Growing up in a household of girls I can honestly say that I did not care too much about football. My experience with the sport was hearing my dad yell at the tv screen and going to Cal games and tailgating. Even at my high school I never sat in the stands and watched the game. I buzzed around the standing crowd socializing. It was not until college that I actually watched the plays and learned how to follow the ball. My boyfriend long snapped and played tight end. I sat through pouring rain as the stands cleared just to cheer him on. Then I’d wait outside the locker room with the other player families and girlfriends.

Thirty years later that Tiger football player and I cheer on our sons together. Over the years I have grown to love this game and even get the vocabulary right. You snap the ball, not hike the ball. Linemen block not push. Receiver not catcher. Linebacker is defense, and can blitz. (Still figuring that one out).

I have relished the role of rooting for my team. Perhaps it is the cheerleader in me that never made the squad. I shake colored Pom poms, cowbells, and rally towels. I have painted banners on my kitchen floor. I make noise with my yells, screams, and cowbell ringing. When the game is over I give proud hugs to sweaty shoulder padded sons. It’s an experience I know that is a small window of time, so I soak it all up.

It is not just football where I have proudly supported my children in their endeavors. I was a band mom wearing a Warrior Band pin and sitting in the stands watching our oldest son march in complicated formations down on the field. He marched with a tuba, and switched to a trombone then back to the tuba all during one performance. I was one proud Mama. Then there were all the volleyball games my daughter played. Starting in 3rd grade all the way to college, she excelled in the exciting indoor sport. She was a setter early on, then an outside hitter. She was a beast at the net and I loved seeing her kill the ball.

There were other sports our kids played but football, marching band and volleyball were the ones where my Grizzlybearma personality really took shape. Like other parents, we just want to see our children do what they love. So when Koda and Summer want to sign up for ultimate frisbee or agility competitions, I will be ready and willing.

For tonight it’s all about “Go Demon Deacons!” Because then tomorrow it will be “Go Knights!” I am ready for the game.

Every once in awhile Grizzlybearma needs a little break. I’m talking about getting out of the house, and out on the town. So here I am in New Orleans, Louisiana. It’s my first time here. Delicious dinner in a quaint restaurant down a side street off  Bourbon Street. Live music everywhere. Drinks. A beautiful fancy hotel room. This is quite a treat! And we have not even gotten to the main event: tomorrow night we cheer on our son in a football game against Tulane University. My belly is full from a scrumptious dinner and sweet berry cocktails. I could have passed on the last cocktail after dinner listening to the live jazz music. But I am in NOLA so why not make this break a fun one!

I just crawled into my comfy bed with a tasseled canopy and realized I had yet to write my blog. With only minutes left in this day, I did not want to break my commitment. So I wrote. Blogging after drinking can be dangerous. Hope my post is  ok and well read. If not, chalk it up to DLOGGing (drunk blogging). Good night, big day tomorrow for Koda and Summer’s  big brother.  Geaux Deacs! Bear Tulane!

My twitter name is Grizzlibearma. I created the twitter account a few years ago so I could keep a watchful eye on the tweeting of my teenagers. Mamabear is what my daughter’s high school volleyball team affectionately called me when I organized their post-game treats. Teeth baring and sharp claws in the air, I have aggressively protected my young cubs over the years. The truth is that I am actually more of an elephant mom or even a wolf mom. The elephant mom is always close by to her calf, with a loving touch, to redirect and nurture her baby. In any trouble Mama Elephant rushes in to help. That’s me nurturing and protective. But I am also wolf mom, intuitive and unselfish. Most of the time I know what my wolf pups need, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep them safe. Animal mothers and human mothers are challenged with the same important task of raising our young, protecting them and preparing them for the world.
Singling out one single moment of my motherhood where I have been at the right place at the right time to help one of my children is difficult. I am most often the elephant nearby, sometimes I have to be the bear to fight off a predator, and I always try to be the wolf who continues to see to the needs off all of the pups in my den. What hurts my heart most is that I have learned that I cannot protect my children from all danger or pain. It is inevitable that they will each find themselves in a situation that results in some suffering.
The baby of my litter seemed to be the child who most often fell into harm’s way. If frequent flyer miles were awarded for visits to the emergency room, he would have reached elite traveler status by the time he was six years old. I half- expected a visit from child protective services for the cumulative injuries suffered. His fingers caught in the front door when his sister slammed it shut on her way out, not realizing her little brother trailed behind her until we all heard his loud shriek. Or the time he sliced his foot while climbing inside the pantry on the shelves to retrieve the high-up cookies, and then landed barefoot on a sharp Swedish Christmas decoration. Or there was the nice evening we were all sitting outside and he picked up a brick from the side of the house, which cut the skin and tendons between his thumb and his forefinger. More blood. More crying. More visits to the doctor. He’s been stapled, glued, and stitched. His ride in an ambulance was by far the scariest experience of all of his injuries. After school one day when I was preparing the older kids a snack of cheese and crackers, we heard strange noises coming from the other room. It sounded like he was playing make-believe animal noises. We walked around the corner into the two story foyer and found him flat on his back gurgling and moaning in pain. Calmly and quickly, we called 911, and waited for the medical team to arrive and stabilize him. He explained later that he had been trying to slide down the banister like his older brother did when I wasn’t looking. The whole ride to the hospital in the back of that ambulance I just stared at my smallest child papoosed onto the gurney, and prayed he was not critically hurt. Please let my baby be ok. Please let him run and jump again. Hours later, after various testing and observation, and a lollypop, the doctor released us to go home to rest, with a stern warning not to slide down a two story banister. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt once again that guilty feeling of “how did this happen under my watch?”

