If you can't beat 'em ...

Over the last week or so, Ben has shown increased  interest in watching SportsCenter. He discovered fantasy football this fall and is known to walk around the house mindlessly tossing a ball, be it base or foot. All of this serves to further highlight my status as odd woman out. I've never been much interested in sports. As I've written, that attribute has already put me in second place for at least one child's parental affections.

My distaste stems from a couple places. First of all, go ahead and lay in to me sports fans, but I pretty much think watching sports is boring. Watching sports on TV, in particular, usually is guaranteed to make my eyes glaze over. More than anything, however, I simply cannot understand some people's infatuation with, say, how the Packers are doing. Yes, I'm one of those annoying people who grouses about the Packers being on the front page of the newspaper. In the days when I still worked in an office, I hated how a Packers loss could turn everyone's Monday mood sour.

How poetic then, that I would end up in a family of sports fanatics. To his credit, Mark is great about balancing priorities. He loves the Badgers, Brewers and Packers (in that order), but he's willing to sacrifice watching games if something more important arises. We've got a pretty good compromise going. I'll give up watching an episode of "Project Runway" to watch the Brewers in the playoffs with him.

With my sports agnosticism, I couldn't be more surprised by how heart-heavy I felt when the Brewers lost their chance to make it into the World Series. I had gone to three games with Mark this season, including the division-clinching game. I had followed the team, albeit casually. Suddenly, though, I felt myself swept away in a wave of Brewer pride and hope. What had I become? Was I actually caring about a sports team?

OK, so you couldn't really say I'm a sports convert. But it's a step, right? If this is my lot in life, I might as well embrace it. But becoming a Packer fanatic? Forget about it.

My comeuppance is coming at me fast and furious these days

On Saturday afternoon, we and, judging by the volume of cars in the parking lots, roughly 10 percent of the population of the Fox Cities took in the beautiful fall day and decided to head to High Cliff. The picture above illustrates how well it went - Ben's face in particular. Though Gus, in his typical good-humored fashion, had a fine time, Ben and Paul made it abundantly clear that they were in no mood for an afternoon hike.

We hadn't gotten more than a couple hundred yards into our hike before my two eldest asked if we could turn back and go home. Then the whining kicked in full force. Their feet were killing them. They simply couldn't go on. They were dying, literally dying, from the heat and the lack of water. Oh what irresponsible parents were we to have left the water in the car! "We've been doing this for two hours, when will be done?" Ben moaned about 20 minutes into our trip. "Hiking is about the journey, not the destination," I intoned with mock sincerity. Would you guess my wisdom had no impact on how they felt? The ill-fated venture culminated in us beating a hasty retreat after a meltdown from Paul about Gus drinking more than his share of water and furor at me for leaving an oak leaf he really, really wanted sitting on a picnic bench.

Taxing though the day was, I couldn't help feeling I had somehow gotten what was coming to me. At some park roughly 27 years ago, I likely was behaving the exact way my boys did, if not worse. Though I thoroughly enjoy hiking now, back then I remember clearly thinking it was a pointless waste of time. Through my vocal dissatisfaction, I'm sure I successfully managed to quash any and all of my companions' hopes for a Waldonesque commune with nature.

If you haven't guessed already, I wasn't an easy child. I was often sullen, if not downright surly at times. I presented my parent with a veritable panoply of challenges. I was an extremely picky eater. Despite my mom's best attempts, probably more than I deserved, to make food that would appeal to me, I turned my nose up at almost everything. My mom must silently laugh to herself every time she sees one of my boys do the same to me. Paul's tantrums that vex me so? Yeah, I had a lot of those myself, too.

With all the karmic payback that was headed my way, I should have realized that becoming a parent would be an extremely risky endeavor for me. Even with all of that, I don't think any of my kids are as difficult as I was. I guess I should take comfort in the fact that people change, even cranky kids like me. I love hiking, have much broadened my eating horizons and rarely have any more tantrums. ;) Just to be on the safe side, though, Ben and Paul should watch out. You know what they say about payback.

Happy birthday, big Ben!

I guess it's kind of a slow realization, the one that your child has progressed from kid to big kid. The boy who once  needed you for everything from getting dressed to shoe tying is suddenly independent. He no longer needs you to read books at bedtime - he'd rather do it himself. In the pie chart that is his sphere of influence, your parental slice has begun to grow smaller while his peers' share steadily increases.

Ben turns 9 on Wednesday, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around how that's possible. Veteran parents always warn new parents to enjoy the time, that it goes quickly. Mostly, it doesn't feel that way when you're in the middle of it, but milestone moments like birthdays usually work nicely put things in perspective. Those veteran parents are right.

If you'll forgive me being an insufferable braggart for a moment, I must say, Ben is special kid. At the age of 4, Ben taught himself to read and soon was doing so fluently. Soon after, he was able to add two-digit numbers. I wish Mark and I could take credit for this, but we can't. It's all him. At the end of first grade, when we came to the realization that Ben's abilities were outpacing his grade level, we reached the difficult decision to have him skip a grade. What we asked of Ben required a lot of courage on his part. Not only did Ben survive the change, he thrived.

Ben amazes me. He isn't a tall kid to begin with, but being younger than his peers puts Ben about a head shorter than most other kids. But Ben loves to run and play sports. Through his sheer determination, he ensures that he excels in whatever he pursues. It inspires me.

Happy birthday, Ben! I celebrate you today and every day.

I'd like to close with the lyrics to a song, "You and Me" by Frances England. The first time I heard it, it undid me with its simple, beautiful words that capture so perfectly what it's like to bring up a child. I highly recommend you download it, but be ready to dissolve into a puddle of tears.

You and me, happy as can be
Flying through the park on our bikes
On a Sunday afternoon

You and me, rolling on the floor
Practicing your somersaults, cartwheels,
Your donkey kicks and more…

How did you grow so big overnight
How did you get so smart and bright
Yesterday you were asleep in my arms
Today you’re growing off the charts

I’m so proud of you

You and me, drawing pictures wild and free
While the paint goes flying,
Your big smile brightens up the room

You and me, reading books in bed
Your head on my shoulder,
Your eyes on the pages ahead

How did you grow so big overnight
How did you get so smart and bright
Yesterday you were asleep in my arms
Today you’re growing off the charts

I’m so proud of you