Category Archives: My Little Jocks

Soccer and sirens don’t mix: my trip to the ER

Posted on April 23, 2013 | 5 comments

So this happened this week.

bos sports injuries ambulance

My 13-year-old son, Jacob, was playing goalie in a soccer game and got injured punting a ball. When he flung his left leg into the air to kick, he says he heard something pop and immediately fell down to the ground. When he tried to get up, the pain was so severe he couldn’t move.

I was at the game with my 7-year-old, Eli, but Wilson was at 9-year-old Aden’s soccer game in another town.  I felt a sense of dread as I watched the coaches kneeling next to Jacob trying to assess the injury. I willed him to get up– as I have hundreds of times before– but when he didn’t, I jogged over to see him.

He was weepy and whimpering, grabbing his thigh and stamping his fist on the ground in frustration.

I felt helpless.

Jacob told the coaches that on a scale from 1 to 10, his pain level was a 9. When they asked to carry him to the sidelines to rest, he winced and said he couldn’t move. Although he was able to wiggle his toes and it didn’t look like any bones were out-of-place, none of us wanted to move him.

With Wilson gone, everyone was looking to me to decide whether we needed to call an ambulance.  Although I worried about whether it was necessary, I didn’t think we had any choice since no one wanted to move him off the field without knowing the extent of the injuries.

A policeman, a firefighter, and an EMT were at the field within a few minutes. The EMT checked his hip and legs and asked him many questions before gingerly putting him on the stretcher. When I looked over at the other parents,  I could feel their worry, which made my heart sink. My gut feeling was that he was fine, but the gravity of the situation was humbling. A bunch of thoughtful soccer moms gathered Jacob’s bag and my purse and many offered to take Eli. As I spoke to them, the conversation felt out-of-body and cloudy.

My friend, Tami, said she would take Eli in my car and meet us at the hospital while I rode with Jacob in the ambulance. It was a quick and quiet ride and although all the color had drained from his face and he looked like he was in pain, I could tell he was already feeling better. The emergency guys were so sweet and easy with him, they set a tone of calm that I needed in the surreal experience. (They were also very cute and in spectacular shape, but I digress.)

boys sports injuries hospital

My friend Tami stayed with us the whole time. She’s a keeper.

After about two hours in the hospital– spent mostly waiting– he had X-rays and pain medication and they determined he had no broken bones but likely strained either his groin or thigh muscle, or both.

We were grateful it wasn’t anything worse– especially since he just started spring soccer and baseball season. The hospital gave him crutches and told him to rest for a few days.

I was relieved. Jacob– like any normal teenager– was annoyed and frustrated that he can’t move easily or play sports with his friends and teammates.

It was my first time riding in an ambulance, but my boys have been in the hospital at least 6 times. I guess it’s par for the course with 3 active boys– but it’s not something I’ll ever get used to. Do moms of girls make as many visits to the ER?

That brief moment of worry and seeing really sick people in the hospital was a reminder of how lucky we are to have healthy kids.

One of the silver linings of the experience was how Jacob’s brothers rallied around him when he was hurt. On the way to the hospital, Tami told me Eli kept telling her to drive faster and was rubbing his hands together repeatedly muttering “Please, don’t die, please don’t die...”

She pulled over and explained to him that that was not going to happen and once Eli saw Jacob sitting up in the hospital, he felt much better. Aden rushed into the house as soon as he got home from his game and blew past me to get to Jacob’s side to make sure he was ok.

Despite the typical bickering, jealousy, and indifference, those boys love each other.   Sometimes it takes a strained muscle to drive that home.

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Posted in Joys of Parenting, My Little Jocks, What's Up Doc? Crazy Kid Emergencies

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ESPN’s Mike Greenberg masters girl talk in new book

Posted on April 9, 2013 | Comments Off on ESPN’s Mike Greenberg masters girl talk in new book

I like it when people surprise me.

When I chose a book by ESPN’s Mike Greenberg to review for the Associated Press, I figured it would be about his life as a sports journalist and family man. But that was his best-selling first book: “Why My Wife Thinks I’m an Idiot: the Life and Times of a Sportscaster Dad.”

Greenberg’s latest effort is a novel. Interesting, I thought. A guy who spends all day on a microphone at ESPN radio talking about guy stuff is trying his hand at fiction. I was intrigued, but maintained low expectations.

