Last night my soccer playing middle son and I went down to Wolff’s Biergarten to take in the women’s World Cup semi-final game. It was a great match up – #1 ranked Germany vs #2 USA and we, along with the majority of those present, were thrilled when our women were victorious with a final score of 2-0.
The bar was packed and the roars of the crowd were deafening. It was fantastic. There were so many familiar faces and it took both hands to count the number of former students who were present. Time does move on, doesn’t it?
The last time our women’s team won the World Cup was 1999, the same year my middle son was born. I remember we were in Harwich Port, MA and had the game on the little television set which was in our bed and breakfast. My oldest son was two and was completely captivated by the post-game excitement emanating from that small TV perched atop the mini fridge. It was unforgettable.
If England beats Japan tonight, Sunday’s final, a USA v England match on Independence weekend promises to be epic. I hope to be with both of my big guys, Liam the Anglophile and Griffin the baby born in our last winning year, at the Biergarten. Maybe I’ll see you there!
Photos from last night’s match are here.
It began with a simple email. I had seen an article recently about an authentic WWII bomber plane coming to visit Albany and knew two of my three sons would be interested in getting up close and personal with a piece of history. I forwarded the story to my 18 y/o and he immediately responded wanting to know if his 10 y/o brother could be taken out of school for the day to visit the airport. Uh, no, but I agreed to take them both in the afternoon after school.
After checking the now updated article, we drove up to Albany International Monday, arriving at approximately 4pm. We immediately saw the plane on the tarmac and a crowd of perhaps 40 or 50 people. I dropped the guys off while I parked, meeting up with them less than 5 minutes later only to learn that there would not be any tours conducted due to a “lack of time to move all the people through before 5pm.” Apparently the plane had arrived late and had then been occupied with providing scenic and
crazy expensive rides meaning we regular folks without $800 a head to spare would only experience the plane from the outside.
I don’t want to sound bitter or overly annoyed, but I sure am glad it only takes me 40 minutes roundtrip from my home to the airport. I would have been pretty damn irritated if I had made a longer trip based upon the promise of being able to actually get on board this WWII relic. The boys were disappointed but cool, in part I think, because they had toured the U.S.S Slater just 2 days earlier and had so enjoyed that experience. FiFi wasn’t a total bomb, but, it would have truly soared if her visit had been better executed.
Did anyone else get there and have their own impressions to share?
Filed under Albany, Boys, Local
Photo by Quinn Lilly
After some improvements, including a general shoring up, new railings, pressure washing and a coat of stain, I’m smitten with my deck. On a recent evening, in an effort to combine my desire for stretching with my need to be home, I attempted some vinyasas al fresco with mixed results.
I found a yoga station on Pandora and set up my mat, giving myself adequate room to downward and upward dog to my heart’s content. What I failed to factor in, however, was the real dog, namely, Jeter. You’ve seen the videos of humans doing yoga with their pets? Well, the struggle is real and Jeter needs to work a bit on his flow. As for me, holding a pose takes on a whole other level of challenge when there’s an 85 lb. lab jumping on you.
There were three other impediments to my practice, namely Liam, Griffin & Quinn aka my sons. The amount of attention and refereeing they demanded was an irritating distraction to my home yoga attempt. I think in the future, I’ll limit my attempts to times when the guys are occupied with maiming video game characters instead of each other. They really didn’t respect my need for zen!
A half-assed home yoga practice will probably never replace a sweaty 90 minutes of Bikram, but I did do a fair amount of stretching in anticipation of spending 8+ hours on a bus the following day. Despite the challenges, I’ll definitely attempt this again.
How about you? Do you work out at home and, if so, any tips to share to avoid distraction?
With one child headed to college in a few months and another who constantly places clean clothes in the dirty laundry hamper rather than (re)folding it and putting it away in his dresser, I’m thinking it is time for me to allow both of them to enjoy one of adulthood’s greatest responsibilities – laundry. I’m done cajoling them into bringing the dirty clothes to me so I can have the pleasure of sorting, washing, drying and folding their stuff. It’s time.
When did you begin doing your own laundry? If I told you I washed my family’s laundry at the town Laundromat when I was in 3rd grade, would you believe me? Well, it’s true, I did. I have distinct memories of my brother and I walking 2 blocks, carrying baskets of dirty clothes, to the laundromat. I don’t remember complaining about doing it, either. The library was on the other side of the laundromat’s parking lot and I eventually got pretty adept at throwing the wash into the machine, walking to the library for a stack of Nancy Drew books and getting back in time to toss everything into the dryer.
When it came time for folding, the challenge was always the sheets. My 9-year-old arms simply couldn’t extend wide enough to get the nice, crisp fold my mother expected. If I was lucky, there would be some older women nearby who would literally give me a hand, teaching me that complete strangers were willing to help me as I made an effort.
