A season without sports

I just can’t help but wonder how we got here.  And if here is a good place to be.  I wonder what we’ve given up, what we’re trading to be here. Not that it’s necessarily all bad.  I just wonder if we ever stop to think about it.

Super sensitive topic, I hesitate and delete and try again and erase and pause and pick it up later.  I hate the idea of hurting anyone’s feelings, and I’m aware that I’m definitely in the minority. But I’ve thought about this for years now and I feel even more strongly about it than I did when we first made some changes back when the kids were in elementary school. Because I’ve seen so many kids grow up, I’ve talked to friends intimately and honestly, and I’ve heard regret. 

And possibly (probably?) I lean this way because the culture in our family isn’t super athletic.  But our background is similar to many of yours.  We did our share of sports growing up (tennis, track, softball, t-ball, swimming).  Our kids have all done sports.  They did community soccer from when they could barely dribble between cones.  We tried karate.  They’ve nearly all done cross country.  One did tennis.  A couple have done track.  A couple have done volleyball.  It’s not like we’ve been on the sidelines.  And yet I feel as if we may as well be up in the bleachers. 

I know I’m out there, but I’m just wondering aloud if we push competitive sports too much in our culture. And if there’s a way to invite them into our lives without letting them take over.  I wonder if we could go back to making it a little less heavy and intense.  What about just for fun? What about going back to being able to play a variety of sports because you didn’t have to specialize in just one?

Most of us are living pretty tightly scheduled.  With a bunch of kids of different ages, I get that.  I’m right there with you.  (Kind of.)  But I wonder if we can ask ourselves and our kids some questions when it comes to their activities.

How important is this to you?

What are we giving up as a family to make this work?

What do you see yourself doing with this in the future?

Do you have time for the really important things in life? Do we as a family?

Do you have time for people?

How’s your stress level? How are you emotionally?  How’s your school work?

Do you have unstructured time just to be?

Will this add joy and happiness to your life?  Is this fulfilling?

Could we achieve some of these objectives in other ways?

What are we learning from coaches that we couldn’t learn from parents?  In other ways?

Is what we’re sacrificing for sports worth it?

Are there other ways you might like to spend your time? Would you consider taking a break to try something new?

I guess I just hope we’re being mindful.  That we aren’t just signing up because we can.  Yes, we may have time.  Dad or mom is the coach, we’re doing it with them. Yes, it may be his God-given talent.  Yes, it may pay for college.  Yes, he’ll probably even play in the pros and yes, if we work hard enough she’ll have a shot at the Olympics.  Yes, we know how much you loved athletics when you were her age. Yes, there are a million great things we can learn from participating with a team and all that entails.  Yes, coaches can be awesome mentors.  Yes, teamwork, commitment, follow through, dependability, life skills, exercise, yes, yes, yes.  But is this the only way? And is it the best way?

What if we worked as a team in the garden? Or to build a greenhouse? Or to build someone else a house?  What if we didn’t have practice or a game and could just go up to the mountains all day Saturday or for family night picnic on a long summer evening? What if we just read a book in the hammock or played tennis with a sister since we have a free afternoon? What if we invited friends over and played volleyball or football in the yard?  What if we used our yards? What if we didn’t have to stick around all of June and could go camping instead? What if we didn’t have to fundraise? What if we used even a little bit of the thousands of dollars (hotels, gas, eating out, fees, equipment) and saved it for college in case, for some reason, she doesn’t end up getting a scholarship? Or used it to go on a family vacation that didn’t require sitting on a soccer field?  What if we didn’t have any idea what we’d do with the extra time and money but we just said no?  Just for a season.  Just to see what would happen.

To be agreeable, I’d say one sport and one music (or whatever works for each family) at a time is plenty for a kid.  Even at that, with several kids in a family, it can still get out of control.  And so maybe we need to ask some hard questions and make some sacrifices. Maybe we need to rotate who can do what each season.  At least while they’re young.  I love the athletics at the schools, with practice right after, close, convenient.  A few games or meets, a short season, doable, I’m in.  I’m also completely fine once they can drive themselves.  But I still think we need to be mindful.  And talk about the impact sports are having on our families.

