Swing for the Fences

I'm pretty high-strung. Baseball is one of the only things that relaxes me. I love it's predictability, it's symmetry, it's order. Three outs, nine innings. Top and bottom. Baseball just makes perfect sense.

The other thing I love about baseball? Baseball deals hope.

Every pitch is an opportunity. Everyone gets a second chance. You just gotta believe. Even the worse curse can be reversed.

I love baseball. l love the hope of opening day. Every pitch is an opportunity. And if you strike out looking, well, guess what? That just means the pitcher was better than you. And that's ok. Because you'll see him again. And you'll get him next time. And if you strike out swinging, well, guess what? That's ok too. It just means you put up a fight -- you went out swinging. And your mama would be proud.

Every pitch is an opportunity. Swing battter batter swing.

The Prince

It doesn't always work out the way we plan. Accept it? I will. Here's why.

For far too long, I have placed too much importance on my professional accomplishments, and was far too driven, madly some may say, to achieve great things -- professionally. A colleague recently referred to me as "unsinkable" and a former employee earmarked me "an ox". Flattering, isn't it? That's certainly the legacy I want to leave on this earth: an unsinkable ox.

But, that's just work. I'm other things too. I'm a mother mostly, a wife, a friend, a sister, an aunt, a faculty member, a 4th grade classroom coordinator, and most recently a Little League caoch. My mother recently asked, "Did you write the book on time management?" I can only answer, "No." Truth be told, I've never actually written a book ... but it's on my list.

You may be familiar with a gentleman named Machiavelli. He wrote a book, a little piece called, The Prince. It is in this book that the phrase "the ends justify the means" is often mis-attributed: if the goal is achieved the measures taken to accomplish it are justified. Victory! But in life is always that simple?

I don't want to resurrect that tireless debate about working mothers versus stay-at-homes mothers. There are circumstances that compel any of us into any variety of choices, decisions, situations, compromises, and ways of being. I work by choice. And, for the longest time, I worked because it satisfied me. It was the thing that made me confident, it was something of which I was proud, it was a place I went to be challenged and enriched. I like to wear high heels, and work accommodates that. Recently though, I've refocused. I will still choose to work and I'll still wear high heels, but work is now nothing more than a means to an end, rather than the end which I am tirelessly trying to achieve.

I choose to work, not because I any longer need it to define me, but because work is the means that allows me to put my children in a great school. Work allows me to help my youngest son practice his lines and be in the audience when he plays God in the school play. Work allows me to be the baseball manager during his first season ever on a Little League team. Work allows me to never miss a basketball game, a tennis practice, a swimming lesson, or a home run. Work allows me to help with homework and read stories at bedtime. I worked this hard for so long, and for too long, I measured my success in the accomplishments I achieved at work. When, all along, it's the accomplishments I was accruing outside of work that demanded an inventory.

So, now, when I leave work, on time, to clock out, I am grateful. I am grateful for all the things that work allows. Work, a means to an end, not an end of the means.

Work allows my family comfort and stability. Work allows my boys to send care packages to troops we have never met, far from home, keeping us safe. Work allows me to buy plane tickets and college textbooks and kitchen utensils for my stepkids. Work allows for trips to San Juan with my husband. Work allows me to be at baby showers for my niece and basic training graduations for my brother. I choose this. I worked hard for this and I am happy to give almost all of it away.

So, yes, I work and I won't ever apologize for it again. I work because I am among the fortunate few that gets to play baseball with God.

Saying My Piece (Peace)

It's been fits and starts. My husband bears the burden of my uncertainties on his indefatigable shoulders. Imagine if my Atlas shrugged. How would I ever recover my balance? Last week, he asked me if I had been blogging lately. I think he was suggesting that maybe it was time for me to process my anxieties and incoherence somewhere else. He knows me. Knows I need to reflect to make sense and find peace. So, I'm here. Reflecting. Searching for peace. Searching for the piece that always evades. My peace, my piece, my keystone to clarity.

Did you know I love words? The problem with loving in words is that I believe them to be true. I drink words, eat them for breakfast, sing them in the shower, post them, tweet them, text them, blog them, catalog them, speak them, hear them, seek them, absorb them, digest them, devour them, underline them, research them, adore them, and most importantly, trust them.

But words are fickle. Words are dubious. Words are unreliable. Words, meretricious words. Handle with care.

Words haunt me and taunt me through long sleepless nights. Echoes of words -- both those shouted and those unspoken -- tempt me, tussle my memory. All those lingering words hang in the balance. All those words uttered against my better judgement. No restraint. My impertinent tongue does not respond to reason. Not prudent. My voice box is often reckless.

