)

She has been going to open basketball practices at school on weekend nights. She's been the only girl there and so she has gotten a lot of practice time (and face time) with the girls' J.V. and varsity coaches. That's so great, right?

But this week she wants to invite all of her friends who want to try out for basketball to come with her. (So NOT the same as me.)

If I was having this practically secret, under-the-radar practice time with the coaches who would be evaluating me at try-outs, I wouldn't tell a soul.

I guess when it comes right down to it, she is just a better person than me. I guess she had a better upbringing.

FaceTime from the Front

I pretty much have two separate sets of friends on Facebook. There are my "blog friends", which I think of as my Tuna Girl friends (who know who Rose Johnson is) and my real life friends and family.

Of course over the years many of these lines have crossed but in my mind, they are still two separate groups of people.

Well, last night and today just about every single one of my Tuna Girl friends has posted something on Facebook about the passing of Steve Jobs. But not one of my real life friends and family have mentioned it.

Except one who mentioned it only to say that with American soldiers serving and dying around the world, it is horrible that people are giving so much attention to the death of a celebrity.

First of all, I don't think Steve Jobs qualifies as a celebrity per se. Maybe it isn't fair to all celebrities, but to me that word connotes people who are famous for very little reason.

Second of all, as the wife of a service member, I could sit here and watch my daughter with her iTouch and my husband with his iPhone communicate with each other via FaceTime from half way around the world. And I can sit here with my MacBook Pro in my lap and see my husband talking to me from thousands of miles away.

And I am completely and totally okay with the massive mourning of Steve Jobs passing and the celebration of his life and accomplishments by so many.

True vision is such a precious thing. May Steve Jobs' legacy live on.

Bundle of Dichotomy

My junior year in college was a big year for me. It was the year my husband asked me to marry him. It was also the year I led my college softball team to our first ever championship title.

I say that not to brag, but to shed a little light on the following story:

So, you know, when college girls (maybe especially those at a women's college) get engaged, inevitably the rumors will fly that she is pregnant.

I wasn't pregnant when the rumors flew about me. (In fact, I was the exact opposite of pregnant.) But people like to believe the dramatic.

So the two captains of my softball team came to my dorm room to talk to me about the possible pregnancy. (Never mind that I had just borrowed a tampon from one of them the night before...well...not borrowed. But, you know...got a tampon from her.)

When I explained that I was very much not pregnant, one of them jumped up and hugged me. She said, "I'm so glad! Since you're not pregnant I can tell you this. When I heard the rumor, my first response wasn't to worry about you. The first thing I thought of was, who's going to pitch for us?"

I always thought that was so funny. For all I know, if I had found out I was pregnant back then, I might have thought the same thing.

So, cut to about midnight last night.

Since my husband is deployed, I wake up many times during the night to check my e-mail. (Stupid, I know.) But last night I got a mass e-mail from our violin teacher and my dear friend telling us that at long last, she and her husband are expecting a baby.

I am so happy for her. Really. Truly. She and her husband are just those types of people that you meet and immediately know that they will be amazing parents.

But I couldn't help but think about how this will affect us.

She is the best violin teacher ever. We love her.

She says she is going to take three months off, (April through June) and she has a substitute teacher lined up. Then she says she'll teach a light schedule like she does every summer and then be back to her normal teaching load next school year.

But I say, hogwash.

It is so hard to know what it will be like to have kids before you have them. Plans fall apart. Especially when you don't have any family locally. I know. I've been there.

I just cannot imagine her going back to teaching past 8 o'clock five nights a week when she has a little baby.

The other violin moms and I have been speculating about this possibility for a long time.

So I have told myself a thousand times in the past nine hours, "Her motherhood is a hell of a lot more important than your kids' violin future." And I will tell myself that a million more times before April.

I have been both anticipating and dreading this day for the past three years. I am so beside myself happy for my friend. And I am so worried that this will mark the end of a wonderful violin experience for my kids.

Selfish much? It's my softball captains worrying about who will pitch all over again.

It is such a wonderful thing to see such a happily married couple bring a child into the world. I really am so happy for them. In truth, I hope she doesn't go back to teaching. But I am sure going to miss what once was.