But Greenberg delivers.

all you could ask for mike greenberg book review

His first novel is told in the first-person voices of three women– between 28 and 40-ish– and he absolutely nails a feminine sensibility. His characters are relatable and his writing style is intimate, engaging, and often funny.

Unlike his co-anchor, Mike Golic, of their radio show”Mike and Mike,” Greenberg is not a former athlete-turned commentator. The author has a masters degree from the prestigous Medill Journalism school at Northwestern University and has covered sports for ESPN for more than 16 years.

So he has the potential for writing chops, but pulling off a story about three smart, strong-willed women facing huge life challenges is no easy feat. The first half of the book focuses on where the women (who don’t know each other) are in their lives and in the second half, they are all diagnosed with breast cancer. They meet on an online cancer support group and help each other cope with the realities of illness and facing mortality.

Mike Greenberg ESPN photo

The book is well-written and celebrates women, respecting all their complexities. It’s about friendship and finding meaning in your life right now.

Greenberg is married with two kids, and has a personal connection to the breast cancer storyline.  He was moved when his wife, Stacy, and other friends rallied around their friend, Heidi Armitage, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer several years ago. After Heidi died at 43, Greenberg and his wife started a foundation called “Heidi’s Angels” to support breast cancer patients.

Greenberg is also donating all the author proceeds of the book to the V Foundation for Cancer Research. So he’s a guy’s guy, a girl’s guy, and a nice guy.

What a pleasant surprise.

Read my review here and let me know if you would read the book. It’s a natural book club choice.

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Making sense of the male mind

Posted on January 10, 2013 | 5 comments

The other day I was in the car with my family driving to my son’s basketball game. Three of my 12-year-old son, Jacob’s  friends (who are not on his team) were in the car too because — for reasons that escape me–  these boys enjoy spending every Saturday watching their friends play sports, as much as they like watching professionals on TV.

As we’re driving, one boy asked Jacob which team we were playing that day.  The conversation went something like this:

Sam:  “Dude, who are you playing today?”

Jacob: “We’re playing Ridgefield and we’re going to kill them!”

Avery: “Remember last year when you played Verona in the semis and they had that really tall kid?”

Jacob: “Yeah, we beat them and screwed up their season!”

Sam and Avery: “Oh yeah, that was sick! Wasn’t that the time Brandon went off and you had a ton of assists?”

Jacob: “Yeah, we beat them 53-50 and messed up their perfect record.”

Then my 9-year-old, Aden chimes in with yet another minute detail of a game that was played a year before, in another town.

the mind of a boy

As the mother of three little jocks, I should not be surprised by the level of minutia these boys remember about a sporting event. They spew stats and plays at each other all day long. On one level I’m impressed by their passion and commitment to sports, whether stockpiling information on their favorite pro teams or their own.

But what struck me that day in the car is that these are the same boys who can’t remember where they put their shoes 12 hours ago. The same squirts who lose track of their homework  somewhere between the kitchen table and their backpack 4 feet away.

I don’t get it.

Sometimes it’s baffling to live in a house full of males. They have their own shorthand that I will never understand. And their minds all seem to work the same way.

They could be late for school or practice and stare at a coat closet for 10 minutes, wondering why they’re there….and then wander off to kick a ball of some sort, without a care in the world about the task they just forgot.

If you ask my 9-year-old to locate something– say a hairbrush in his room– he’ll go up there and look around for 15 seconds before screaming “MOOOOOM I can’t find it.”

When I get upstairs, said hairbrush is usually in a drawer or under a pile of clothes. They take “looking” literally. They just glance around and never actually pick things up or open a drawer!

Wilson’s not much better. If I had a buck for every time he said “Have you seen  my…..” I’d be able to pay a butler to find things for him. But he can tell me the score of a Super Bowl game a decade ago or describe the comeback of the ’86 Mets as if it were yesterday.

Jacob can rattle off the stats of his favorite player on the University of Michigan basketball team on cue. He can tell you about Trey Burke’s unbelievable run, including his average points (18.6) and assists (7.3). He can also tell you what he ate for dinner on a vacation we took two years ago. But somehow he can’t remember to put a napkin on his lap when he eats.

They’re odd creatures, those little men of mine.

