Count Your Blessings

So I took this picture last Saturday after Tucker's first football game as a Dragon. We walked away with a win, me trailing my 4 (soon to be 5) boys and I was lucky enough to be cognizant of the photo opportunity that strode in front of me. I mean, seriously, how often do I have all of them together, headed in the same direction, no one acting like a goofball, for a photo? Not often, so I quickly pointed and clicked. I only got one shot before they realized what I was up to, but I have to say I'm pretty happy with the one I got. So much so that I posted it on Facebook, made it my cover photo, and NOW I'm writing about it. Because as they say (or sing), "every picture tells a story, story." And this is ours:

1. That's my whole world right there, walking to the car after a Win. Count your blessings, name them one by one: Three boys, 2 wins, 1 handsome husband, 0 worries. At this point, I don't care where my cell phone is, how much I weigh, what we're having for dinner, or what time we will get home. Five Kirks in one place= one happy Mom!

2. There's Coach K., obviously discussing the logistics and statistics of what just occurred in the last two quarters he got to see. He only saw the second half because he'd been busy coaching Tanner's team an hour away, and as soon as that game was over the two of them flew like bats out of Jackson County to make it in time to see Tucker. It's hard to keep a proud Dad away from a season opener, even harder when that Dad has coach blood running through his veins.

3. Then there's Tucker, my first born, my baby, y'all, walking next to his Dad looking not too terribly much shorter than his 6'3" dad. How in the heck did this happen? He's blocking bigger kids, catching long passes, tackling on the goal line, and wearing expensive receiver gloves? Weren't we just tossing the Nerf ball in the backyard yesterday? Isn't this the baby who fell asleep in my arms every Friday night as he watched his Dad coach and coax high schoolers to a win? Oh well, if he has to grow up, he's growing into something I'm mighty proud of.

4. And Tanner. Tanner and his team had already cinched a 33-0 win and Tanner had shed his gear for the sake of cooler temps. But Tanner, unbeknownst to anyone, without a command or a reminder from Mom or Dad, acted as the perfect big brother, reaching out to walk hand-in-hand with Tate as we got closer to the parking lot and the danger of cars leaving for the day. How can you not love a 10 year-old who doesn't think twice about hand-holding with his baby brother? Not to mention that he's the same 1 lb 13 oz baby we weren't even sure would be allowed to play contact sports. My heart melts a little each time I look at that shot.

5. Finally, we have Tate, who unashamedly loves Daddy a wee bit more than he loves Mom right now, and even as a 4 year old, he recognizes that the cool place to be is with his Daddy and "the boys." And yet, he, perhaps noticing that Mom isn't in view, looks back to check, not to hold hands with me, not to invite me into their world, but to reassure himself that though he can't always see me, I'm always there. And you know what? I'm okay with that.

Because that right there? That's my world.

Dear Pre-K Teacher,

Dear Pre-K Teacher,

I've only met you once and really know nothing about you, yet here I stand, delivering my just-recently-turned-4 baby to you for an entire school day. That's 7:40 until 2:30. That's a long time. That's breakfast, lunch, and naptime. That's almost 7 hours of his day, and I'm letting you have it.

I know you are a good teacher, a loving and kind teacher. I checked you out. I also know you are busy, that you have 21 other 4 year-olds with specific needs and distinct little personalities. I know you know what you are doing and that you've done it all a hundred times. I know you have great ideas and cool stories and fun things planned for the whole year.

Again, I know you are busy, but can you do me a favor?

When Tate smiles, will you make sure you smile right back at him?

When he laughs and shows his pretty little baby teeth smile, will you laugh with him?

Will you listen to him tell you all about fire trucks and firefighters and ladder trucks and pumper trucks?

Will you ignore the pants he's wearing with the hole in the leg, because they're his favorites and we all know we need as many favorites as possible on the first few days of school.

Will you listen to him tell you how far he can swim and then imagine that sweet little boy in a shark swimsuit as he jumps into the pool full force, legs kicked up behind him and big blue goggles protecting those baby blues?

When he has a rough morning because he's tired, not used to the routine, missing his dad or brothers, will you hug him for a minute or two? It's hard to go from having hugs all day to none at all. Even big kids (and adults) need hug sometimes.

Will you teach him to love school, to anticipate the ending to each story, to marvel at numbers and letters? Will you remind him to be kind to everyone and to follow the rules and raise his hand?

