On why having a fantasy football team is much like being in a bad relationship..

*No matter how great they're predicted to perform,they rarely live up to the hype

*You can't do a thing with them as soon as the football game is on

*It doesn't matter how many different types of guys you choose, they always end up disappointing you at one time or another. 

*No matter how hard you try or how nicely you ask- you just can't make them do anything. 

*You obsessively check your players stats, injury reports, and practice performance much like you might stalk facebook, send incessant text messages and call 84 times. In a row. 

*There are always false promises and unrealistic expectations. For days. 

*You catch yourself longingly looking at other teams rosters, wondering how you could have been so naive. 

*You must act  shocked when your sleeper pick's fantasy performance turns out to be the real-world equivalent of living in his parent's basement, under-employed, and still a college freshman at 27. But he had such POTENTIAL. 

*No matter how many times a player gets sent to the bench, he never learns his lesson until he's dropped from the team. 

*You find yourself counting on comebacks. But we all know the truth is, once a players performance begins to decline- it's game over. 

*You overlook a checkered past, full of less that brilliant off the field snafus and fumbles. And when that mid-season drug suspension comes into play, you are floored & devastated. And everyone in your life (or league) serves you up a big old "told you so". 

*You begin to act irrationally. You cheer when your home team quarterback gets sacked because your fantasy defense is the opposing team. You are subsequently filled with shame. Annnnnnd repeat. 

*You keep holding out hope that your star player will perform better next week...you refuse to trade him for fear that this will be his week, that he'll finally break out...and in the end, you're the one that looks like a fool for putting up with his sub-par performance for so long.

*You analyze every glance, post-game quote, absence from practice, missed series.. for days. You debate and agonize over your next move. You consult with your friends on what you should do. You search google for advice. Constantly. 

*There are always excuses. The other team had a break-out day. My ankle injury is flaring up. Coach pulled me out at the goal line. Blah, blah, blah. 

*You find a way to bring it up in every single conversation until everyone you know either a)avoids talking to you or b) rolls their eyes the second you open your mouth. 

*Their behavior  is often a complete mystery, whether it's because someone gets mad at you for no apparent reason or when they find a way to drop three passes in the end zone in one game. The goal is not a perfect season, just a winning one. Or so you keep telling yourself. Over and over again.

*You hope, you plan and you anticipate...but not everything (read: nothing) will go the way you want. 

The cuteness almost takes the sting away of a winless season.

And living with someone who is in the same league AND is undefeated. 

Almost. 

A Word of Thanks...

I don’t consider myself a particularly political person and I certainly intend to keep any political opinions I might have out of this blog, mostly because I don’t consider myself educated enough in the realm of politics to have strong, intelligent opinions. This sort of political apathy is on my bucket list to eradicate- I’m certainly not proud of it, but...speech pathology and baby comprise 99.3% of my brain currently. I also will be the first to admit that if I could have it my way, war & conflict & protection wouldn’t be necessary- we’d all love each other and ride unicorns and stare at rainbows all day. But, I recognize that just isn’t reality. And today, I’d like to say, I’m thankful. 

    

 Grace’s godfather & I met in 2nd grade, when the currency of friendship was sharing your fruit snacks. We grew up together. We kicked each other in the butt when we needed it (ok, maybe I did most of the kicking, but that’s another story for another day). We crammed for exams. We fought like siblings. We navigated first dates, crazy ex’s and college applications. 

  College? I moaned & whined & complained about having to go to UNH when my heart just belonged in Boston (seriously? How did you people put up with me..). He decided on the United States Naval Academy. He left shortly after graduation,foregoing his summer vacation for the first of many times. And trust me, I whined WAY more than he ever did. 

  While his high school classmates were sliding through easy gen-ed classes, playing hookie to get an early start on “Thirsty Thursday” & perfecting their beruit skills- he was studying. And having room inspections. And studying. And doing PT. And studying. You get the idea of just how fun his college experience was. 

  When college was over,when he shook the President of the United States (!) hand at his graduation-his journey was truly just beginning. Off to more schooling, uprooting his life every few months to move somewhere new. Coming home whenever he could. And in May? He will be deployed. To where? He won’t find out until January. 

