Say huh?

The semi-regular musings of your typical glow in the dark, high heel wearing, rainbow colored zebra.

[peekaboowahoo]

I had a tremendous time at Orioles Park Monday night watching my Sox play in what has now become nicknamed “The Fenway of the South”. Given that Sox fans and O’s fans were about 50/50 in the park, I’d say the nickname is justified. Papi hit #35, Porcello pitched a complete game, further beefing up his Cy Young resume’, and I got to enjoy the victory with my sister and my children. I couldn’t have asked for a better night at the ballpark. 

I got some really great shots with “big Bertha”, my main camera body, and will post those in the days to come. There are some great shots of Ortiz and Machado talking before the game, The “Killer B’s” , the outfielder’s victory dance, some great moments at the plate between teammates, and David Ortiz’s 35th home run coming off the bat. 

[peekaboowahoo]

For the Love of the Game

I’m a sports girl. I don’t mean that I casually watch a game or two here and there so I can hold a conversation with “the guys”without looking like an idiot. I mean I truly have a love for sports that has spanned my entire life. Part of that was was my upbringing. I am a UVA fan, born and bred, and ACC sports were a staple in both my father’s home and my mother’s. Now granted, my mom is a casual basketball and football fan. She couldn’t explain the difference between a button route and a slant route if her life depended on it. Telling her that “such-and-such receiver” is lined up in the “Z” slot, or that the guard needed to be pulling on a particular play that should’ve gained more yardage than it did would be akin to attempting to speak to her in Chinese, but that’s okay. She likes watching football. She’s on about the same level with her basketball I.Q. Can she explain a box and 1 or a triangle and two? know the difference between a set shooter and one who prefers the transition tre? Nope...sure can’t, but she gets excited when the team she is pulling for on any given day is leading and playing well. She enjoys it. I will say, however, that thanks to Tony Bennett, she now has a pretty good understanding of what the pack line defense is. You go mom.  My dad was a little different. The man loved football. He was a Redskins fan and a Cowboy hater, God bless him. His knowledge of the game was vast, and he passed it along eagerly. I can remember many a Sunday afternoon after church when I would pile up on the couch with him watching football from the first snap of the 1:00 game ‘til my eyes just wouldn’t stay open any longer during Sunday Night Football. He kept a big mason jar of change on the table beside the couch, and would reward me every time he asked me a question about the team, or the game itself, from penalties to packages, and I answered correctly. I knew a lot more than most at a very young age, simply because I worshiped my father and wanted nothing more in the world than for him to be proud of me. I learned to love the game because he did, and that love has only grown over the course of my lifetime. Now I’m not a Redskins fan, much to his dismay. I’m a Steelers girl, and that will never change, but the only reason I’m a fan at all is because a man with a passion passed that love on to his daughter, and I am forever grateful.  Baseball, however, is a whole different story. No one in either household watched baseball. My mom claims to be a Yankees fan, but I’ve never seen her watch more than three innings of a game, and never prior to the month of October. She’s like the chick that shows up to a Superbowl party for the free booze and a dose of excitement after having not watched a single game all year. I let her have it. My AL team is the Red Sox, and my NL team is the Cards, and in April of 1985, my love affair with the game of baseball began.  ESPN began broadcasting in 1978, but it wasn’t until the fall of 1984 that we had anything but basic cable in my home. That year, my dad started tuning in each morning while he got ready for work, and I would occasionally park myself in front of the television for the entertainment while I ate my Honey Nut Cheerios before school.  That’s when I saw him...Ozzie Smith. The Wizard had me mesmerized from moment one, taking the field with a round-off back tuck. I was a gymnast. He liked to flip. That was it. We were soulmates. Nevermind the fact that I didn’t have a clue about the game of baseball. It didn’t matter. The Cardinals were my team, and he was my guy. I spent the next six months checking out books from the library about baseball, learning the rules, the history of the game, and watching every game I possibly could. We were a Southeastern family where the Braves dominated the airwaves, much to my dismay, but with them being an NL team, I did get to see them play my Cards quite a bit. I also watched every other game I could find, listened to radio broadcasts whenever the opportunity presented itself, and soaked it all up like a sponge. My dad laughed at my new obsession first, but right around the middle of May he came home and handed me my first scorebook. I had no idea what to do with it initially, but I learned, and learned quickly. I scored every game I watched or listed to. It happened to be a great year for the Cardinals, to put it mildly I suppose. I scored 39 of their games that year, was glued to the television during the NLCS, and even won a wager on that series with my older brother. He was convinced the Dodgers were the team to beat. I got his G.I. Joe Cole doll and the missile launcher that came with it as payment for my win. In the interim, I had also developed a soft spot for the Boston Red Sox. Their games were often broadcast in our area, they possessed one hell of a pitcher in Roger Clemens, and a dynamic third baseman by the name of Wade Boggs. Maybe you’ve heard of them. While the Cards have remained my favorite National League team through all of these years, the Red Sox have become my favorite American League team. When they met in the World Series a few years back, I just sat back on my couch, score sheet in hand, smiling and enjoying the show. My love for baseball has always been there for me through the years. Life has gotten tough on more than one occasion. I’ve battled cancer, endured domestic abuse, and dealt with some ups and downs that most cannot imagine. Baseball has been there, to take me away for a few hours, to give me something to root for, a reason to celebrate. When life happens, as it will continue to do, I will always have baseball. I can’t express how glad I am that I saw Ozzie do that first back tuck. I introduced my son to the game of baseball almost five years ago. We stopped by a Walmart, picked up some cheap equipment and headed out to a local park in the fall, after his first football season had ended and he wanted something else to play. I soft tossed 10 balls to him and he hit 8 out of 10. He’s been playing every since. He now plays 13U travel ball for Will Myers’ WM9 organization as a centerfielder, middle infielder, and catcher. My daughter was a tougher convert. She thought baseball was “boring” and would most often leave the room if I was watching a game. But when the Red Sox called up Xander Bogaerts in 2013, I tapped into the teenage girl priority to win her over...cute boys. She started sitting and watching the games just to see him, and soon began asking questions about the game itself, about the whats and whys of how the game is played. Now, she can talk baseball with the best of them, and does a damn fine job keeping the scoresheet for her brother’s team if I need a bathroom or concessions break. She has been indoctrinated. I took them to their first Major League game a couple of days ago. Watching them take it all in was such a gift for me, but that’s a post for another day. The point is that in my family, baseball is the “thing” that is mine, and mine alone. I relish in it. I glean joy from it, and I am happy to have passed that love along to my children, hoping in earnest that they will do the same.

