The Sandwich

I don’t know who coined the term sandwich generation, but it’s a very appropriate description for Alan in this stage of his life. As a late-in-life Daddy, he is busy raising little ones while at the same time caring for his 96-year-old father. Paul, my father-in-law, doesn’t live with us. He lives in an assisted living center in a neighboring town. However, he does require care from his family that he obviously didn’t have to rely on 20 years ago. For 96, he is doing very well. He is still mildly mobile, and somewhat cognitive, but the years are quickly taking their toll. Last week Alan met his Dad at our local VA facility to walk him through his annual physical and help take care of things that needed special attention. I watched Alan as he juggled his toddler son and his aging father. The similarities between grandfather and grandson are startling. Both require and want lots of Alan’s attention. Each is focused on his independence, one retaining and the other gaining. Both get frustrated easily, and each, in his own way, can have a tantrum. Alan managed both generations with patience and grace. If I had to pick a type of sandwich to describe Alan, it would be peanut butter...he is what holds his family together.

"Watch This"

“Watch this,” a phrase that strikes fear into a Mom’s heart, especially when it comes from the mouth of a toddler who knows no fear. I suppose we should be relieved when we hear “watch this.” Sometimes it’s the only warning we get before Nathan launches himself through the air and into our arms. A miniature Superman in the making. From the edge of playground equipment or straight from the ground in an attempt to land on top of the “puppy pile” of bodies playing on the nursery room floor; either way it’s arms outstretched, smile plastered on his face, soul and imagination soaring! It’s one of his favorite ways to play with us. An unabashed way of telling me and Daddy that he has absolute faith that we will catch him, no matter what. He has definitely sharpened our reflexes.

We all need someone who can catch us when we find out we are not Superman. That person who gives us a soft spot to land when we’ve overestimated our abilities. Someone in whom we have absolute faith will be there when we need them. God has entrusted three little souls into our family, as well as each other as Mommy and Daddy. Only He can grant us the ability to catch each other and give these little ones both the security to stretch their wings and a soft place to land. One day they will fly on mighty wings…one day, probably too soon for us. But if we do our parenting right, they will soar to great heights knowing that we will always catch them when they need a soft place to fall. All the while calling out “watch this!”

For The Love Of A Soccer Ball

I remember when Zac was a very active and physically precocious 1 year old. He and I were browsing through the sporting goods section at a Wal-Mart one spring morning in Las Vegas. As natural as any boy, he was very taken with the variety of balls available. We talked about what sports were played with each different kind of ball, and Zac longingly touched each one. I think most mothers with 1 year olds would have left the store with one of the non-descript kickball-size rubber balls, but not us. We picked out a red and white soccer ball. Not a full size regulation scrimmage ball, but a small one that was just perfect for a budding soccer player. I didn’t realize until that day that soccer balls came in different sizes, which makes sense when one considers that children come in different sizes. Anyway, the clerk at checkout recognized the love of that soccer ball, and she returned it to its new owner as soon as she scanned it. Zac was quiet a picture as he quietly sat in his car seat holding that ball in his chubby baby hands all the way home. He proudly showed it to Daddy that night. The two took the ball with them on their evening excursion. I thought the ball was going to become the new crib companion at bedtime, but at last Zac was willing to part with it only to find it as soon as he awoke the next morning. Zac did become very good with the ball. He delighted in games of keep away with Mommy and Daddy. On the rare occasion when Daddy was out of town, I’d take Zac, his new baby brother, and the ball to the local baseball field where he’d run for hours chasing and kicking that ball with me. There is nothing like fresh air, exercise, and a boy with his favorite ball to raise one’s spirits.

This week we carried on the ball tradition with our second son. It seems Nathan has taken a liking to Zac’s old faithful red and white soccer ball. Zac isn’t ready to pass down his favorite ball to his brother, so, to minimize the strife, we made a sojourn to Wal-Mart in Sioux Falls. There in the surplus ball bin of the sporting goods section was a beautiful, small blue and white soccer ball. Nathan wrapped his arms around it, declared it as his, and only let go long enough for the clerk at check out to scan it and hand it right back to him. It seems like we have the soccer ball love affair repeating itself.