Les Miles, Testicles and One Baby

One day a few years ago my ex-husband arrived at the YMCA to coach our son’s Tee Ball Team.  Most people would think “Oh, that is so sweet”  Nope.  He arrived wearing a bright purple LSU T-shirt with big YELLOW Letters stating “Got Lesticles?”  Umm.. Ok, for one I get the pun, Les Miles, Testicles, Lesticles as in relation to the daring plays the LSU coach calls. However nowhere in America is it ever ok to walk around wearing a shirt like that.  I mean, really?  Who wears that?! And moreover, who wears that to the YMCA Tee ball game?  Needless to say, I asked  him not to wear the shirt anymore.

 Fast forward a few more years to my house last week.  My little man is sitting on the toilet doing his thing, and for some reason likes to keep the door open and have conversations with whoever may be in ear shot. 

“Mom” I hear him say.  “What are these things called again?”  Oh no! I think, what in the world can he be talking about?  The mind of a 7 year old is always an adventure.   

“What things buddy?” I ask him.  “These things, they are testicles right?” 

 OH LORD, NOT THIS CONVERSATION!!  

 “Yes, that’s what they are” I yell from the other room.  “But what do they do?” he asks. 

 CRAP! Why can’t he have these conversations at his dad’s house?  “Um, Buddy they are for when you want to have a baby” I reply.  “But, I have two of them?” he asks.  “Yep, you should have two” I reply.  “But, what if I only want one baby?  I don’t need both of them right?”  “Umm, guess not buddy” I reply. 

 OH BOY! I am NOT ready for the birds and the bees talk yet.

 A few hours later we are sitting around the dinner table with my Mom and Dad.  My Mom loves me and really loves my little man, but every now and then she will question my parenting style, and in my defense my little man doesn’t do much to help my rep out.  For instance my little man loves to take off his clothes and shock my mom, usually he accompanies his nakedness with a song or a little dance – something that will certainly gain a few laughs from the crowd and deep stares from my Mom.  Or he will take on a new accent and style of dress, most popular but also most frustrating for my mom is when Sam gets all ‘ghetto’ on her and turns his head in just a certain way and pulls his pants just far enough down for some sag. 

So, here we are at dinner, enjoying a nice meal when my little man decides to be funny.  He tilts his hat, rolls up his sleeves, and pulls his pants low (Think Bieber at the AMA’s) stands up at the table, throws some sort of gang sign and decides in his most ghettorific voice to ask my mom if she has “Lesticles”.

Really?! Crap!  How the H.E. L. L. did my little man learn about “Lesticles”? 

That shirt was banned from my existence three years ago!  Moreover, why did he decide to bust a move at the dinner table and challenge my Mom to a duel of Lesticles?   He’s all poofed up and proud of himself with his new word and tough guy persona and my mom just sat there giving me the eye.

Let’s just say that I had Sam sit down, poured myself a large glass of wine and prayed he would ask his father about the birds and the bees.

It's only a week....

This week starts a new challenge for me.

No, I’m not restarting my 90 day challenge nor am I training for a new race, nor did I decide to take on any extreme sports….  I am becoming a ‘One Week On, One Week Off Parent’.  

For the past five years I have put up the argument that my little man needs to be with his Mommy as much as possible.  Sure, he can see his Dad whenever he wants, and yes I encourage long weeks away on family vacations with the “other family.”  But all in all, I knew that I had my little man at home with me most of the time.  I was content, my little man with me and all was right in the world.

Then it hit me!  My little man is growing up.  He has friends and not all of his friends live in my neighborhood.  He has sisters – you guessed it, they live at his Dad’s house.  He has toys and games and bikes and an entire little life and I am not part of it. 

I asked my little man his thoughts on going to his Dad’s for one week and my house for one week?   His response was something like this: “Mom, why are we STILL talking about this? I told Dad this so many times. I am o.k. with staying for a week.  I would like it.  Plus, really Mom, it’s just a week.”

Ok, little Dude, I hear you.  It really is ‘just a week’.   I can try to do this.

So, after much deliberation, a few long talks with girlfriends and other single parents and a few sad thoughts, I gave in.  I am going to try this out and see how it goes.   I packed up not one, but three bags of stuff for my little man – baseball gear, baseball uniforms for a week, swim gear, ear meds, summer homework, summer reading lists, school supply list and directions a mile long on all the ins and outs of having my little man for a week.

My little man was set and I was mentally prepared for my one week "off".    I dropped him off and unloaded his luggage while his step mom looked at me with crazed eyes and an overwhelmed expression.  Apparently, in all of the debating and fighting back and forth about our one week on/off program, my ex -husband forgot to mention to his wife that our little man will be with them for a week!  She will now be handling the camp drop off, the lunches, the pick-up and the homework, meals and all the other fun of having three kids at home for the summer.

I quickly hugged and kissed my little man and ran out of the house as fast as I could.  I swear I could see the steam coming off the step mommy and I was not about to be a part of that conversation.  I will be happily enjoying my “off week” and I might suggest to Super Step Mommy to repeat as I do  - “it’s only a week, it’s only a week, it’s only a week….”

The things we do for love...

There is nothing I despise more than spending my Saturday morning at the little league field – really nothing tops the discomfort I feel. 

My people skills and personality have helped me get far in life and I’ve successfully conquered closed societies like the High School Cheerleading Squad, a Southern Sorority (new member of the year and President), secret societies (sorry, you won’t get the name out of me), the local HOA, and even the PTA.  But for some unknown reason the cliques of the Little League leave me shivering with uneasiness.   I am not sure who scares me more; the clusters of happy moms sipping their Evian and pushing their strollers, or the groups of Dads scouting the players and predicting who the ringers will be, or the groups of grandparents in their pop up chairs trying to hold on to the toddlers who are too young to play, but are dressed like their older siblings anyway.  Either way, each group is an unwelcome challenge that leaves me dreading Saturday a.m.

…this leads me to my little man. 

 I honestly have never said no to my son (ok, yes I say NO to things like No new pets, No you can’t eat that, No you cannot jump off the roof).   However if the request is reasonable and no one is going to be harmed, than I generally go along with it for the happiness of my little man.  I’ve taken him on trips, we’ve tried new adventures, I’ve enrolled him in every sport you can imagine and I’ve happily been the snack mom.  I’ve gone as far as coach the cheerleaders for his flag football team, because no other mom would and I had a few pom poms and spirit dust in my closet.  But, I draw the line at Little League. 

I’ve pawned off the practices and games to everyone I can think of. I’ve corralled my parents into helping, let my ex husband have him extra days, scheduled Drs. Appointments, anything I can think of to NOT have to go the dreaded little league field. 

So imagine my dilemma when my little man comes home from baseball practice asking me to be the dugout mom.  WHAT?!?! How did the devil get a hold of my little man and play games with my baby?!  There is NO WAY I can be the dugout mom. 

I tried to stall.  “Mom, the coach really needs you now”. 

I tried to deflect.  “Don’t you like Karate more than baseball?”

I tried to play dumb.  “I don’t know anything about baseball.”

Then he hit me with the knockout punch.  “Mom you would get to spend time with me and be the coolest mom on the team.”

Ouch!

He got me.  He hit me where it hurts. 

Of course I’ll be the dugout mom.  Of course I’ll label all your bags, memorize the line-up, figure out  which kids have peanut allergies and make sure you all get bathroom breaks.  Of course I’ll bring coffee, have band aids and smile while all of the dads yell at me about the line up and the moms question me about this week’s snack.

At least I won’t have to deal with the Evian sipping moms or the grandparents in their pop up chairs.

Go Cubs!