I know that he hears all the time how commendable it is that he has chosen a life of service. I have watched him receive this praise and do you know one of the things that makes me most proud to know him? How modestly he accepts this. How glaringly clear it is that those compliments, that attention- it has nothing to do with the choices he has made. He truly feels that being given an opportunity to serve his country is an honor. How hard he has worked, the sacrifices he has made...that, in his mind, was an honor. 

  I ran into his mom recently and we talked about how this will be the first holiday he will be unable to come home. And it struck me- as much as that disappointed me, how much Grace and I will miss having him home- I can’t begin to fathom what this feels like for his mother. As a mother myself, I take it for granted that Grace will be with me, every holiday, for the rest of my life. And she just sort of smiled and said “Life in the military..” and sighed. 

For every commendable choice an individual makes, to enter into military service- there are millions of other people, who also have to  sacrifice in little, equally important ways. Pieces of their heart. Their holiday plans. Girlfriends and wives who put their lives effectively on hold. Or who have to manage, alone. Mothers who wrestle with equal parts pride and dread. All in the name of our country. How can we feel anything but amazed by this?

When I first became pregnant, I was almost as scared to tell Billy as I was to tell my own parents. I was afraid that he would judge me, yell at me, or worst- be disappointed in me. After 14 years of friendship, I should have known better. He embraced it & moved on. He supported me without so much as a single disparaging comment.

 Someone recently asked me if I regretted my choice of godfather for Grace, simply because he will probably not be around very often as she grows up. Absolutely, unequivocally  no. I can think of no one better for my daughter to look up to. No one who will love her, across state lines,potentially across continents, in a way that will enable her to feel it all the way down to her toes. No one that she could possibly be prouder to call her own. Every time they see one another, it’s like they fall in love all over again. It makes their relationship that much more special & precious. If friends are the family that you chose- I’m overjoyed to have been able to chose him for Grace. As guidance. Confidante. And friend. She may not see him all the time, but his picture is on the wall in her room. And every night, after we read our stories, we say goodnight to Uncle Billy (Be-ee) & Auntie Erica (Ca-Ca...sorry about that :)) so that, until he is home again, until she can fully understand the paramount importance these people, this man, has and will play in her life- she won’t forget him. 

  Now don’t get me wrong- he’s not perfect & I’m not trying to make him look like he is. He’s human. He has the distinction of being the single-most stubborn human being I’ve ever encountered. He has strong opinions...about lots of things..and won’t hesitate for a second about telling you them. And he is always right. ALWAYS. This fact alone makes his girlfriend  Erica a saint for putting up with him. But I’m still proud to call him one of my best friends. And her as well. 

Today,  I’m thankful. For the people who volunteer to do a job I would never be able to do. For the people who love them and support them behind the scenes, who know sacrifice and heartache like the back of their hands.  And for Uncle “Be-ee”. So until we live in a world with peace and unicorns? Thank you for keeping on carrying on. 

And your girls in New Hampshire? They’re missing you. 

And Andrew is missing the other have of his bromance, his partner in crime. 

Come home soon. 

(And sorry if I embarrassed you - but, as I’m sure you’d be the first to remind me, you’re kind of a big deal)

Half-Birthdays...

Dear Gracie, 

Happy half birthday. You are officially (well, officially as of Friday) 1 and a half. This means I can no longer say "Oh, she's just over a year". It means that when I ask  you if you are a baby, you shake your head ferociously and say "Noooooo". It means that you've taken to wandering around the house, pointing at pictures of yourself when you where younger and exclaiming "Ohhhh baby!" and no amount of convincing & explaining will make you agree that that tiny person was in fact, you, not too long ago. 

Gracie, I've run out of new ways to tell you precisely how beautiful you are. How wonderful. How you have filled spaces in my life I didn't even know existed. 

I steal pieces of you, you know.

 The way you giggle, from deep down in your belly, when I hit that tickle spot between your neck and shoulder just right. How it feels when you suddenly stop playing and run over to me to hug my leg and lay your head on my lap, just for a minute. When you are walking, and suddenly throw your hand up and back, without even turing  your head, knowing, never doubting that I will take your hand in mine. How you smell, just after a bath, when you are snuggled against me, rocking in our chair, reading our nightly stories. The weight of you in my arms, against my hip...& the weight of knowing that all too soon, you will outgrow my arms. The way you take my hair and pull me close to you, place your forehead against mine & just laugh. 

