This will have to do

Because I know myself too well, I realize I might have this year's Halloween pics posted by, oh, Easter. So, to hold you over, this is last year. Note: only two children.

A bazillion words

This is a stegosaurus. At night (note the black sky). Oh, and it has toenails.

This is a football game. Missouri vs. Oklahoma State. Please observe the facemasks. Jensen's been perfecting the facemasks lately.

This morning I found a piece of paper on the kitchen table. Evan had drawn the above dinosaur on one side. Jensen had drawn the football game on the other. I don't think I could create a better metaphor.

One tooth at a time

I was chatting. I'm always chatting at football games. I always pledge to pay attention, but after the first few plays, I just can't help myself. So Sunday afternoon I was chatting, and not watching the action on the field, when I heard my name being called. "We need you..." the coach said as he trotted over to me.

I, of course, assumed the worst. Perhaps my child was unconscious on the field? Paralyzed in flag football? A brief sinking feeling settled in my stomach. (He had taken a cleat to the head a week earlier. These games can be rough.)

The coach opened his hand and handed me a bloody tooth. Jensen lost a tooth.

All the parents on the sidelines applauded and Jensen gave me a proud wave and flashed a slightly bloody smile before he got back in formation. I held the tooth carefully and allowed myself only brief memories of when he had gotten it as a baby, how much he had cried about it, how I had marked the event on the calendar. Now I held the precious tooth in my hand and felt happy and sad at the same time.

He's growing up, and has the great big crooked teeth to prove it. Sunday night he got out his Tooth Fairy pillow and tucked away the lost tooth and placed it on his bed. And very slyly asked if maybe I wasn't the Tooth Fairy. I very truthfully told him no (I'm not, but that's not saying anything about Jeff) and waited for more questions about it. None came, but they aren't far off. I don't think Santa will survive this Christmas.

He's growing up, playing football, needing braces on his new big-kid teeth, his world becoming a little less magical. I love this kid.

Did I mention he loves football?

I offer this as proof that I am not always sarcastic or cynical.

Actually, I woke up this morning intending not to post. I was just kind of empty. We've had sick kids, Jeff was gone almost forever yesterday, and it's just Thursday.... blah.

Then I got an e-mail from Jensen's football coach. Jensen's in a pediatric flag-football league, and I had e-mailed his coach about tonight's practice. (By the way, the thought of coaching that smelly writhing mass of six- and seven-year-old boyness is enough to make me want to consume large amounts of hard liquor.) And the nice man sent me a message back simply to tell me how much he loves having Jensen on his team. That my son works so hard and is so enthusiastic that he is "inspiring."

[My mommy heart melts.]

Yep, he loves football, my kid. So much so that during his First Official Game, he got so caught up in watching the plays that he forgot to actually participate. The rest of the kids started running around, doing whatever it is they call "football." And Jensen got so excited that he just jumped up and down in place, cheering them all on. So much so that he has become the neighborhood football mascot. He's always in the yard playing ball with somebody: us, other kids, other dads, whoever.... So much so that on Sunday, he played football alone outside in the rain for three hours. He unabashedly loves it. I guess his coach noticed.

This isn't much of a post. But that e-mail made my day. And that's not sarcastic at all.

Ode to the Gridiron. And my dad.

It's a rainy, cold, gray day (courtesy Gustav). And it is not dampening my spirits at all. I woke up this morning with a vague sense that something was righter with the world.... It's Football Season, people!!!

I'm not joking.

Here's the deal: football is my family's love language. I repeat: not joking. We are not a lovey-dovey, kissy-huggy, emotive kind of family. But I'd be hard-pressed to find a closer family. We are tight. And somehow we transmit a lot of our feelings for each other through sports. I don't call my parents and get all mushy.... I call my parents and ask them how the Cubs did last night. (They lost, by the way, but they're still up five.) And football is the ultimate expression of affection. Maybe it's the time of year, the smell of autumn, the marching bands... I don't know. But we are nuts about football in my clan.

Don't believe me? Go to a football game with my dad. He might utter only a few sentences during the entire course of the game. Don't expect any small-talk. Don't expect him to do The Wave. Don't even expect him to necessarily respond to most of what you say. But go to a game with him. I guarantee you will come away feeling a bit safer, a bit more solid, and-- maybe-- a bit more loved. (Oh, man, he's gonna hate it that I'm going all psycho-babble on his football. But I can't help it.)

Oh, and because he's a former junior high football coach, you'll also come away knowing a whole lot more about the game of football. He's a football genius. Going to a game with him is like having your own personal John Madden, except he's not obnoxious.

I've spent a lifetime watching football games with Dad. Sitting next to him, listening to all the comments about The Fundamentals Of The Game, enduring the elements (he doesn't leave games just because it's 15 degrees or sleeting or pouring rain!), and absolutely loving it. Even when I was a teenager, even when I hated football, I still loved going to the games. I'd watch the crowd, the band, the cheerleaders... didn't much matter, because I was always just happy to be there with him.

Dad watches football pretty much the way he lives the rest of his life. Deeply observant, not a lot of fanfare, appreciative of feats great and small. I was thinking of writing a post called, "Everything I Needed to Know About Life I Learned from Watching Football with My Dad." There's definitely a lot of truth to that statement. Like:

• Master the basics: You can't be good at the fancy stuff until you're good at the fundamentals.


• It's not whether you win or lose.... You know the rest. But he really believes it. A win is great, but if you win cheaply you don't have much to be proud of.


• Keep your eye on the ball. 'Nuff said.


• Never, ever boo the other team or the officials: Respect and common decency are pretty important.


• Do your job the best you can and keep your mouth shut: He doesn't really have a lot of time for Terrell Owens-like demonstrations of perceived personal greatness.

You get the idea.

If I had a nickel for every time one of his former players tells me how much Dad taught them about football and life and doing things right.... Somehow he took the game, and his love for it, and his love for teaching, and rolled it all together into this amazing life lesson for 13-year-old boys. He made quite an impression on lots of them.

Jensen's getting in on the action, now, too. He's in a flag football league. The happiest moment I've had recently is when Dad visited and played some ball with him, teaching him how to cut and post and catch. Jensen adores football. We're passing it on to the next generation....

Anyway, I think the rest of my family agrees with me on this. We're all equally enamored with the game. Jeff thought I was nuts at first (he doesn't come from quite the same football tradition), but we've won him over. And we're always willing to adopt more family, so let me know if you want in on this gridiron circle of love.