And this is why I even broach such a controversial topic.  Because I feel like the world is already influencing our kids too much.

Schools have our kids all day and then sports seem to be taking up the afternoons and into the evenings and even spilling over into the weekends.  Social media seems to be filling in all the gaps.  I just feel like to be able to teach our kids and to influence them and to share our values we need to spend more time with them while at the same time allowing them time to figure things out on their own (with more unscheduled time away from teachers and coaches even).

I doubt anyone disputes the fact that our families require our attention.  Look around.  Families are flailing and failing.  And they desperately need us to be engaged in significant ways.  Our kids need us.  They don’t need good coaches more than they need parents.  They don’t just need other young people their age to keep them company, they need to develop strong relationships with their siblings and extended family. More than team spirit and comraderie with girls on the volleyball team, they need to forge lifelong connections with their brothers and sisters who are growing up and leaving home; these are the people who will carry them through life and who will always have their backs, not their teammates from jr. high.

And, to be honest, we simply don’t have time for it all.  I know we think this season is short.  This is temporary insanity.  We laugh knowingly when we talk about our schedules with other moms. It will be over in another month.  Until it’s time for the next sport.  But stop and really play it out.  When do we get back to real life? Are we tricking ourselves into thinking this isn’t real life?  That this isn’t how it always is, that this just happens to be an outlier, just one particularly hard, crazy season.

When we started soccer, it was an hour practice across the street from our house with a short game on Saturday.  When we started karate it was an hour a week.  But then it all started becoming more competitive and demanding and, without realizing it, we were sucked in to more than we signed up for.  What started out as a fun way to get some exercise and try something fun changed over time.

Are we splitting up the family to go to games in different parts of the region? Just to meet up again Sunday as we hit the new week?  When do we have dinner around the table as a family? Maybe Sunday? What about the other six days of the week? When do we have time for leisurely conversation about the mundane, the nuances of relationships the kids may be grappling with, the questions about life and their place in this world?  Yes, in the car.  Yes, while we eat our sandwiches on the sidelines.  Yes, I’ve been there; I lived there for years.  I know how it works.  And it does work.  To some extent.   I just wonder if we can give our kids something better.

Where will they learn the intricacies of working things out among peers without a coach to mitigate every conflict?  What happened to back yard play time or simple unstructured self-directed play with the inevitable, “I’m bored” whine? Why is that something we want to avoid? What if it actually propelled them to get creative and problem-solve and figure out their own fun without a paper schedule to dictate what they’re to do next? What would happen if we allowed or even encouraged loads of free time? What if they got a job? Worked more on family projects? Had more time to serve? Discovered a new hobby or learned a new skill? What if we simply cut back even a little?

What if we just talked about it as a couple? What do we really want for our kids? What role do we want sports to play in our family’s life? Are they enhancing our family life in long-term, valuable ways or are they depleting our already scarce resources of time and money and energy? Do we have time for the cornerstone activities: dinner, spiritual time, un-rushed time to talk, one-on-one one time with the kids, dates? And bring the kids into the conversation.  How do they see things? Is this how they want to play out the rest of high school? Do they have time for everything? Will these sacrifices matter long-term? Are they creating and keeping strong relationships outside of the team? Especially with their family? Will they regret how they spent these years?

And maybe the answer will be, We’re great! This is working for us! We’re thriving as a family, we’re fitting it all in, everyone’s good.  It’s crazy, but in a good way.  This is what our family does and we love it.  And that would be fabulous.  I know lots of families who somehow manage to do it all, kudos!  You’re the kind of family who could run circles around ours, you make me tired just listening to your schedule for the week, I’m in awe.  And if that’s you, carry on!

But I just wanted to at least bring it up.  I feel like our culture has swept us away in a sea of sports options starting very early and becoming ever more intense and involved, taking us away from other worthwhile pursuits and activities, which may include nothing more than a lazy afternoon on the grass and a pillow and her thoughts.  And if we’re not mindful and cognizant of the choices we’re making, we may inadvertently be missing out on other valuable, even critical, parts of life as a family.  I just wonder if someday, even many years from now as we look back on it all, we may have regrets about how we spent the tender, formative, and fleeting years of their childhoods.  And I wonder if we would've chosen a little differently if we had just given it a little thought.

