A Love Letter To Our Boy.

While I was pregnant I read your name in a book and before I saw your face, held your hands or heard your voice, I knew that was who you were. Never a doubt. You are a 'protector of the park' and the hearts of those you love, a fierce competitor and more fierce friend.

You wear your heart on your sleeve in good times and in bad. You love without abandon and it makes others want to love you more. I know that isn't always the "coolest" way to act at your age, but it doesn't bother you to hug us or say I love you. Dad and I are so grateful for you.

Yesterday, you gave us a gift that your Dad and I will forever be thankful for.

The first time you walked onto a tee ball field with a uniform on at 3 years old, we saw your path open up for you. From that day on, you worked hard to get to the next level, always pushing a little harder for that extra step. You made a big leap this year on your regular season team. As the only 9 year old pulled up to the older age bracket, you did well. We were so proud. You struggled on the personal side a little - there's a big difference between 9 and 12 and unfortunately, it showed on the field sometimes. But you fought through. Proud.

When you turned 9, one of the first things you said on your birthday was, "I'm finally eligible for All-Stars!" You got 3 games in your first run. You started with a loss, came back, pitched an AMAZING 2nd game. We have pictures of your team pig-piling on you after you closed out the first inning with a knuckle ball that had the batter so out front, he could have swung twice.

Then there was today. You had to play the other 9/10 team from NK. Brutal that you and your friends were put in the spot that you would have to put each other out. Your team was down for most of the game, but then we got to the 6th inning.

You were incredible.

I was shaking.

You made me so proud, I will never forget those moments.

Two down, down by 3, bases loaded - and you came up to bat. Parker, you smoked a 3-run double out to right center to tie the game. Then you managed to come around and steal home for the go-ahead run.

I've always tried to keep perspective, but I, and any of the parents around me, can tell you - my hands were shaking like a leaf. I wanted this so badly for you, because I know you've been waiting for this opportunity from the minute you picked up a baseball. You got to that moment - "2 down, bases loaded..." and you stepped up and made that magical thing happen. YOU did it.

Proud. More than you know.

Things went badly after that and your team did not end up with the win. Of course, you shed a tear. But you know what, so did your Dad. And that was okay. Because you gave your heart and you left EVERYTHING on the field. I hope there will not be a moment that you look back and do a 'what-if'. You will have plenty more opportunities. I know that you can and will make the most of it.

You commented to me later that you've never seen Dad cry before. He was sad for you. But he shed a tear because you gave so much heart and weren't able to make that win happen. You gave your Dad and me a gift that day. There are not many moments that we get to cry tears of joy and pride in our lives. That was one of them.

Daddy and I will carry that memory in our heart for a very long time. You showed us what you were made of at that moment. And it is something we are VERY proud of.

Advice From Cellblock 98370

Before they were born, I remember floating around in a pregnancy-induced bliss (must've been 2nd trimester), creatively imagining names for our impending children.

I wrote out the options in swirly script, I stenciled them on nursery walls, mocked up birth announcements - "Johnene and Eric can hardly contain the love they feel and must herald along with the angels the arrival of..."

Anyway... our beautiful girl was given the equally beautiful name Maddie Joy and was quickly followed by her adorable, but masculine brother, Parker John. Lovely names, the first literally the emotion we felt toward, well, both the children and the second, an adoring tribute to the many Johns (and Johnenes) on my side of the family tree. Well done us. Maybe.

In hindsight,

after a two weeks of summer vacation,

and two preteens,

I would take a different approach.

Allow me to explain.

Growing up, my brother *lovingly* coined the phrase "Prison Voice" to describe the change that occurred to our mother's voice when she was angry. (As in, "Watch out, Mom's using the Prison Voice. You may want to have dinner at a friend's house.") Not so much a tone, but a growl. As teens and young adults, we belittled it into ineffectiveness.

With 11.5 years of parenting and the aforementioned 2 weeks of summer vacation under my belt, I feel I may have undersold the Prison Voice. It may legitimately have a place in every mother's repertoire. I have used it this week and subsequently have realized it is very hard to growl the name Joy. Hmmm. Who'da thought?

But to all you parents-to-be, I would strongly suggest finding your own Prison Voice long before you stencil that name on the wall and give the moniker a test run in that way. Trust me, no matter what marshmallowy bliss cloud you are floating on right now, that is the way you will repeat that name the most.