Will you promise me he won't get lost in the crowd? That he won't just become a number or a name on the tag of his backpack? That his distinct little personality will not only be recognized but appreciated. That when you look at him every morning you'll see the fire fighter wannabe, the super star swimmer, the boy who wears a whistle around his neck and cleats on his feet and walks in his Daddy's footsteps as he coaches, patting players on the head just like Daddy does.

Will you see him as the gift from God that he is, even when his boy-ness is almost too much to bear? Will you see him as the blessing he is to us and now to you, even on his uncooperative days, of which I'm sure there will be many? But most importantly, will you love him like I love him, on those days when you are the next best thing to Me?

Sincerely,

Tate's Mom

"Here's to you my little love, with blessings from above."

Okay, so he's not so little, but here's to 14 years of putting up with my cooking, finishing each meal with a "thanks, Babe, that was great," whether it was frozen fish sticks or a crispy pot roast. Of course, he knew when he married me that Rice Krispy treats were my forte, so he was at least mildly prepared.

Here's to walking me through becoming a real football fan, not just a professional tailgater. To turning this what-a-great-catch girl into a bonafide fan who sees holding when the refs don't and notices the awesome block by the "what's his name lineman" that everyone else missed because they were watching the hot shot running back.

Here's to lots and lots of Saturday mornings on baby and boy duty while I met my friend for a long training run. Here's to hauling those same boys and babies to every finish line so that no matter when I crossed the finish line, ALL my boys were cheering for me. Especially the St Jude race when it was still only 35 degrees by the time we finished. Oh, and that Saturday that the Georgia-Auburn game happened to be at the Exact. Same. Time. as the race.

Here's to solo movie watching for more than a decade. Because if there's one thing I'm not (next to a cook), it's a movie watcher. Someone has to come up with a pretty good plot to keep me up past midnight, and so far Bruce Willis and the Diehard crew just haven't done it. And he's Ok with that. Now.

Here's to moving five times and loading and unloading and driving that U-haul pretty much on your own, cause Lord knows, public schools don't pay for a coach's moving expenses. Along those same lines, here's to house hunting, choosing the best, and signing papers for three houses ALL BY YOURSELF in different states, praying the whole time that by the time I saw it and it was ours, I'd love it!

Here's to the teacher and the coach you are. Here's to the grown boys who still call you Coach. Here's to the nights you come home so tired, so late. Here's to the boys at home who wait, soaking up every ounce of you that's left after 15 hours in the classroom and on the field.

Here's to you my Love, for 14 years of living with me, loving me, laughing with me, and listening to me. Here's to 50 more years of baseball, football, and basketball games and practices; of Vacation Bible School and summer football camps; of new houses and new schools; of new babies and grand babies; of more education and bigger jobs; of big trips to celebrate milestones and small weekends just to relax; to starting kindergarten and graduating high school; to all the things that God puts in our future.

Here's to you, and to me, and to the boys who complete our family.

Here's to you, Coach, and today and 14 years of countless good and those all-but-forgotten bad (sorry Tanner--17 weeks in the NICU is hard to forget) moments that have made the days since July 31, 1999, the best years of my life.

Happy Wife, Happy Life

A few days ago, as I was prepping the Silver Sneakers CD and getting ready to hit the mic, one of my sweet members ambled over to me and announced with a 16 year old girl's grin, "Today is our 59th wedding anniversary!" I immediately congratulated them and asked my usual question of all the sage folks in my group: "What's the secret?" Her answer was God, and I couldn't agree more. But as I thought about my handsome groom and our upcoming 14 year anniversary, I started thinking of some of the other little secrets that help to make a marriage work. Now I realize 14 years is a far cry from 59 years of material, but Coach and I must be doing something right. So here goes . . .

Why I Still LOVE Coach Kirk, or how to have a happy marriage:

1. He makes me laugh. Seriously, even if it means watching awful, horrible, terrible episodes of The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, or even Bachelor Pad, he's right there holding the remote, fast forwarding, rewinding through the questionable parts, and calling people douche bags so I don't have to do it.

2. He works hard. Like really hard. He gets a lot of slack sometimes from people who don't understand that because he works hard for our family, I want to fix his lunch, type his papers, and wait up for him after a long game or work night. I've seen too many episodes dating all the way back to Donahue and now Dr. Phil of women who want respect from their men and men who want to be served by their women to know that too many people don't understand that love means doing for others, but we do.

3. He feeds the homeless. No I'm not talking about working at a food bank or a soup kitchen. He actually stops at intersections and gives either money or food to those down-on-their-luck folks whose situations have come to roadside begging. How can you not love someone who loves the "unlovable?"

