Tag: sports

Month 3

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Dear Jonesie:

It’s month 3 since you left this world. Happy anniversary?! That’s not appropriate. First, I’ll be nice to you. We miss you. We miss your silliness, your laugh, your smile, your grumpiness first thing in the morning, the way you never know what’s going on any given day. We miss your playfulness, your abilities with the grill, your hugs, your kisses, your love. We miss it all. The good, the not so good and the in between. But we’re doing ok.

Jack just finished his best basketball season yet. He was confident on the court, he was a real leader and he had FUN! Something we’ve been trying to get him to do for years. We have one weekend off and then baseball season starts. Our favorite season (yours and mine that is). This is the first year you won’t be coaching and gosh we’re gonna miss not being able to watch you not pay attention while coaching first base, looking around at everything but the game. Haha! Jack hasn’t expressed whether he’s looking forward to baseball or not. I’m hoping the confidence and leadership will carry over from basketball season but you never know with that boy. You know how baseball is a little bit tainted for him without you.

In other shocking Jack news (seriously, if you were here, this would shock the pants right off of you) – he signed up to do the talent show at school. WHAT?! How out of character is that! He’s going to do stand up comedy. I am floored. You would be floored! He had me order a whoopee cushion today (don’t worry, it was only $5) because that is the prop he needs for his act. I’m so proud of him. You would be so proud of him. He’s blossoming (doesn’t seem like a fitting word for a boy of 10 but whatever), maybe growing is the right word, into such a confident and inspiring young boy/man (boy doesn’t seem right, man definitely isn’t right – so some hybrid in between).

Mr. Tolt is still in the thick of his basketball season. He has improved so much from the beginning. He’s starting to score baskets in practice and even scored once in a scrimmage. Still waiting on the big game score – it might happen, it might not, but he is trying, still great at galloping and mostly having a good time. He just had to bring in a family picture for his Spanish class at school. I was nervous, talked to his teacher about what to do. His family has changed. You, of course, will always be his dad, but I didn’t know if this picture would upset him and I didn’t want that to happen. But this is Mr. Tolt we’re talking about here – blunt, matter of fact, straight shooting Mr. Tolt. Of course he will bring in a picture of his family and it will be a picture with Mama, Daddy, Jack and me. That boy amazes me. He grieves for you all the time. He will sit down, a somber look will come over his face and he will say I miss Daddy in heaven. I wish he didn’t have to go to heaven. I always say me too, buddy, me too.

T-Ball season is right around the corner for our Mr. Tolt. He still hasn’t decided if he’s playing. He really wants a trophy, though, so I think he’s leaning towards yes. The problem is I can’t remember if you get a trophy in T-ball. When he turns 6, I think Boy Scouts/cub scouts will be a great option for him. He’s our outdoorsman. Remember the commercial (I think it was Geico) with the young, rich maybe brother and sister and they’re off to some sporting event that they have no idea about and they’re like “yaaayyyy sports!”. That’s Mr. Tolt. Only he’s not rich. And doesn’t have a private jet. But he really doesn’t get sports. Or love them. Or particularly want to participate. Your brother seems to think that’s going to change and he’s going to surprise us all. We shall see.

Me, I’m ok. This isn’t easy, but we knew it wasn’t going to be. I want to move. I know we spent all that time and money trying to make this house what we wanted, but it’s just not what we want. First of all, the fire station building is still going on, may never end and just all around sucks. Ok, I know it will end but between it and public works, I’m over it. We’ll miss being able to walk to school but you know how much I love to ride and drive in the car, so it’ll all be just fine. The memory of you leaving us behind in our living room is too much to handle. Our memories here are mostly of illness, disease and death. We deserve a fresh start.

I’ve narrowed the lot search down to 2 and I really think I know which one I want, but I wouldn’t mind a little guidance from you somehow if you would be so kind. Except I know you won’t. Someone told me that our loved ones come back to us in our dreams. I’ve dreamt of you exactly 1 time. What the fuck, man? I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Ash. You do what you want, when you want, on the timeline you want. I should be used to it by now. But seriously. I’d love to see your face in my dreams. I’d love to know that you’re still here with us, checking in, keeping your eye on us.