I was always a few steps away or around the corner. As the elephant-mom, I am nearby, and can rush in to help. As the wolf-mom my strong intuition guided me in meeting their needs. As grizzly bear mom I protectively guard and defend them. Koda and Summer get this same kind of mothering my four children experience. Koda and Summer, you are in good hands (or paws or claws).

The puppies cam home from school very talkative today. Up until now their barking as been fairly predictable. Summer barks from the crate to tell me she wants to be freed from lock up. She can be persistent even when she does not have to go out to to potty but just wants to roam free. Her high pitched stuccato calls die down when she realizes I am not coming to free her. Koda is the real deal. If he barks from his crate it means he really has to go. He is also the better of the two to vocalize his needs at the door. Summer will simply walk in circles to make her point. Koda barks on walks at other dogs, people, and moving objects. When my husband wears his big work boots and sun glasses before doing yard work Koda barks like crazy.

Ever since we got them the two puppies have also loudly wrestled and yapped at one another, but tonight seemed different. They have been around other dogs so maybe they picked up new some phrases. I remember each time I brought Dot, our Aussie, home from being boarded; she would howl in the car like a beagle. I laughed and said she was singing camp songs she learned while there.

So maybe Koda and Summer have found their voices. I do not mind it too much outside. But they can be quite loud right next to me on the sofa (still wondering what we were thinking about that decision). Take a little listen.

What made us decide to start over again with puppies (babies) when we were just about to be empty nesters?

Did we really think through this whole TWO puppies at the same time thing?

Were we aware of the fast rate these puppies would grow?

How long did we actually think these puppies would stay small?

What was I thinking getting two identical black dogs that are next to impossible to tell apart without looking underneath?

Is that Koda or Summer?

When is the smart “Aussie” part of the Aussiedoodle going to kick into their training?

How can I get them to walk together without getting the leashes tangled around my body?

I wonder if I could teach them to wipe their wet chins on a towel after they drink from the bowls to avoid water dripping everywhere?

What is Summer dreaming about when she gives little yelps as she dozes in the floor?

Why does Koda bark at dogs, people, and leaves blowing across the road?

Is there anything sweeter than the soft curly fluff on the tops of their heads?

Do these puppies know how much we love them?

When will the fans and tents finally be removed from my water damaged kitchen so we can get back to normal?

Is there more wine?

Did I make any grammar or spelling errors like I sometimes do in my other blog posts?

Is this probably enough for the question asking post?

 

 

Today I spent the afternoon doing one of my favorite things as a mom. I put on my blue and white shirt, my BSH visor, my #77 player pin, and I cheered on the Knights football team. My youngest had his first game of his last year in high school. He is a captain and a leader on the team. I enjoy the first downs and touchdowns as much as I enjoy seeing the cameraderie between my son and his teammates. The Knights won today’s game!

I’ve been football mamabear for almost sixteen years now. My older son who plays in college found the grid iron at the early age of 5. We were living in Texas, where football starts when the kids are barely out of diapers. Actually, it was in kindergarten, and it was only flag football, which is more like a game of tag at that age. The pads did not go on until 2nd grade. In Texas I began my days of cheering as football mamabear, wearing Dragon spiritwear, putting a sign in the front lawn, and ringing a cow bell when we were driving down the field for a touchdown.