Good, Better, Best talk by Dallin H. Oaks

Snapshots of contentment

A young friend was trying to paint a picture of one of those perfect days, “You know.  Like it’s 70 out and we’re just hanging out on the deck and the kids are playing.”  I knew exactly what she was talking about and agreed that those are some of my favorite days to be a part of.  In fact, I was feeling that way right there at my kitchen table on that lazy Friday afternoon as she was talking to me, early fall, big kids back in school, a breather from all the responsibilities, burdens, and cares we sling around with us as moms, a refreshing couple of hours, just the six of us, no place we needed to eminently rush off to, catching up from what we’d missed this summer, laughing, and just knowing each other.  Splendid.  Of course I know what she was talking about.

Her sentiment has stayed with me this week, and I’ve thought of so many other times where I’ve felt at one with the world and—as my sister always says—in my happy place.

And so I started making a list.  I thought I’d have a few highlights from my life, days that stood up a little taller than the rest.  But after two pages, I realized it’s just life. They’re everywhere.  And every day.

When we pay attention, when we put away our phones and decide to just take a mental shot instead, when we decisively allow ourselves this moment, it’s quite humbling to note how many opportunities we have to feel this quiet peace, this happy-place feeling.

It was noticing Andrew on the wooden swing under a leafed-out summer tree, just talking to his girlfriend in the warm afternoon away from the ears of his family, alone with her voice, warming my heart to its core.

It’s a little time-out, a pause in my day, when my mom or a sister or a friend calls. Sometimes I’ll just sit down at my special table, so happy for some time with my puzzle.  But I’ve also curled up in my plush, brick red chair my dad made years ago.  It’s textured, velvety stuff, still soft and caressing after all these years.  I’ve spent so many hours just cradled in its arms, bridging the span of miles and weeks while I gaze out at the spring leaves or the gathering snow listening to some of my favorite people.  Heavenly.

It’s seeing the kids or my sister so comfy and cocooned.  One of our living room couches is cornered with windows all around it, showing off glittering leaves shaking in the summer breezes or branches littered with first snows.  The perfect napping spot.  I point it out to my visiting sister, who claims it every day, agreeing that it’s the ideal spot for her siestas.  There is nothing more relaxing than the clatter of everyday life going on around her while she rests.  I totally know the feeling.  I feel myself smiling as I settle into my naps there myself.

It was walking along the shore in Oregon, early morning or at dusk.  The seals, the shells, the fishermen, the kids.  Barefoot, carrying our shoes, getting our legs wet as we both avoided and chased the waves.  The sand was warm; the air, cool.  Coming home to our rental and cooking dinner for real and cuddling on the couches.  No distractions or places to go.  Just being together as a family maybe one last time before college started up again.  I paid attention.  And sighed with emotion.

It’s being around to watch the kids do their things.  I’m not a runner, but my kids are.  And so I’ve loved the cross country meets at the lake.  So many trees and fallen leaves, breezes and voices. I just love watching my kids enjoy themselves, to see them interacting with their classmates and friends, to note how grown up they’re becoming, to see them trying to outrun themselves, to be out in autumn with friends.

It’s late nights in bed with Todd watching a movie on our little DVD player.  I know we could go downstairs to the big tv, but this is so much better: cozy, close, nestled, propped up, sleepy.

It’s walking with my mom around the graveyard on early summer mornings before anyone is up.  I have cherished these times for years and years and sometimes it occurs to me that one day it will change. And even though we can’t go as long as we used to, I think I appreciate these slower walks more each time I visit.

It was so many summer nights last year, interspersed with some Saturdays, during which we turned the radio up loud and simply painted the house with our brushes.  All the kids working alongside us, dogs running around, each of us taking a turn on the ladder, moving around the exterior and taking note of our progress.  At the time we grumbled, especially the kids.  And when we had to have all the siding ripped off and replaced, we complained a little more.  But I only look back on those times with fondness (and a little questioning), grateful for the family time we had before Avery went off to college.