Maybe someday they’ll get a glimpse of how I see the world if they have the pleasure of living with a woman, or parenting a daughter.

I hope they do. Who else is going to find the hairbrush?

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Kid Clothes: Why I Sweat The Sweats

Posted on October 7, 2012 | 9 comments

This weekend, the family and I went to the Giants game. Wilson’s brother works in media and gets amazing perks that often land us in box seats at sporting events that we would never able to swing on our own. Call me old-fashioned, but I still think there are certain places where you should dress like a decent human being and the CBS 50-yard line skybox at Met Life Stadium is one of them.

When my delightful boys (ages 6, 9, and 12) got up, I told them I wanted them to wear jeans for the game. 6-year-old Eli put on his adorable skinny Levi’s without hesitation, but my older boys refused.

You would think I had asked them to wear a tuxedo.

The whining, yelling, and near tantrum behavior that ensued was ridiculous.  I was okay with the Giants jerseys on top but wanted them to step it up a notch and leave the synthetic shorts and sweatpants at home. “But Mooooom….it’s a sporting event, so why can’t I wear sports clothes!” they wailed.

I’ve been in these boxes before and they’re not like the bleachers. While there may be a few people in sweats, most wear jeans and some dress up more than that. The skybox crowd can look like they stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog in blazers, designer shirts, loafers, boots, etc. and I didn’t want my kids looking like slobs.

I held firm against their loud complaints and pouting, and tried to ignore them. But they wouldn’t let it go. They goaded me into arguing until I threatened to stay home with anyone who was not wearing jeans when it was time to go. And I meant it.

Somewhere between their indignant insults and stubborn defiance I dug my heels in and wanted them to understand that listening to their mother– whether they agreed with her or not– was not an option, but a demonstration of respect.

We’re talking jeans here people. Not a tutu.

When 12-year-old Jacob realized he had lost the battle, he changed and then spent the next half-hour bellyaching about how “uncomfortable” the jeans were to wear.

“Look at how baggy and wrinkly they are! They feel horrible!” he yelled.

I’m flabbergasted at how these kids have rejected jeans in favor of sports pants and actually believe they are fashionable. As I told my boys, I hold my tongue every day when they come downstairs for school wearing baggy shorts or sweats and an oversized t-shirt emblazoned with a sports team or logo that doesn’t remotely match.

I let them wear whatever they want to school and on weekends with their friends, even though I often think they look like vagabonds. A few times a year I ask them to put on a pair of structured pants and a nice shirt, and they give me grief.

And while we’re on the subject of kids couture, what is up with the sports socks and slides trend?? I HATE  that look. These boys are quibbling with me about what’s cool to wear when their favorite footwear makes them look like an 85-year-old Florida retiree.

Ironically, when I asked them to dress up for temple for the Jewish holidays, they donned dress clothes without fanfare. Here’s 9-year-old Aden looking handsome, posing in fancy clothes  (although note he refused to wear a belt!)

That was okay…. but jeans, no, no. In the enigmatic mind of a boy, khakis are smoother and more comfortable than jeans, which are apparently akin to a strait jacket.

But I prevailed.

They wore jeans and looked nice and I felt sheepishly proud.  But they were bitter and I earned the title once again of  “meanest mom in the world.”

Sometimes I’m okay with that.

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Team Sports Pictures: A Flash in the Pan?

Posted on September 29, 2012 | 3 comments

Wilson and I spent today running around trying to get our boys to three soccer games, a baseball game and three sets of team soccer photos. Wilson was the hero– putting scores of miles on the car to make sure someone was on the sidelines cheering for 12-year-old Jacob and 9-year-old Aden. I stayed closer to home to watch 6-year-old Eli.

We showed up to appear in team photos, but after many years of youth sports, we boycott the photo packages, and I feel great about it.  I wrote a Carpool Candy column about it in 2010 and thought I’d provide an excerpt as food for thought.

” I spent 30 chaotic minutes this week in the middle school gym as my six-year-old had pictures taken for his baseball team. If you’ve ever been to a children’s sports photography shoot you know they are as organized as a two-year-old’s finger paint canvas. No one knows where to go… this one lost his hat… that one has only one sock….and only a third of the parents there have filled out their forms.

I’d rather see them dirty & sweaty with trophies than fake smiles & a background!