I’m still doing the ladies golf leagues at Turf’s Up. It’s not the same. I’m grumpy every time I go. I want you to be impressed by this, though. I was on bay 4 on Monday and I hit some pure shots. I know they were pure because you taught me so well. I can now tell the difference between greatness and shit. And I had some greatness Monday night. And some shit. Because it’s me. Ha! Anyway, the greatness that I could feel was registering as shit on the screen so I said something to you know who. He told me he was on that bay earlier and it was just fine. I was pretty bitchy and said no it’s not and we kind of moved on. It pissed me off because you know how competitive I am and you know I want to win and I knew I was right because, let’s face it, you and I both know I am right 98.9% of the time. It’s both a blessing and a curse. (Also, side note, the team next to us scored a +7 Monday night and you know who entered into the scoreboard as a +6 – don’t think I didn’t notice, I did, and I’m mad.). Anyway, guess who texts me last night to tell me I was right, cameras were reading the wrong launch angle? It was said you know who. And this girl was right. Coz I know stuff. About golf. And golf simulators. Thanks to you. I also think my teammate and I should get like 4 mulligans next round for the inconvenience. But I’m not in charge. Boo.

We have a 4 day weekend this weekend. Today is the anniversary of your death. Friday is Valentine’s Day. So we’re getting the fuck out of dodge. We can’t be here and our lovely friends in West Virginia invited us to come stay with them for the weekend. Wish me luck. 8 hours there and back with the boys. What am I thinking? It will be an adventure, though. And it will be a distraction. And that’s what we need. Plus, we get to see our friends and we’re so excited about that.

I know this is getting lengthy, but I haven’t talked to you in 3 months. And I have so much to say. You should understand that, no one can talk more than you. I’m still pretty angry with you. And God. And myself. I often wonder if I had forced you into more treatment, would you still be with us today? But I know that wasn’t what you wanted. Or the right thing to do. I know you were suffering. And I know you are exactly where you are meant to be now.

Just to piss you off a little bit, I let the boys shower and use our bathroom every day. I don’t know why that bothered you so much, but ha! I’m in charge now. There are guys and trucks in the bottom of our shower all the time. It would annoy the shit out of you. They also use our fence toilet every day. I kind of understand your annoyance with that one, though. Those dudes can’t aim for shit! It’s gross! The boys still sleep in the same room. They need each other. Maybe, once our new house is built, they will go back to their own rooms. I’m fine with it either way.

Your puppy has apparently entered her “teen years” according to the vet and that means she’s rebelling, as teens do. Do you know how teen dogs rebel? They piss and shit on the floor again. Cool, huh? She’s still really cute but I’m close to my wit’s end with her. Maybe you could send some magic heaven voodoo down to make her stop. Is that possible? The brown girl is still Dog Kellie – bitchy, moany, groany and mostly annoyed but very cute ;). She get’s grayer by the day and that one tumor on her underside seems to be growing at quite a rapid rate. Maybe you need her? But we still need her here so ease up, would you?

Your mom is hanging in there. We’ve had many cries together. Colt is still her favorite. They spend some good, quality time together. She watches the boys on Mondays when I go to golf league and she picks Colt up from school once a week. She’s come to all their basketball games and so has Steve. I just love Steve. One of the best men around.

I know I’ve said it, but we miss you so much. We hope you are happy, pain free and giving God some good tips on his golf game. Check in on us when you can. We’re here and we’re ok.

Love,

Poopsie, Donkey and Mr. Tolt

Dear Mike Trout…

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I will preface this by saying that the contents of this post are intended to be funny. I, in no way shape, or form believe the Mike Trout is going to move into my home and raise my children with me (obviously we would move into his house, he has a career to finish after all). Or any of the other people on this rather hilarious list. I am nothing if not honest, though, so do with it what you will. I will also say that I am 37 years old, and while I will mourn the loss of my husband for the rest of my life, I also do not intend, nor did he intend for me, to spend the rest of my life alone. So there.