I'll show you my soul with my words. I'll use my words to comfort you, abhor you, praise you, and deride you. I'll use words to express myself, define myself, and assert myself. Words as emollient, words as daggers. Listen, please listen. My words are me at my best, at my worst, my strongest, and my weakest.

So when you talk talk, and I listen listen, just know that I'm remembering remembering. A transcript of words, both yours and mine, catalogued, tagged, archived, and playing forever on the tireless tape in my head. Stuttering, puttering, listing, twisting, weaving, weary, proud, loud, smart, swift, truth, and dared. Words. Yours. Mine. Ours now. In perpetuity.

And when I can't silence it, when the cacophony hits a deafening roar on the inside, a clamoring jamboree, when words have failed me, I muster all my strength and push down harder on those mighty shoulders. Reaching tall, I stand on the shoulders of my personal giant, and he helps me see further, with greater clarity, more forgiveness, less judgement, and higher hope. Hope, "that bedraggled daughter of fear and desire". My Atlas deals me hope. And even though hope is not a brilliant strategy, it is a beautiful word.

Baby, please don't shrug.

ps: credit for this blog title goes to my good friend, Koreen Olbrish. Thanks K!

Taking it All In

We're moving in to November and I figured I better get a blog post off before my birthday hits and sweeps me reluctantly forward, adding yet another year to the passage of time. This hasn't been a typical year and there is lots to consider, plenty on which to reflect, and reflections too abundant to measure. Where to begin and what is next?

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I look around and take inventory of my space.

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I have a beautiful apartment in the middle of what my father refers to as "the concrete canyon". Will I ever love living here? Probably not. But, I can make the most of this area: enroll my children in an excellent school, register them for sports, and find local friends to enrich us with their company. I can also hold on to my home in New Hampshire, visit if often, and think always about its many memories. The love that was shared, the anger that was spared, the relationships that were raised and those that were razed, and the legacy that survives, evolves, and continues. Home.

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I see my children. So much their own people now. Bringing home report cards, batting in home runs. We travel with a giant bin of sports equipment on the back of our car. I have thrown countless pitches, hosted endless fielding practices, punted infinite footballs, blocked, passed, served, volleyed, spiked, tackled, outrun, outwit, outlast. Their childhood. I hope it's enough.

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I see my husband. I am calmed.

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Turning a corner, another year, and the road continues to stretch before us. I'll probably still ignore the posted speed limit. I move at my own pace. Try to catch me. I'll consider the traffic signs and the guideposts, but chances are, I'm going to do this my way.

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I feel the momentum of 35 years gathering behind me. All the mistakes. All the regrets. All the lost opportunities. All of missteps. All of the errors in judgement. Everything I've bumbled, jumbled, tumbled, and tangled. And I see it for what it is. The most imperfect road through the most perfect storm. And I have arrived at the most likely place. The place where I am. And, oh! The places I will go from here.

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1001 Ways to Lose With the Shoes: Just Average July August

I know, I know ... you're probably all thinking that I forgot to write a blog post in July and that I am probably going to forget again in August too. A-ha! NO SUCH LUCK. Suckers.

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I haven't had much time to write blog posts about my boring life, because I have been going cross-eyed grading papers, writing project plans, and trying to decipher the four-page, seven-column, tri-colored, school supply list for my children. I had NO IDEA that one child could possibly need to so many varieties of glue (but no pencil box?), or that it could take fourteen hours in the school supply aisle of Target to locate the last-standing 1.5-inch, soft-cloth, three-ring, zipper-snap-velcro-close, durable, bottom-folder, binder. I'll be honest. I'm not proud. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a 1.5-inch soft-cloth, three-ring, zipper-snap-velcro-close, durable, bottom-folder binder. But I found it.

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Hell yeah, I did.

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In other news, I've been working. Watching way too much "Real Housewives of New Jersey" (did someone say train wreck because I simply cannot look away?), and listening to a lot (too much) American Top 40 (don't even act like you don't have Adam Lambert or Lady Gaga in your iTunes library.).

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Well, it's not all AT40 all the time. I've been digging back, way back, into my old school archives, and stumbled upon this little gem in my iTunes library. Just when you thought you couldn't love Ray Allen more (and I might never be done loving Chuck D.)

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It's also been hotter than Hades out here on the Atlantic Coast this summer (Al Gore, I've got your number. Global warming is for the birds). This heat, combined with my recent obsession with hot vinyasa yoga, makes me think that I have probably sweated out all of my genetic material and every last possible ounce of hydration that my body might have ever hoped to retain. On the bright side, sometimes, after leaving yoga, it actually feels cool outside, when the heat index is 103 degrees with 571% humidity. Also, as widely chronicled on Facebook, I also flipped my dog, popped out a wheel, and somehow managed a fully bound extended side angle. I think I might look taller now.