4. It's not his money, it's not my money. It's our money. Which is perhaps scary to some people, but to me it says, "we're in this together. I sink, we sink. You swim, we swim." I wouldn't have it any other way.

5. He dreams big and encourages me to do the same. Were he not a dreamer, we would never have moved to all the great places we have lived, and never would we have met the people who are now lifelong friends. I probably would never have run a marathon, finished a triathlon, started a blog, or dared apply for a college job. In his eyes, I can do anything. In my eyes, he is my hero.

6. He forgives. Yes, I do things that require asking forgiveness, and sometimes he even forgives me without my asking. That Bible in the front seat of his car isn't just for looks. Every morning he invests a little time to continue becoming the man of God he strives to be, and I am just one of those people lucky enough to benefit from what he reads.

7. He knows how to change a diaper, warm a bottle, and run the vacuum. I know how to mow the lawn, trim the hedges, and kill any spiders, wasps,or snakes who threaten our domain. Point is, nothing is entirely his job or entirely my job. We are a TEAM.

8.He LOVES his kids. He also isn't afraid to discipline them and expect big things from them. He practices tough love, but I've seen him "go to bat" for his kids in a way that puts this Mama Bear to shame. Tag-Team Parenting, we call it.

9. I LOVE to run. He LOVES to bench press the equivalent of a defensive lineman. I LOVE to read books in bed at night; he DVR's Wicked Tuna and pushes play just as I'm removing my bookmark. He does his thing; I do my thing. We don't have to love the same things and be together all the time. It still works. We still work.

And for that I am thankful. I am thankful for the fourteen years, three houses, three (almost four) children, multiple jobs, various cars, snow days, beach days, pool time, sports time, family time we have had. I wouldn't change anything, wouldn't add anything, wouldn't take any do-overs.

And I pity the young, aerobics instructor who asks me in 45 years what the secret to a successful marriage is. Maybe I should go ahead and just print this now and save her the trouble of an old woman bragging on her still-sexy 80 year old stud. She'll probably thank me:-)

Week in Review

Seems like so much funny, good, awkward stuff has happened this week that I should probably write it down. I mean, a week that starts off with the following question from a SS member has to be a good one: " has anyone ever told you that you look like Brooke Shields?" Seeee, this is why I love my job!

It got better from there. I got my official job offer from Piedmont College to teach this fall: Rhetoric and Composition first term and and Literature and Composition second term. I know. I'm a nerd. Billy reminds me all the time. Love this job, too.

Today, after teaching 3 classes, playing tennis, and swimming 20 laps, I wearily walked in to teach my 4th class of the day to hear: "oh you're subbing? I love it when you sub!" I perked right up and I swear my muscles stopped aching. At least for the 45 minutes of the class, anyway:-)

Following the class, one of my members asked about the kids, then expounded on what she saw in Tucker's future: Senator. Hmmm? "Yep," she says. "With that personality and smile (not to mention those baby blues), he's a shoo-in to be a leader of people." I guess I'm not doing a half bad job, based on that assessment of one of my three kids.

On another awkward note, I got my new driver's license in the mail, and after glancing down at it, Tucker says, "no offense Mom, but your head looks kinda big here." Umm, none taken?

And for the big finale, the final she-bang, Tate and I killed a snake. Or, I killed the snake and he stood by and cheered me on as I went all psycho with my shovel. Imagine me huffing and puffing with each thrust, yelling, "Gotcha, Gotcha" until the poor thing coiled up into its severed pieces and surrendered. So far Tate has had no adverse reactions to what he witnessed. Fingers crossed. I thought running a 10K got my adrenaline pumping. That was nothing compared to chopping up an (innocent, I found out later) intimidating creature trying to slither his way into my garage and my life.

So, as summer gets under way, I can't IMAGINE what's in store for the Kirks. No doubt there will be a lot more of the good, the funny, and the just plain awkward. Stay Tuned, Y'all!

"If you bungle raising your kids, I don't think anything else you do well really matters."

I have no doubt in my mind that my mom loved every minute of being a mom, even the rough times. I never doubted that 3 kids within five years was her master accomplishment, her dream come true, her purpose and her gift. I don't know how she did it sometimes; she had no help-- no grandparents, no money for babysitters, only a husband who worked often and hard. But she never complained. I never doubted that finagling private school tuition, carpooling, cooking hot breakfasts, packing lunches, and whipping up Cracker Barrel meals each night was her forte. I once heard an intern at her office ask her what she had wanted to be when she got out of school. Without hesitation she answered, "A Mom." I'm so glad she did.