It’s long walks with Todd.  I texted him last Friday at work, asking if we could walk around the Country Club later on since we once again had the night to ourselves.  Always up for any semblance of time away and alone together, he agreed.  We meandered up and down the hilly streets, commenting on improvements we’d make if we owned the houses, comparing yards and rooflines.  The sun faded and twilight settled in.  His arms produced little goosebumps, it felt like fall.  But our hands were warm, entwined as they were.  The kids were all away for the night and so we had nothing to get home to but the honey harvest.  We lingered a little longer.

It’s hotel room stays as a family. Todd and me in one bed, the kids all huddled together in the other until it’s time to sleep, all tuned in to Myth Busters or Home and Garden, doesn’t matter, we’re just happy to have tv channels.  We’ve learned to bring microwave popcorn, and they still like to try out the pool and hot tub, even at this age.  A cold and dark respite during a mid-summer road trip or a cozy, soft retreat after an evening walking the snowy small-town streets decorated for the holidays.  I fall asleep easily on these nights, so comforted amid the bodies of all my people.

It’s watching the Alaskan documentary with the grandparents on a late Sunday night, all in agreement that this is what our family does. Not even having to negotiate or ask if everyone wants to watch this, a given. It’s every Sunday night with popcorn and ice cream.  It’s knowing that this is what will happen, just like our Sunday night walk.  It’s having traditions like these as our cornerstones. 

It's making jam, picking raspberries, playing games, walking in the snow, harvesting the garden, eating dinner on the back deck, curling up with a book, cuddling with our dogs, decorating for the new season.

And so I’ve tried to figure out what it is.  What is it about these times, these memories, that create a contented feeling, a temporary respite from our worries and concerns, a wash that centers me and allows me to breathe and remember that this is the stuff that matters?  That life is good.  That it’s not all heavy.  I’ve realized most of these memories were just pieces of regular life.  They were simple times.  Most didn’t cost a thing. Almost all of them were with people I adore; although sometimes it felt good just to be alone.  Easy, ordinary, carefree, spontaneous. An awareness is all it is really. I wonder how it would lift our spirits if, instead of always reaching to take pictures of what we’re doing, we just used our minds instead, if we gave more of our attention to the experiences themselves. I admit I’ve probably missed out on some photo ops, and maybe I’ll wish I had taken more pictures.  But as I recall these random occasions, and so many more just like them, I’m grateful I took note and that I was present enough to have captured the moments forever in my heart instead.

Advice from an old friend

I came home from a week at my mom’s. Her house is muffled and chilled, a soothing and inviting respite from the oppressive outdoor heat.  Scented.  Like Bath and Body Works.  No dishes in the sink waiting for another day.  Manicured lawn. Bathmats so fluffy that they get in the way of closing the doors.  Towels straight out of a Downey commercial.  Even the toilet paper is plush.  The coordinating room sets allow us to name the rooms: the yellow room, the blue room.  Quality comforters an inch or so thick.  Carpet throughout.  All of it feels a lot like a hotel.  The nice kind.

It’s both easy and hard to come back.  Obviously, I love being with Todd and the kids.  I like the quiet of our area.  I feel refreshed, ready to be home where my heart is; it’s comfortable.  But you know what it’s like to be gone on a trip for a week.  You kind of get the chance to look at your life through a new lens, maybe a little less biased, a little more objectively.  So as I took it all in, scanning, taking note, I was surprised to feel a little saddish.

We have hardwood floors mostly.  Our living room is sort of long and spread out; I wondered if my mom’s felt a little cozier.  I like our style because it fits us, but my mom’s is traditional and vibrant, full of reds and blacks and yellows.  Ours is mostly brown.  I couldn’t help but notice how unfinished everything was as I walked around.  Trim is absent or partly finished.  Same with the paint.  Bathrooms are from the olden days (not the cool olden days), all the toilet seats are askew or flimsy.  The sinks don’t have plugs, nor do the bathtubs.  The wood is antiquated and gummed from many previous tenants having primped in these very same corners.  The showers are crumbling and etched from years of well water usage.  No doors on any of the closets.  That was just inside.