I take these pieces & tuck them in my back pocket. I hoard them, covet them, rearrange them in my mind over and over again. And if my day becomes a little gray, a little overwhelming- I take them out. I revel in them. Bathe myself in the lightness of them. 

I think the first few days of your life, in that sunny hospital room, where some of the best days of mine. Days of love and joy and family. Where we were safe. Where the worries & responsibilities of the outside world were kept at bay. And where we just marveled at you. And some days, my heart breaks a little knowing I will never have a time in my life just like that, ever again. 

The truth though? I still find myself marveling. 

You are funny. Funnier than me, in a way that is effortless and wonderfully pure. And you know it. 

You are so beautiful. More beautiful than I could have ever imagined in my dreams and more beautiful with every day that passes. You have been known to literally take my breath away.

You are stubborn and opinionated. Serves us right. But I hope it means that you always stand up for yourself and what you believe in. 

I watch you love and I am amazed. Sure, you are loved, by more people than I can even name- but to see you love, to watch your face light up when your Grandpa walks into a room, to hear you calling for your Mimi, to watch you traipse around after your older cousin Alex, idolizing his every move. To see you truly love, without expectation or without it being colored with past experiences- it is, in a word, inspiring. 

A good friend of mine recently told me that I was one of the best mothers she knew. That she 

could see the joy of motherhood pouring out of me when I was with you. As tears sprung to my eyes, I realized, in amazement, that this was one of the greatest compliments I have ever received.

You, my dear, are marvelous. 

And Gracie?

I hope you understand...

you will always be MY baby. 

I love you to the moon and back, 

Mama

Want my thoughts? No? Well, you're going to get 'em anyway...

 This weekend, my parents will celebrate their 24th wedding anniversary. (Happy Anniversary!)
     I have been lucky enough to have their relationship as my marker for what a marriage should be. Don't misunderstand me- I don't pretend to know (nor do I want to know) any details about their relationship and how it functions (because, hello, clearly I was brought by the stork and that is all the information I need to have).  
    But I do know that they support each other, roll their eyes at each other, drive each other crazy- but at the end of the day, they're committed to one another. They've weathered enough storms, family tragedies and stressful situations together for me to say this is 100% true. And sometimes, they make each other giggle like teenagers. And their being together, for the ups and downs, through the "I can't believe you just did that" or "I hate the way you _______ ", it's created my belief that marriage is, and should be, forever. And that it takes work, just like anything else, but the reward? It's so worth it. 
    I don't mean to say that I don't believe in divorce. I've seen it, many times, known people who have experienced it first hand and as children of divorce. Some divorces are civil, friendly, functioning. Many of them are nasty, hurtful and devastating. Sometimes, divorce is an unequivocal necessity. 
   My rant for the day? It stems from the allegations that Brett Favre sent pleading voice mails and lewd picture messages to a female sideline reporter while on the Jets & allegedly had some inappropriate contact with two massage therapists on the team as well. From Tiger Woods & all  his shenanigans. From Jesse James and the heartbreak and humiliation he caused for Sandra Bullock. 


   But Brett Favre really sent me over the edge. Brett?  You are a grown man. You are 41 years old.  You've been married for 14 years. Your wife is your high school sweetheart & had your first child when she was only 20 years old (a full  7 years before you decided to marry her) She stood by your side as you battled an addiction to prescription pain killers. And then a drinking problem. And most significantly- your flip-flopping outlook on your retirement EVERY SINGLE YEAR (sarcasm, clearly..) Not only are you a father to two daughters who will look to you to see how they should be treated by the men in their lives, but you are now a grandfather. 
Now your wife may be unbearable (which I doubt) and you may be trapped in a miserable, loveless marriage....but this is how you chose to repay her? Now the entire world can google "Brett Favre Text Messages" and see pictures of your....well, you know. 
      Beyond the humiliation that this woman has to endure, what bothers me almost more is that Brett Favre is a football icon, a legend. He has now been idolized by decades worth of boys and young men. Whether you like it or not, when you sign up to play professional sports, especially at the role of quarterback, you become somewhat of a role-model. And the PR team of the Minnesota Vikings will clean this mess up. Encourage him to dodge questions at press conferences instead of providing an honest, sincere apology. At worst, the NFL will suspend him from a game or two. And before we know it, this will be all be forgotten and Favre will once again be celebrated for his touch-down passes. 
  What!? Now I understand that his professional life and his personal life should be mutually exclusive but the truth of fame & being a famous sports player...they just aren't. Especially in this age of technology and twitter and having to know everybody's business all the gosh darn time. 
   Truly, Brett? I'd like you to apologize. 
 To your wife, for humiliating her. For not respecting her enough to exhibit self-control. For not knowing, or just ignoring, that you were a public figure and next to nothing is going to stay private, ever, particularly when it includes incriminating photographs. 
 To your daughters, because they will now live with this... destruction. They believed one thing about their father (and I'm pretty sure that it wasn't that he was a sleazy creepy lewd-message sending kind of guy) and now that's been turned upside down and they will likely spend a long time, if not the rest of their lives, making sense of it.
  To young boys, young men, heck- adult men...for not respecting your position as an icon, or a role-model. I want you to shout to the rooftops that this is not how women should be treated and that you screwed up and you regret it all. 