As you know, my children have asked me for a new dad. I have explained to them that there is no dad store and that it will take time, patience and actual love for that to happen (all of which none of us are good at, well, we’re probably good at love I would assume. We love each other without issue, so I’ll claim that as a positive attribute in our favor.) Colt mainly copies what Jack says, but I do believe that he longs for a. his dad but since that’s not possible 2. a male figure in our home daily that will also play endless legos with him (I am not the parent that is good at playing with her children (unless it’s a sport in which I can dominate), that was always Ash’s territory. I’m more the clean your shit up, put your shit away, don’t talk back to me disciplinary bad ass of the home).

Jack, however, can’t seem to leave the subject alone. We had some time together, just the 2 of us (a very rare thing) one day last week and he really opened up to me in his sweet, innocent 10 year old boy way. He did request, again, a new dad. I explained, again, how we need time to grieve, heal and you know, meet someone that we love and loves us back, blah, blah, blah. (Not that I’m saying our conversation was blah, just summing up, if you will). Apparently that answer was not sufficient. He dove further into where we would live, would new dad coach sports and would he get to call new dad “dad” or would he have to call him Mike or LeBron or whatever his name happens to be. What a fun conversation.

In reality, I can’t imagine how he must be feeling. What a fucking load of shit both of my boys have been dealt. I was lucky enough to grow up completely with both of my parents. No death. No divorce. Just normal, middle class, American upbringing. Navigating through this load of horse dung is not for the weak of heart, I can tell you that much. Your children will throw so many curve balls, you’ll be lucky if you make contact 1 out of every 30 balls thrown. My average is probably even lower than that. But we’re all trying together. I tried to talk to him rationally. We don’t know what the future looks like. Hopefully we will meet someone when the time is right. He may or may not be as into sports as we are (actually he will have to be or it just won’t work.), I think what you call him will be a personal decision between you and him. All the things I think I’m supposed to say. Who the fuck knows?!

Well, to make matters worse, funnier, even more screwed up than they already are, Jack has come up with a list of potential “dads” that he will allow to move into our lives and assume his new role. Rounding out number 1. Mike Trout. Yes, folks, Jack will allow Mike Trout to come into our lives to step into husband, father, best friend and baseball coach. You’re welcome Mr. Trout (Tom Ferguson, if you’re reading this, you’ve got some work to do 😉 !) Coming in at a close second is Bryce Harper (sorry about your wife and child) followed by Bruno Mars (ummm ok?!), Cody Bellinger, LeBron James (again with the wife and children…) and I threw in Jordy Nelson, Chris Hemsworth (sorry about your wife and children as well) and Cam Newton (hey, we could share a wardrobe) just for good measure. Go big or go home is apparently our motto around here.

So, to you potential suitors to the Jones brood, let me tell you a little bit about what you’ll be getting. Jack and Colt are 2 of the coolest kids I know. Jack is smart, kind hearted, handsome, athletic, funny, sarcastic, compassionate and more competitive than maybe even you. He’s quite stubborn, needs a lot of prodding to get going on any one thing but once he starts, he literally can’t be stopped. My wonderfully weird Mr. Tolt is also smart, affectionate, so loving, hilarious, emotional and really good with yard tools. He’s wildly independent, thinks he knows how do anything and everything and needs no guidance from anyone and is also quite stubborn (I believe that is a big family trait, no getting around that DNA). If I had to take a stab at what each boy would become when they get older I will say that Jack (if professional athlete happens to not work out haha! – this is where you could be super helpful Mr. Trout) will become an officer of the law whether it be a sheriff, detective, prosecutor or something similar. He is a rule follower (and enforcer) through and through. Colt, on the other hand, could careless what your rules are. He will create his own. Therefore I see him owing his own business, thereby making his own rules, in a very hands on, crafty way – landscaper, land grader – something with lots of dirt and lots of heavy machinery. They are great kids and any of you would be so lucky to have one shred of a part of their lives.

Me, on the other hand, I’m a harder sell. I’m 37, a widow with 2 fan-fucking-tastic kids, stretch marks, maybe a few pounds that need shedding (although I can run a consecutive 2 whole miles though, so will probably be unrecognizable within the year). But I’m also pretty damn funny, cute when I try to be, have the mouth of a sailor, love red wine, a good book and lots of sunshine. I, too, am stubborn, sarcastic to excess and have a hard time expressing how I feel with actual words. That you speak. I can write them down like a fucking champ, though!

