The Final Week

When you think of my son Ben, sports automatically come to mind. He has had a ball in his hand since he was a toddler, and team sports have played a huge role in his life since he was old enough to sign up. His idea of fun has always been competing on a field somewhere. Over the years, we have spent a LOT of time on bleachers watching him play.

This week marks the last chapter in his high school career. His senior baseball season has been a great one and his team was thrilled to qualify for the state tournament. This is exciting for our whole town because it's been 23 years since Boone has gone to state. Playing at Principal Park is a life long goal for Ben and he's never lost sight of that. I have to pinch myself when I realize this dream has actually become a reality for this group of boys. God has blessed them with talent and He has provided this amazing opportunity for them. What a way to end a season and high school career.

I think the town of Boone must have closed down for a few hours yesterday! I was so touched as I looked around the stadium at the sea of red and black and saw how many people showed up to cheer for the boys. I know it meant a lot to the team to have so much support. The team played well, won big and are now setting their sights on the next game. We are having a blast being a part of this.

Perry and I will definitely miss watching Ben play baseball next year. The families of the other players have become close friends. We've spent hours together on the bleachers and have made great memories traveling together to tournaments over the years.

I know the boys will miss playing ball together. They have been a team since they were nine years old. In a few days, most of them will put down their bats and gloves for good. A few weeks from now they will leave home for college and begin an exciting new chapter in life.

I know they will look back on this final season with no regrets. And that's a wonderful thing.

A Different Kind of Summer

The little purple flowers in this hanging basket are so unforgiving. They don't realize it's been a different kind of summer. I've gone back to school to get my masters degree, so my usual summer vacation activities have gone by the wayside. In my rush to get out the door by 7AM for class, I sometimes (often) forgot to water my flowers. I would make a mental note to turn on the hose when I had some time, but apparently part of the flowers didn't appreciate my IOU of water.

My family, on the other hand, is very understanding and supportive of my new schedule. Sam is a great sport when I am in Des Moines for class all day. He's content to stay home alone, and Ben is very self sufficient-even washing his baseball uniform when needed. My parents are more than happy to have Sam and the dogs at their house, to make sure they are eating what they are supposed to, along with getting some exercise and fresh air. Perry has been so encouraging as I take on this new challenge in my life. Even though writing reflection papers is a foreign concept to him, he understands the time involved with my classwork and picks up the slack around the house.

There hasn't been time for scrapbooking, home decorating projects or planting a vegetable garden this summer. My priority is to complete my 10 credits of classwork, go to Ben's baseball games, spend time with Sam, and maybe even put away the stuff from Ben's graduation party. I haven't trimmed the dead flowers from the hanging basket yet, but it's on a list somewhere. It's just a different kind of summer.

The Flamingos

Sam's youth group at church has been doing a fundraiser to raise money for a trip this summer. You may have heard of something like this... a flock of plastic flamingos are secretly placed in a person's yard with a note. For a donation to the youth group, the flamingos will be removed. For a slightly bigger donation, they can choose the next yard for the flamingos to go.

My son Sam was enthusiastic about this project, so he volunteered to be in charge of transporting the huge group of flamingos from yard to yard. Problem is, the flockmaster can't drive and needed a car to haul the 16 large plastic birds. Perry and I became involved in this project by default, so we have been on too many late-night-stealth-bird-placing-missions.

One night Perry was busy, so Sam and I packed the trunk and I dressed in black for the newest job. We had the address of the next targeted victim, a yard on a quiet street in town. I crept slowly down the street, straining to see the address numbers. Pausing in front of one house, I felt sure I'd found the correct place. It was curious to see the garage door open and outside lights on. Before I could park I was horrified to see the owner of this house, an older gentleman who used to be our town's mayor, a few yards away walking his dog and probably wondering what in the world we were up to.

With heart pounding, I drove off. Since it was a dead end street, of course I had to turn around and pass him again. That way he got an even better look at the shady characters in the suspicious looking blue Focus. (He was probably making a mental note of my license plate numbers and getting ready to call his friends at the police department.)

Sam and I laughed nervously as we waited a few more minutes before going back, hoping the lights would be off and we could get the job done. I longed for my other life back at home, where I lived innocently as an upstanding citizen who doesn't sneak around in the dark.

About a half hour later, we returned to the scene of the crime. I trolled nearly silently down the street with headlights off (I saw that in a spy movie once) and I parked in a neighbor's driveway. Trying to be quiet in the dark magnifies even the softest noises. I cringed at the click of the car door and the clank of the flamingos as we dodged behind bushes to set them up in the targeted yard. I kept my eyes on the house, straining to see a face in the window. I expected the lights to come on at any moment, the door would open and an accusing voice would boom across the yard as I died of embarrassment on the spot.

With relief, we poked the last flamingo in the grass, ran back to the car and escaped the scene without being noticed. Speeding back home, I felt more than ready to hand over the flock to another pre-teen's family in our youth group. They can live on the dark side now. I'll even give them my black face mask. I'm retiring from this shady lifestyle.