While I went crazy in the stands with the other parents, my husband volunteered his time as a coach.  His team of 3rd graders won the Super Bowl in our area. It was a family affair those Saturdays. My daughter cheered, two sons played on two differrent teams, and then the oldest rode his unicycle around the track of the field. I love the football season of fall. It starts out hot and sweaty in those first few games, then by the playoff we are bundled in sweatshirts, coats, gloves, and hats. I love the change of the leaves on the trees as the season progresses.

Our college age son plays his football game this Thursday night. Instead of driving a few hours away, as I did for today’s game, we will be flying to New Orleans for his game. I have made arrangements for Koda and Summer.  I’ve got my black and gold spiritwear set out. I am ready for some more football!

 

There is a chair in our house that holds a very special place in my heart. It is the yellow velvet swivel armed rocker. We got the chair before we ever had our first child. In the early 1990’s my grandfather had several pieces of furniture he was giving away when he was updating some rooms in his home. I swooped in and got two single beds with thin, stiff, bright yellow coverlets and this matching sunny chair. It was in top condition at the time, not a smudge or sign of wear. It would have been quite expensive at a store as it was a high end swiveling rocker with yellow velvet covered buttons and a skirt.

The yellow chair has lived many years with us, moved into seven different houses, coast to coast, north to south, and even to Texas. The yellow chair started in a guest room and then found it’s way into each child’s nursery. Our firstborn had a room decorated with light blue baby lamb wallpaper with an accent of little yellow bows on the lambs. This tied the yellow chair perfectly into the decorating scheme. I remember many mornings, afternoons, evenings, and middle-of-the-nights sitting in the chair, nursing, burping, and rocking our son to sleep. I can sit in it now, feeling the smooth velvet, rock a little, close my eyes, and be right back in Southern California soothing my tired three month old son. His head turned sideways near my shoulder our chests pressed close, heart to heart, singing, “I see the moon, the moon sees me, the moon sees the one that I long to see, so God Bless the moon and God Bless me, and God Bless the one that I long to see.”

Today the yellow chair shows signs of age and experience. There are two covered buttons missing. The velvet has rubbed thin in several spots. The right arm has a tear and loose threads. Different small stains can be found around the skirt. The yellow is not as bright as it once was, revealing a weathered darker shade in the corners. If I happened upon the chair in this condition at a second-hand store, I would pass on it, because it would have been someone else’s living that was soiled onto it. But here in our house, I do not see a dingy yellow chair that needs to be reupholstering. Instead, I see the my motherly spot where each of my four babies were snuggled from birth until toddlers. I see the fancy yellow swivel chair that came from my grandfather’s elegantly decorated guest room. More often than not, I see Kitty curled up in a ball nesting in the cushion of this special chair. Cats are very perceptive, I believe Kitty can sense the love and comfort that has surrounded the yellow chair. She could sit in any soft spot in the house, and she chooses this yellow chair.

Many articles of clothing and pieces of furniture from when our kids were babies were stored up in the attic or given away long ago. As life progresses we move on, buy larger size clothes, bigger beds, change from lamb wallpaper to football posters. The small trinkets like the Peter Rabbit music box I played during diaper changes or the nesting boxes sit high on my book shelf. When they happen to catch my eye they are little sweet reminders of my early days of motherhood. But a day does not go by that I do not pass through the room with the yellow velvet chair, sit in it to fold laundry, or pet Kitty on my lap. I am grateful for the twenty-five years the yellow chair has given us, and I have no intention on letting it go anytime soon (or reupholstering it).

Well, I guess I am not as good a juggler as I had thought. I opened my eyes this morning and it hit me, “I never posted a blog entry yesterday.” That dissapoints me greatly. I haven’t missed a day since I started this blog back in June. It’s not like I was going for a “streak” like the kids are so crazy about with snapchat. It’s more that I made a commitment to myself to at least put something out every day. There is no excuse (even though I have a bunch I could list), I am sorry I did not get a post up on my blog yesterday. I guess it is a reminder to myself to pay closer attention as I am multitasking. Or I could also consider just giving myself a break once in awhile. If you missed my post yesterday that’s great, it means you look forward to reading my blog. Thank you.