In short? You make me feel a little queasy & a lot ticked off. And I do know these are still just "allegations" and that theoretically, what you do is none of my business. But the kind of guys I want the little boys of this generation to grow up to be? The kind of boys that will be dating my daughter, who will be in possession of that little heart that I grew and nurtured? You are not that kind of guy. So if you are such a "man" in all other aspects of your life- a warrior on the field, a ladies man in the locker room- how about you prove it and do the most impressive thing a man can do (in my book)- apologize. Admit how wrong you were. How unbelievably stupid. And selfish. Maybe even cry a little. Also? Just retire already.


 Thanks.
   

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Today, while on a walk to the park (thus far the highlight of my week) I was thinking about all the little ways my life has changed over the past year and a half. Not the big, trip over them in broad daylight, kind of changes. But the little, sneak up on you like an extra 5 pounds at christmas time kind of changes. For example 
       
   * I find myself in utter delight at the arrival of fall. In previous years, I've moaned and whined and complained. Detested the end of days spent lounging in the sand, the arrival of responsibility and the disappearance of tan lines. This year? I can't get enough. Of the crisp fall days where we can play outside without slathering on miles of sunscreen. Apple picking. Pumpkin carving. Fairs. HALLOWEEN.  A m a z i n g. 


* When our driveway got paved, my first thought was not how wonderful it would be to be able to bring in my groceries on a rainy day without having to traverse Lake Eire. It was how AWESOME it was going to be for sidewalk chalk. 


* At the fair this week, I gleefully strolled through craft tents and animal barns. I complained there weren't enough knick-knacky sorts of home-goods to look at or buy. The exact things that used to cause epic eye rolls on my behalf when my parents used to drag me with them as a teenager. I'm becoming my mother after all- and I'm proud of it. 


* I can name at least 10 things Gracie might want for Christmas off of the top of my head. But me? Maybe two. And they tend to be outlandish, ridiculous, and highly improbable ideas like, for instance, an I Pad. Or a nicer camera. So I can take pictures. Of Gracie. 


* If I have a few drinks at the end of the day, I no longer think about how many glasses it will take to accomplish a nice glow-y buzz. I think how many glasses it will take to cause me to  wake up in a foggy, headache-y haze that will turn my home into a toddler version of Lord of the Flies. 


* I find myself commiserating with the women at my mom's book club about diapers and nap times and preschools. It's like motherhood is a super secret society, where merit badges are earned for how many hours you were in labor, how many children you have and how presentable you can make yourself appear on a daily basis. And I'm so glad to have been sworn in. 


*Sleeping until 8 am on a weekend is now considered sleeping in. Any minute we can steal, beg or borrow past 6:45 is delicious. The fact that I used to be able to sleep until at least 11... boggles my mind. 


* I'm all the sudden genuinely concerned about issues in the world. Because what kind of world is going to be left for Grace to be a grown-up in? I'm just not sure. And it petrifies me. 


* I feel like I need to arrive places equipped with a waver that says "No I'm not stupid, I just have a small child that sucks up all my brain power and replaces it with goldfish and sippy cups and sweetness." Because baby brain does not stop at just pregnancy. 


 Good, bad, or indifferent- life marches on and Grace has changed me. She reminds me to stop and smell the flowers (literally. Every. single. flower. ) and appreciate things I've never noticed. Except for several glasses of late-night wine. I NEVER appreciate those anymore, especially at 6:15 the next morning. 

Thanks, G Baby, for pushing me forward just by holding my hand.