#boysmom

It takes a lifetime to tell a story and two lifetimes to tell mine—

Right now it’s in the rough draft form.

Room for edits and spell check BUT no room for the “ducks” in my autocorrect.

I can’t help but think in this “uber-modern” world where we are all connected without even intentional communication it would be the heart of a young man that would bring us all together— just when we needed it the most.

To care about someone else more than ourselves for a change. The purest act of selflessness and kindness… Or maybe just act like mothers on a daily basis.

I don’t know if I ever believed in prayer this way before. Maybe I still don’t but I believe in the human condition and the power of positivity— something that has been missing lately from specific sports who filled their hearts and ours with toxicity.

While I do believe in practicing my religion and the traditions of Judaism, I’m a spiritual person at heart. I’m moved by the things that happen for a reason and the signs of the unexplained…

I’m a boys mommy times two. Ultimately that means a handful of things...

After my sons were born the misconception of every thing is blue (bows) all nicely tied together in the perfect package became crystal clear. Nothing is always as it seems. The imperfect moments are sometimes the most perfect ones of all.

But what it does mean to be a #boysmom is that I will always be a bench warmer— in the best possible way until it is the worst seat in the house. Not just in sports but the game of life.

I guess I could say the same for other mommies who ride the sideline with a perpetual raspy voice from cheering like a high school cheerleader at an away game. When I chant my sons names at their sporting events I’m always right there “praying” they make the shot, score the goal or achieve the victorious result of their hustle. Any boys mommy will tell you the difference between us and a pep rally is I don’t need Pom-poms to get the energy flowing.

Last Saturday, after an almost heartbreaking  start to a new year, I sat on the staircase bleachers across the fourth wall of a local catholic school gymnasium to watch a long afternoon of inter-mural elementary school basketball. The mixture of incandescent lighting, polyurethane wood floors, smell of pre-teen sweat, a din of echoed chatter, a religious cross in one corner and my heart and soul in the other — from hoop to hoop — full court— the banners and the wins and accomplishments— hung and draped like my hopes and my sons hustle— in the air proud for all to spectate. My son swiftly raced back and fourth and the dribbles of the basketball matched the rhythm of my mommy heartbeat as it swiftly raced outside my body.

With each opportunity I “prayed” for him, as I know he was doing the same, he would make his basket. “ The one shot you miss is the one you never take”— or something like that…

And there in that second of time, the one where I forgot to take the picture for the scrapbook I forgot to make,— he did it! Nothing but net and swoosh, the overly loved basketball, the white string danced a tango with the orange metal rim and the memory of the moment and his face were forever etched on my heart. In that moment I felt the electricity of the human condition. We locked eyes and smiled a kindred smile— mommy to son, son to mommy. The loudest unspoken words we will share in that moment. It was deep and heavy and I felt a rush through me.

All I ever want for my two sons is to feel proud of themselves only matched by my pride in them. Equally the same about love. It’s actually not about success. His team could have lost the game (they didn’t they won) but the win was in the heart and the hustle not in the final score.

It know that those points that lit up in red on his side of the scoreboard belonged to him was out of this world.

I yelled…

I screamed...

I cheered...

I think I cried, too…

And most of all I cherished being in the best seat of the house. #boysmom

As we travel through the healing process all new years, new beginnings and new leases give us, we must hold onto the moments that are hard to explain and impossible to forget. How hope is all we sometimes have when we fear the worst.

“Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” - Shawshank Redemption.

January has been heavy. Heartbreaking and ultimately beautiful beyond measure.

It’s been a wild start to 2023– but in the end I wouldn’t have it any other way…

This post is dedicated to Damar Hamlin, The Buffalo Bills and all the boys and girls (young and old) who play “their sport” any “sport” with their hearts and to the mommies who hold their hearts sitting in the best seat in the house.

My sons and I watched the moments during and after and “prayed” for you. We cheered for you and your team win the biggest game of your lives.

In my opinion— a true champion is the winner of the largest heart and most importantly what they do with it 🫶🏻🫶🏼🫶🏽🫶🏾🫶🏿