In all seriousness, I don’t make light of this. Like any decent parent, I hate to see my children unhappy and suffering. I wish I had that magic wand to take all their pain away. But they, we, will persevere. And as all the bull shit sayings tell you, we will be better and stronger for it in the end.

Until then, we await your call, Mike. (Insert hysterical laughter here!)

Winning (and Losing)

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First of all, I will have you all know that I found all 3 fucking tape measures. In the same day! So if that’s not winning, I don’t know what is! I have also started successfully jogging 1.25 miles without stopping. Can’t be long until I’m shitting my pants in the NY marathon because I just can’t stop, won’t stop. Kidding. 1. That’s disgusting and b. I will never run that much ever because I don’t want to.  I went totally out of my comfort zone yesterday and went to a Whimsy Warrior (low impact/high intensity) class. Where there were other people. And mirrors. And an instructor. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it! Don’t let that name full you either, there was nothing “whimsy” about that damn class. My friend told me it was so “chill”. My friend is a liar. But I love her anyway!! It really was awesome. And awful. And I can barely walk today. Also can’t wait to go back again!

Last night was Jack’s first basketball game of the season. He scored a career high 12 points, had several rebounds and just played his little heart out (side note, he’s a bit asthmatic and “we” forgot to do his inhaler before the game so the poor kid was sucking wind the whole time. Mom fail.) It was a nail biter of a game that we won 18-17 (it’s 9-10 year old basketball, keep your expectations low.) Jack’s team was up 18-16 with 6 seconds to go. The other team had the ball and was dribbling down to shoot. Poor Jack fouled the kid right as he was going up to shoot as the buzzer went off simultaneously. Jack was not happy with himself. The other team made the first foul shot and and my son, who happens to be exactly like me (unfortunately, fortunately, who knows?) shows some anger on the court, which looks a bit like bad sportsmanship. He is only 10 and controlling those emotions is hard.

Jack is exactly like me. He looks like me, other than having his dad’s eyes. He’s strong, competitive, sarcastic, emotional, shy, stoic when it comes to matters of the heart, yet wears his heart on his sleeve everywhere else, he’s his own toughest critic. Because of that competitive spirt and critical nature, those emotions show all over the place when on the basketball court, baseball field or football field and last night was no different. When the other team made that first foul shot, he slammed his hands on the court. What looked like bad sportsmanship to anyone that doesn’t know much about Jack, was really Jack being super pissed with himself for making the mistake of fouling. That’s a tough thing to learn at 10 years old, controlling your emotions.

When we got home last night, he broke down in my arms and told me how sorry he was. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what he was apologizing for or why he was crying (he just played the best basketball game of his. life thus far and we won). I just hugged him and rocked him and let him have his cry. When he had calmed down a bit I asked him why he was upset and sorry. He said “I just got so mad at myself, mama. I knew not to foul but I did it anyway and everyone thought I was being a bad sport. I didn’t mean to be a bad sport.” My heart just broke for him. I knew how it looked when he slammed the court, but I also knew that my baby was just being so hard on himself. My little boy has so many feelings running through him at all times, especially right now, and the last thing I want for him is to ever feel bad about how he’s feeling. Feelings are real things, whether anyone understands them or not. You cannot tell someone how to feel or how they should react to something. Sure, as adults, we *can* control our outward emotions (I use the term “can” loosely, lord knows when it comes to most things, you know exactly how I’m feeling when I’m feeling it, except, of course, matters of the heart, I like to keep those feelings close to the belt.) My son is no different than me. How can I teach him to control his emotions when I, myself, can’t control mine?

Sports are a major outlet for him. He excels at them, so far, anyway, in his 10 years. They bring him joy and they also bring him pain. Hell, watching him brings me joy and brings me pain. I guess it’s all about balance. You can’t have the good without the bad. You can’t know what it’s like to win without also knowing what it’s like to lose. I pray he perseveres through, works through his demons and goes on to find all the joy that his heart can hold. In whatever that may be. I hope he always wears his heart on his sleeve and stays true to who he is. Because who he is is really fucking awesome. (And that sounds like I just called myself really fucking awesome because up there a bit I said he was just like me. Guess what though? I am pretty fucking awesome, too!)