Mrs. Woods

Went to a birthday party at Little Gym last night. Trevor spent most of the time "shooting baskets" but got the hang of jumping to a bar, hanging like a monkey and then letting go for a big "drop". He is not really that social (he can't be exactly like me!), he plays in the vicinity of other kids. He's not antisocial, maybe it is just a result of him being an only child with divorced parents so he is used to just being the center of our attention (and...Man, do we give it to him).

This is with the exception of Sophie! They just play right next to each other like 2 peas in a pod. They didn't need to take turns because they just do everything together, at the same time. Sophie is a little more adventurous than Trevor so she would jet off to do something else and Trevor would beckon her like an overbearing boyfriend "Sophie, Sophie"...as if to say, "come back here, you can't leave me". hmmm, we might have to work on how Trevor treats women!

We ARE overbearing parents, God forbid that he ever get hurt while one of us is (or even worse, caught NOT) watching. I know this isn't good for him. I am working on it. Darren has it worse than I do. He is so very protective of Trevor and doesn't have the same desensitizing amount of time that I spend with Trevor where he physically can't be my only focus. I let him watch Yo Gabba Gabba so that I can put on make up if we are running late in the morning. It's a necessary evil, even though we had decided that Trevor wouldn't watch television. But, that was when we were co-parenting and had support for each other at home. The only way that I can be a sane mother is to feel like I can do most things and that I don't have to do it all, even if I am by myself.

Back to the title of this post "Mrs. Woods". No, not THAT one...I am over that chapter in my life and am so happy it's not on TV all the time, anymore. I actually mean the senior Mrs. Woods. More than once, last night, I found myself embarrassed at the attention that Trevor's "talent" brings.  Combine that with the fact that he looks like a mini Brett Favre (minus the scruff) and is the size of a 3 year old and people can't believe it when I say that he is 2.  So, now I say, he was 2 in February....

I think that Trevor is just am amazing mimic-er and both Darren and I enjoy watching him shoot baskets, hit baseballs, catch footballs, kick soccer balls, throw footballs, hit golf balls, dribble basketballs.  Darren has unlimited energy to pay sports with him and he mimics everything that he does.  I can see him imitating his Dad's jump, fad-a-way and he is always encouraged because we say "almost", "close" when he misses.  Missing and hitting it are almost equally as praised.  I admit that just hearing him say "from way downtown" when he backs up away from the basket makes me smile.  I encourage it.  Let's just hope that we stay sane in all of this and that he still loves sports this much when he is good at them.  The dedication that it takes to be truly "good" at a sport almost always kills the love of the sport in a young person.

One of the many reasons I love Tina Fey

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”
-Tina Fey