The driveway is gravel and dirt mix when it’s warm; a mud hole when it’s wet. An oversized industrial shop with a brown roof and a lighter brown wall set greets new arrivals.  Nothing at all like the shops our friends have built on their properties that coordinate with their beautiful homes.  So, so, so many weeds.  All over the driveway.  Along the shop.  Vines poking up through the cement.  Chickens and their food scraps scattered.  Yard piles and projects everywhere I turned: trailers, old boat frame, pallets ready for the dump, landscaping rocks, shutters that haven’t worked out.  It just all felt a little overwhelming to come to home to my work, to notice the un-done-ness of our property and all that we still had to get to.

I took pictures of what I saw and admitted I just felt tired, not exactly depressed or dejected, just weary.  Imagine my surprise when an old friend quipped back with a short reply, “Don’t be tired. The fun part is fixing it up, enjoy it while it lasts.”  So unexpected.  But I was touched that he would even respond to my whining.  His simple words affected and inspired me, and I’ve thought about them ever since.  Todd and I have always tried to make ourselves feel better by asking each other what we would do with all our time and money if we already had a perfectly finished house.  And we admit that we would rather buy a fixer-upper than have a brand new home; we remind ourselves that we chose this.  And while we plugged as much as we could into our summer days and nights and made headway on some of the projects on our list, it can feel a little heavy thinking about how much we still have much to do.  But every time I find myself feeling weighed down, I think about Mike’s advice.  And I try to remember that it actually really is fun to be able to see the transformation take place, to see the renaissance happening right in front of us.  His reminder motivates me to put on my gloves again and quit crabbing.

I’ve thought about how true this is in so many facets of our lives.  Sometimes we just want to sigh and feel tired.  Sometimes we just want to be done and move on, telling ourselves that surely this isn’t part of the journey we are supposed to enjoy, we want to curse whoever came up with such a dumb line, this couldn't possibly be what they were talking about, this here is just a hiccup in the road on the way to where the real fun starts.

Unless it isn’t.  Maybe the mess, the chaos, the unfinished-ness of it all is ok.  Maybe even more than fine.  Maybe it is the fun part.  When we reflect back on the days of our lives, we recognize that our memories weren’t always comfortable as we were making them. But with a tidy, cleaned-up perspective, we realize that it was in the mayhem and the floundering that we created these cherished recollections we so eagerly try to dismiss in the very moment they’re happening.

Certainly, we’ve lived long enough to know that—even when it’s trying and tiring—we’re going to miss this.   Because when we really think about it, how many days of our lives do we get to nurse or cuddle with a one-week-old? And be up in the middle of the night with our sick three-year-old who just needs to be held and reassured?  How many summer evenings will we really have with our teens listening to an old country radio station and painting the house till dark settles on us?  How many more nights will we have them for family dinners or late-night pow-wows? How many times will all the furniture be in the living room—even the beds—providing the perfect backdrop for a family sleepover?  How many times do we get a fresh start with a yard to do anything we want?  Why do I wish so much of this away, declaring I’m just tired.  He is so right, this is the fun part.

It sounded like I was giving up.  And maybe I’m ok with that—temporarily.  I think every now and then it’s ok to take a night off and regroup; I love those evenings without a project, when Todd and I sit together with our puzzle or maybe a show and some popcorn.  But to be too tired to get back to it all, that’s not the kind of person I want to be.

And so I love that these words would transcend time and miles to bless my life with renewed perspective and peace.  Along with energy and excitement for all that lies ahead in our todays and tomorrows.  We’re nowhere near Bed and Breakfast status, and our projects loom over us like a cloudy day.  But I choose to feel grateful.  For ventures that keep us occupied, for work that unites us as a family, for the ability to decide what we want our home to look and feel like, to watch it all come together over time, and for the strength and ability to make it happen.  The most satisfying kind of tired comes at the end an industrious day as we look back on what we managed to get done.  And that’s just it.  The fun is in the creation, in the conversion, whether it’s a staircase, a flower bed, a freshly painted bathroom, or a relationship.  And as I start again with this perspective in mind, I’m fulfilled as I simply handle what today brings with a better attitude.  I don’t need to wish this stage away—whether it’s dealing with a tough toddler or teen or making my way through college or lean years of early marriage or living without a kitchen or living room for several weeks—I think I'll follow Mike's advice and simply choose to think of it all as the fun part.  Because I know—looking back—this is what I’ll call it anyway.