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How do my boys deal with this heat? Easy. They play Twister on their Twister beach towel, courtesy of Miss Sara who always finds the best gifts everrrrrr. When it comes to gift-giving, she really makes the rest of us look lame.

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I hope this update isn't a tragic disappointment. In the words of Adam Lambert, "Whadd'ya want from me?" Not much to report: It's Just Average, July August.

Just June

Some pretty sah-weet things happened in June. Here they are in random order.

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1.Scott graduated from Basic Training and I got to travel to Fort Benning with my parents, my sister-in-law, and my super-best five year old. You’ve all seen the pictures so I won’t prattle on and on about it. Suffice to say: it was awesome.

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2. I went mini-golfing with my three best dependents, at the most horrifying, macabre, miniature golf course in the history of mini-golf courses. It was so terrifying in fact, that both of my boys started crying in terror, and at one point, I think even Casey almost wet her pants. I did NOT wet my pants, but I did get sprayed, in the face, by a ceramic makeshift poisonous dart frog, and I am quite sure that if it weren’t for the benefit of modern western medicine and inoculations, that I would have contracted quite the case of typhoid fever.

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3. After a rousing day at the darkest putt-putt course in the free world, Casey and I thought we should try to redeem ourselves as, “providers of all things fun” and take the boys to play tennis … which we did. Naturally, as soon as we stepped foot on the courts, the sky opened, and instead of shining the light of the heavens on us, it began to downpour an angry rain. Fear not! We were not deterred! We fulfilled our mission and served up the best game of soggy tennis you’ve ever seen.

Just June

4. I said farewell to a few friends at a local establishment. I am so grateful to all the remarkable people in my life, especially those who put up with me interrupting their jokes (Kelly), hijacking their stories (Jen), and invading their personal space (Allyn) all night long.

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5. My husband isn’t one to leave love notes for me all over creation, but every now and then he reminds me that he loves me too much in history by changing the battery on the motorcycle without his shirt on. Love you too babe, xoxo ~

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That’s a wrap. It’s just June.

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May in a Major Way

This blog post, like many other things in my life, is long overdue. May ended weeks ago, but its memory lives on.

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To start, my mother, my sister, my two nephews, and my two sons took a trip to Ohio to visit my 96 year old grandmother. Nothing like traveling with four dependents, three baseball gloves, two car seats, one double stroller, and a diaper bag to make you think twice about ever leaving your home again. The highlight of the trip might have been my jaunt to the local Super Wal-Mart at 12:45 AM to buy milk and groceries. So many questions still linger in my mind. “Why are so many people shopping at 12:45 in the morning?” “Does that four year old boy really have a mohawk?” “Does that tank-top really only cost 19 cents?” Most of these mysteries will remain unanswered for time in perpetuity, and I just have to accept that.

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We, of course, had a great time. I loved watching my boys playing in the fields that memorialize my childhood. Roscoe village, the bethlehem grange, the ditch, chocolate mountain, the red tractor, the smell of the shed, and the rumble of pebbles under the tires as we pull up to the front porch. The heavy smell of sweet country air, the weight of the sliding glass door as you enter the home, the familiar and comforting cocoon of the low ceiling and narrow hallway, and the eyes of my grandmother. Someone asked me, “Well Jeannette, was it worth it?” Yes. Unequivocally. Yes.

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Other fabulous things that happened in May. The little person that changed my life forever celebrated his ninth birthday! I love this boy so much that sometimes I feel like I am going to crumble to pieces over it. But instead, I decided to demonstrate the depths of my affection. It was simple. I put his name in lights at Fenway Park. And thanks to the Red Sox for pulling it together and winning on his birthday. We had a great trip into the big city, seats right behind homeplate (what’s up Jason Varitek!?), enough ballpark food to last a lifetime, and the memory of the night forever burned into our retinas from the glow of the Red Sox scoreboard, “Happy 9th Birthday Liam!” Yeah buddy. That’s you.

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There was also Mother’s Day (thanks to my amazing and super-handsome husband for making that a wonderful occasion), there was also some moving from here to there, and then back again, two graduations (college and high school), a Memorial Day play, and a commissioning. In short, May made all things possible and the Campos-clan with all its extensions, isn’t looking back. Lock step. Forward march. Confidently, into our futures with the grace of our many amazing achievements supporting us, the fatigue of a month of milestones behind us, our eyes wide open with gratitude, and our hearts eagerly seeking the many adventures that await in this new life that we have crafted for ourselves. I love each and every one of you … so much that I could crumble to pieces.

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