Yep, I didn't then and I don't now have any doubts that what must have been long years, long days sometimes were all that she had asked for and she wouldn't have traded it for anything. And this Mother's Day 2013, I hope three little Kirk boys will say the same thing.

I hope they know that spending every evening at the baseball field, football stadium, or basketball gym until way past bedtime is so much better than American Idol or Duck Dynasty reruns.

I hope they know that every brown bag lunch I pack is packed specifically for each boy. I take the time to make each one's sandwich just as he likes it, with snacks particular to each T. And when they tell me how good their lunch was at pick up, I feel like a million bucks.

I hope they know that report card day, test score day, awards day are days that make me giddy.

I hope they know that carpooling with elementary school jokes echoing from the backseat makes me giggle more than some of the best Facebook posts.

I hope they know that their sweet faces at night, once they've drifted off to sleep, are enough to wipe the slate clean, forget the "rough" parts of the day, and focus only on those precious little personalities.

I hope they know that every pitch in the backyard, every stray ball to the shin I take, I take with joy. I could pay someone to teach you how to pitch, shoot, or throw a football. But I'm too selfish for that.

I hope they know that folding their first Power Ranger undies to middle school boxer shorts reminds me that time is moving quickly. When I see that the youth large t-shirts have been replaced by an Adult Small, I have to catch my breath.

I hope one day when I've added grandmother to my roles in life, my tall, handsome, grown up boys can look back with confidence and say, "My mom loved being a Mother." And then launch into some great story of the four of us, doing something that at the time seemed small, but was big enough to become a memory.

Tater Tots

Oh Tate, I haven't written about you in quite a while, which doesn't mean you haven't been doing anything blog-worthy. On the contrary, perhaps it's because you are doing SO much these days that I just can't wrap my brain around it all.

I mean, just this week while I was out running and Daddy and the boys worked in the yard, you figured out that Yes! you can pour yourself a bowl of cereal, milk and all. No adult help needed.

You recently determined that cleaning your room is "boring." Unless of course, Daddy has called and there is a prize involved. I have other words for cleaning your room, but I shall keep them to myself.

You have so many favorite songs that it's hard to provide for your musical tastes. I did manage to get a copy of "Apple Bottom Jeans" that we can play repeatedly in the car, atleast until I get my hands on "Thrift Shop."

You figured out how to order videos on my Kindle Fire and now we, ahem, you are the proud owner of 4 new cartoons. I, ahem, am paying the credit card bill. Oh, and I appreciate the impetus to learn to swtich on the Parental Controls. I had a nice long chat with the guy at Amazon.

You like girls! So much so that I'm getting tired and a little confused some days with the amount of role playing that goes on in the car, in the house, and at McDonalds. I guess it was inevitable that with two older brothers sporting girlfriends of their own, that you would choose one (or two) for yourself.

While I was busy watching Tucker pitch strikes and Tanner knock down grounders at shortstop, you managed to trek your bike all the way up the big hill at the ballpark and once at the top, careen down at topspeed, walkers beware. From the bleachers, I could only watch and pray as you hit your brakes right at the fence of the batting cages. Then? You did it again!

But I guess what stands out the most lately is your incessant desire to go to school. I explained to you the process of turning in our papers and waiting to hear if we were chosen for the Pre-K program. However, upon turning them in (the last day possible, no less) you politely asked the receptionist if you could see your classroom now. She just giggled. You, of course, were serious. We haven't heard any news yet, but that hasn't stopped you from asking every day if the school has called.

Don't you realize that if you go to school you can't wear pajamas and firehats and firejackets every day? Don't you realize that lunch at the McDonald's playground will come to a stop? Don't you realize that the teachers will send you home with work to do? Tests to study for? Letters to trace? Don't you realize that you can't nap when you want, where you want, and with the Blankie you want? Don't you realize what this means?

I won't get to help you pick which pajama shirt to wear or whether to wear the red, black, or yellow fire hat. I won't get to hear you talk about what you and Leena played on the playground. I won't have anyone to go to Kroger with me. I won't have a lunch date every day. I won't have to tell the burning building story every day on the way home from the Y. I won't have anyone to point out every Coke truck that passes. I won't have you.

I already had to send my other two best friends off to school. Do I really have to do it again?