I went downstairs this evening and moved my son’s load of laundry from the washing machine to the dryer so I could throw in a load of my things. A bit later, I
folded neatly placed his clothing into his hamper so I could toss my own stuff into the dryer. Looks like I really did learn a lot from those kind women so many years ago.
…and I’m not talking about like a bouquet of flowers, either. No, I’m talking about good old-fashioned perspiration. You see, I began my Mother’s Day by participating in Fleet Feet’s 10K Classic. The race began (and ended) at Bethlehem Central HS* and the route was fairly rural and mostly flat. It was a small field of runners, but, as my friend Karen astutely noted, a small group didn’t mean that either of us had a prayer of finishing with any sort of distinction. The difference between a 5K and a 10K is way more than just 5K, believe me. The runners we were up against were pretty intense athletes, from my perspective. But, we weren’t there for medals or prizes. It was the promise of post-race mimosas that motivated us.
I really liked this race – we got lucky with the weather with a warm morning with limited sunshine and humidity. There was only one real hill, which we hit it in both directions, but it was well placed at about mile 1.5 and 5. The size of the race was really appealing, too. You’ll never see me at Freihofer’s or Corporate Challenge – they’re just too big for me. I’ll definitely run this again!
As for the rest of my Mother’s Day, let’s just say that teen-aged boys do not excel when it comes to showing appreciation and leave it at that. Next year, I just might follow my run with a ride instead of heading home to cook for the boys. It would probably be more satisfying.
*and, yes, it was weird driving to school on Sunday.
England’s not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It’s the home of police who kill blacks boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that’s why I’m leaving
I don’t want him to be aware that there’s
Any such thing as grieving.
I’ve had these lyrics from an old Sinead O’Connor song kicking around in my head recently. It would be easy enough, and equally accurate, to substitute America for England, wouldn’t it? When my middle son asked me last night why police officers keep killing young black men, I was at a loss. The only response I could articulate was this – Because they’ve done it one way or another for years and continue to get away with it.
I don’t know what it’s like to be the mother of black boys, but I do understand that parenting black children, particularly males, involves issues, that will probably never impact my children. Is this just or fair? Absolutely not. Has it been the reality of our society for generations? Without a doubt, yes.
I suspect that involved and proactive black parents have discussions with their children about how to respond to law enforcement officers to avoid becoming the next Michael Brown or Tamir Rice, a topic I’ve never felt the need to broach with my sons. I very much doubt that a video produced by a young white man would resonate as deeply as this recent viral video created by Will Stack did. The reason? My sons, by virtue of their skin color and not necessarily their behavior, are at far less risk of being approached by police officers than male black teens, a truth that is well documented here.
It’s clear that we have a serious and pervasive problem in our country when it comes to law officers and their interactions with black citizens. There’s another issue, though, that we as a nation need to address – gun violence. According to this report “Firearm homicide alone, and by extension firearm violence, was the leading cause of death for Black men ages 15–34 in 2012…” Just this week in Albany, two teenagers (the same ages as my own two teenagers) and a third male were arrested for shooting three people, one a 27-year-old man, who died of his injuries.
Where are these guns coming from? Where are the parents of those two teenaged boys who have effectively ruined their lives, as well as the lives of the 6 children now left fatherless? Those two teenagers presumably went to the same high school as my sons. Where did they learn that guns were a solution to conflict?
Like Sinead said “These are dangerous times.”
On a sunny day, not unlike some of the ones we’ve enjoyed this week, my water broke and labor began for my second child. Neither of these occurred with any haste – it was more a leak than a gush and the progress of my contractions was painfully (literally) slow. When my red-faced, bald-headed baby boy finally made his debut it was a new day and I was in awe – of both his perfection and the strength of my body. Birthing him was, most definitely, my proudest physical accomplishment.
Sixteen years later this child continues to amaze and exhaust me. I do, however, find myself worrying about him more than I do either of his brothers. His humor, intelligence and charm have provided him with wonderful life experiences. Unfortunately, though, his gifts have also given him the opportunity to avoid truly exerting himself. Ever. Everything has come so easily to this guy…it kind of scares me.
During my run yesterday I was thinking about him and life and challenges to be met and conquered. I thought about all the things I want him to know – about himself and life. Of course, being a teenager, he only ingests my motherly wisdom in small doses and on an as needed basis. Hopefully one day he will come to know all of the following…
- Nothing in life is more important than health and happiness.
- There is satisfaction in doing your best and working hard.
- You have been blessed with many talents.
- Be where you are.
- Don’t ever lose your sense of right and wrong.
- Responsibilities will make you a grownup far more than a driver’s permit.
- You can do anything.
- Take your time figuring out what you want to do career wise. There’s no rush.
- That being said, finding yourself is a self-sponsored trip.
- You may look like your father, but so much of your behavior mirrors my own. I get you.
- Travel and see as much of the world as you can.
- Be honest. In the long run, it’s easier. I promise.
- Keep carrying groceries for old women.
- Never stop giving good hugs.
- Going to concerts with you has been one of the best rewards of parenthood.
- You are loved.