So as I stood in line with the other frustrated adults, dripping with whiny, hungry children (it’s usually called right in the middle of lunch or dinner time) I wondered why I bothered at all. I take pretty good pictures myself. I attend practically every game and take action shots of my kids swinging a bat, making a catch, or getting dirty in the dugout. My prints are a hundred times more captivating than a staged headshot with a fake background. And how hard is it to gather the team together following a game to get a group shot?

Yet every year, I fork over at least $17 for four mediocre pictures of my kid in uniform. I have three kids who all play soccer, and two play baseball so that’s five sets of unnecessary phony flashes at a minimum of $85….in just this year alone.

This photo has more heart than a staged one

Why do we do it? It certainly isn’t to have a professional shot of my kids to remember what they looked like at every adorable and awkward stage of development. That’s what school pictures are for.  Those cheesy mugs are a rite of passage. You want to be able to look back at yourself and remember who was in your class each year, and, of course, what trendy outfit you wore. I still have my baby book filled with wallet-sized shots of me all dressed up, sporting a gap-toothed grin or poofy hairdo. (Oh to behold my large, pointy-collared plaid dress in second grade or whale turtleneck and headband in eighth.)

In the past, we’ve purchased the sports packages so we could send the prints and trading cards to our out-of-town relatives. But when it’s so much easier and more efficient to email pictures and/or share them on a photo site, snail mail seems like a colossal misuse of time.

So if taking the sports pix are not for nostalgic or family reasons…aren’t they just another example of gluttonous waste? Do we really need another set of stilted portraits sitting in our drawers when we have better shots of sliding into third…or faces dripping with chocolate ice cream after the game? Those are the ones that capture the moment and make you smile.

We happily ordered the most decadent packages for Jacob when he was young, won over by the newness and the sight of him in that adorable outfit and his miniature cleats.  But now the excitement’s worn off.

Not bad for an amateur!

Maybe every team can start a sharing website at the beginning of the season. I would volunteer to take a team picture and email it to all the parents on the team. If every team could find one volunteer to do the same, we could use all that extra money towards something more valuable to the sport like fixing the fields, improving equipment, or contributing to a fund that covers the season costs for those in the community who can’t afford it.

Let’s shake things up like a Polaroid picture and just say no to sportography!”

What do you think? Do you still purchase the sports pictures? Tell me in the comments.

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I’m So Over the Olympics (But I Still Love America)

Posted on August 12, 2012 | 4 comments

Olympics closing ceremonies? Are the games done already? Say it ain’t so!

What I really mean is…..WOOHOO!!!!!

I no longer have to pretend I care about medal counts, beach volleyball, or Ryan Lochte. My TV won’t be clogged up with athletic feats by superhuman people who make my 4-mile runs and yoga classes seem like the hobbies of a lazy slob.  Perhaps now people at work and parties and the grocery store will forget about Michael Phelps’ gold rush and the triumph of women’s soccer.

I’m not a sports fan to begin with so two solid weeks of sports — some as obscure as judo, synchronized swimming, and water polo– is Olympic overload. (Entertainment Weekly’s site had a funny article about WTF sports in the Olympics you can check out here.)

I live in a virtual locker room with three little jocks led by one giant sports fan. If I can’t grab onto anything regarding baseball, football, or basketball at home, it would be insane to think track and field or badminton would hold my attention. I know there’s the drama of getting to know the athletes’  back stories before watching them attempt five minutes of excellence after years of training. While I like drama, it doesn’t make me care about the competition.

I did enjoy the opening ceremonies– especially Paul McCartney belting out “Hey Jude” and thousands of people echoing his na na na’s. I also admit to  enjoying the U.S. kick ass in gymnastics.  Those girls were perfection.

But the rest of it I could leave.

I’ve felt this way for the last two weeks but was afraid to say it out loud, fearing some government suit or sports-loving neighbor would come snatch my citizenship. Not liking the Olympics is like not liking the Tooth Fairy, or rainbows, or puppies. I hate being the killjoy so I’ve just been faking interest to get by.

But now the jig is up and I can go back to being my sports-spurning self. It’s liberating to have this space to vent. Anyone else want to admit something ? I promise not to judge– in fact I’ll give you a perfect 10 for honesty. Tell me in the comments. I’m all ears.

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Advice for Soccer Parents: Practice Manners

Posted on June 11, 2012 | 5 comments

Pardon the deluge of sports topics this week. I am knee-deep in practices and games so navigating this sporting life is top of mind.

I highly recommend all parents of soccer players read this blog I found in the Wall Street Journal.  10 Things Soccer Parents Should Know is one of those no-duh articles with advice that makes complete sense that parents often ignore.  Read it here.

Aden Kickin It

As I have said in this space before, I am not as invested in my kids winning as some of the other parents I encounter because I ‘m not as engaged in sports. Wilson and my boys could tell you details about games they played 3 years ago– who was on base or in goal, the pitch or foul count, the weather — but somehow can’t remember where they took their cleats off last night.

The scores and plays are lost on me, but I can tell you the times they refused to speak to me in the car for 45 minutes on the way home from a loss, or were on a natural high of winning and ice cream that kept them rehashing highlights for days. I’m always more concerned with their moods than their records.

The list in the WSJ blog comes from someone who has seen it all as a coach for 22 years.  It’s critical of certain types of parents, but his message rings true.

I don’t think I’ve ever yelled instructions to my kid during a game. If I did, I’d look like a blockhead: I don’t have the first clue about what they should be doing. But I’ve witnessed almost every situation he describes, from my canvas chair on the sidelines.

I love how he ends the piece with “All the meaningful work is done in practice.” That seems logical and a good mantra to tell your kid on those days he/she doesn’t want to go. But it also reminded me that parenting is about practice and every game is an opportunity to practice being the best athletic supporters we can be.

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Crying in Baseball Part 2

Posted on June 6, 2012 | 4 comments

Wow! You never know what’s gonna set people off but apparently my last post about my 9-year-old son, Aden, crying after losing his baseball game touched a nerve.

My goal was to describe the epiphany I had at Aden’s game last week. His team was one strike away from winning and went on to lose the game, sending my son– and several others–  into tears ( you can read  post and comments here.)

Aden brings intensity to the mound

I got several positive responses from parents who related to the issue. One mom even read the post to her kids after a different loss last night.

The point of the post was that instead of being troubled by seeing Aden (and all my boys for that matter)  upset when he loses, I realized it’s a good thing that he’s so passionate about sports.

But the moral of the story was muddled by the details I revealed to get there.

One family friend — who clearly once had  sons who were umpires or is perhaps a representative of the illusive Teenaged Umpires Union– criticized my perception of the ump’s “bad call” from my bleacher seat, and suggested I refrain from such judgments in the future.

I received other comments and emails suggesting my version of the story was one-sided. One email pointed out that Aden’s team had as good a chance as the other team to win but couldn’t make it happen. A friend and so-called “Candy” fan even claimed I was the cry-baby for complaining about the call.

Jeez.

Of course the post was one-sided. It’s a blog! It’s my opinion of events.

But it did bug the journalist in me that I had reported the facts in a completely biased way. Frankly the facts were beside the point and could — and perhaps should– have been left out so only Aden’s passion shined.

Live and learn.

It’s interesting to note how some parents overlooked the lesson because they were focused on keeping score. And we wonder where our kids get their intensity.

One positive was how Wilson– who cares deeply about all sports outcomes–  fiercely defended me. In response to one disgruntled reader he said this:

“I don’t think she was complaining, as I don’t believe she cares one iota about who wins or loses any 9-year-old baseball game (nor should she or we.)”

Glad he’s on my team.

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When Crying in Baseball’s Okay

Posted on June 3, 2012 | 6 comments

My three boys (ages 6, 9 and 12) are all playing baseball and the older two are also playing travel soccer, which translates to a minimum of 5 games a weekend. (I decided I won’t spend another summer in the bleachers, hunched over in back pain so I’m investing in stadium chairs. Check them out here.)

I often wonder how a nice city girl who spent childhood weekends shopping or in an apartment watching “American Bandstand” and classic movies got into this family of jocks.

But here I am.

I have mostly embraced this odd predicament and discovered many benefits of living a sporting life. We attend most games as a family so our time on the weekends is shared, instead of running in a million directions. We are spending time outside so we’re getting fresh air and exercise.  We have a community of friends whose kids are also involved in sports so the games are very social.

More importantly my boys — and Wilson– love playing, watching, and discussing sports so I decided long ago, instead of beating my head against a wall, I would join ’em.

I wanted to share something I noticed this weekend at my 9-year-old son, Aden’s baseball game. His team was playing against a team that included some of his closest friends so there was a lot riding on the outcome. Our team was up 3-2  at the top of last inning. The opposing team had 2 outs and 2 strikes so one more strike and we would have won the game. But the teenaged ump made a bad call and the other team walked and then rallied to score 5 runs and pull ahead. Despite their best efforts– our boys loaded the bases in a nail-biting ending– it came down to two outs and two strikes before our last kid swung and missed to lose the game 7- 3.

Who knows if it was the despair over the call, losing to their friends, or just a general unraveling, but at least four of the kids came off the field in tears. I immediately felt sad and helpless watching them throw their mitts in the dugout dirt with disgust. They stomped their little cleats and hung their capped heads as if their whole world was falling apart.

In the past,  I would silently condemn the game that breaks my son’s heart in two. No one wants to see their kid suffering, especially over a game that has so little significance.

But Saturday I had an epiphany.  As I looked around, I noticed that there were several players who were smiling, drinking Gatorade, and goofing around. Those kids shook off the loss as soon as they exited the field.  And for the first time, I felt sorry for them instead of fretting over my little jock, wiping tears with his jersey.

Aden was crying because he wanted to win. He’s competitive and passionate about whatever sport he’s playing. Do I wish he didn’t get so upset about losing? Absolutely.

But this weekend I realized I’d rather he care enough to cry than not care at all.

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Fasten Your Laces for Kids Spring Sports Season

Posted on March 21, 2012 | 2 comments

KIds Spring Sports Begin: Aden (left) on soccer field

My sons’ eager and dedicated coaches just sent out the spring practice/ game schedules and I’m feeling stressed.

Wilson and my three boys (ages 6, 8, and 12) are consumed with sports.  If they aren’t watching games or highlights, they are discussing teams, stats, strategies, trades, plays, and records.  But they’re in all their glory when actually playing sports– which they do, a lot.

Their sports calendar is my version of March Madness, only it extends through June. There are carpools, equipment checks, and enough Gatorade to fill an Olympic-sized pool.  Since Wilson doesn’t get home until after 7:30pm, much of the time management and driving to these athletic commitments falls on me.

Jacob taking a swing

We just came off winter– our slowest sports season—with only basketball and some indoor soccer. It was nice to have some free weekends to make plans or do a house project. But now we’re heading into primetime sports insanity.  6-year-old Eli will have two Little League T-ball practices and one afternoon of basketball, but my two older jocks are both on baseball and travel soccer teams.  That translates to a combined total of 8 practices and a minimum of 5 games a week.

Did I mention that I am not a sports fan? Yeah, I really don’t give a hoot who won the Rangers game last night, for whom Manning will play next season, or that Lehigh upset Duke in the first round of the NCAA tournament. It’s actually kind of crazy that I even know these facts at all, except that I live with 3 little sports tickers who constantly spew factoids, so I learn by athletic osmosis.

I find myself feigning interest just to have the pleasure of conversing with them. Those of you who have boys—or a husband for that matter—know that they aren’t prone to excessive talking or sharing. So when they want to tell me every detail of their college basketball bracket, I try to hide the dullness behind my eyes and focus on how cute they look exuding pastime passion.

I admit I’ve become more of a fan since living in my own ESPN Zone. I root for the Mets, Knicks, and Giants and now understand the intricacies of stealing bases or boxing out after a rebound.  But it’s really watching my boys play that has converted me.

Eli dribbling down the soccer field

Most days, they happily skip to the car for practice and suit up early for games. They do drills outside to work on a skill they haven’t yet mastered.  Eavesdropping on Eli doing the play-by-play of an imaginary game for an hour in the back yard makes my heart melt.

They love sports and I love them for it.  I have experienced deep pride in their wins, and learned life lessons from their losses. Playing sports has taught them commitment, bravery and integrity, and witnessing that has been an inspiring experience.

I may never watch (or understand) an entire football game, but I will always want to sit in the room while my boys argue every play.  You can find me in the bleachers ready to cheer on my MVP, or console my benchwarmer.  Win or lose, I’ll eternally enjoy how they play the game.

The boys in their jerseys at the Knicks game

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