[peekaboowahoo]

Coaching Part II - The Coach - Coaching Girls

What makes a good coach? Its an age-old question, really. There have been countless books on the subject, seminars held from coast-to-coast every year about coaching effectively, specific techniques, and the psychology of dealing with athletes from youth to the pros. For me, its simple. A good coach makes a kid better, and by “better”, I mean both in respect to their individual athletic performance, the elevation of the athlete’s I.Q, their knowledge of their sport, but most importantly, a coach makes a kid a better person, a better teammate, and instills leadership qualities that will benefit the athlete both on and off the field of play of arena of competition. I have two youth athletes, one a 17 year-old all-star cheerleader competing for one of the most revered programs in the country. She is a former state champion gymnast who had to hang up her grips for good after multiple compression fractures in one foot, constant tendon and ligament issues in her other ankle, and compression between her L4 and L5 vertebrae. But she missed tumbling the most from her years as a gymnast, and all-star cheer provides her with the opportunity to do that, although admittedly not nearly to the level of her capability, so it was a compromise that put her back into a competitive situation, which she has always thrived off of. The other, a twelve year-old (nearly thirteen) baseball and football player who dabbles in track to benefit his two primary sports. He plays travel baseball year round, football in the fall, and trains with local track teams when time allows to give him a leg up in the other two sports. My experiences with coaches have run the gamut from great to God awful, and everywhere in between, and there is certainly a huge difference between boys’ coaches and girls coaches, one I am not at all fond of, I might add.  Our experiences with gymnastic coaches were very positive for the most part. There was a nice healthy balance between constructive criticism and positive feedback when corrections were made. Accolades and praise were freely given when earned, and my daughter was pushed to perform to her potential without utilizing degrading comments to achieve desired results. As a result of great coaching, and a lot of heard work, she spent many an afternoon upon a medal podium with her “hardware” on display.  All-star cheerleading has been a completely different experience thus far, although I do admit that this is our first exposure to this particular sport, and that experience is limited to a singular organization. It is the only sport I have been exposed to thus far in my lifetime where “throwing” a skill badly is better than not throwing it at all. I cringe every time I attend a practice as girls heads come dangerously close to the floor attempting tumbling they haven’t been properly trained to do. I see children coming back from fractures and surgeries far too quickly due to the pressure of coaches and bad judgement of parents. “Who CARES is you just had surgery on your elbow three weeks ago and can’t even straighten your arm properly yet. GO AHEAD AND STUNT.”  Its baffling how short-sighted the program is in terms of it’s teams and the long-term well-being of it’s athletes. I’ve heard comments made to young girls that should never be uttered to anyone, particularly a demographic so sensitive to the opinions of others, who’s emotions can be so volatile at their ages. I’ve seen my daughter moved backward in formation because they needed “pretty” in the front. This is my daughter:

She’s gorgeous, if I do say so myself. I have people stop us in public places all the time, telling me how beautiful my children are...but I guess she doesn’t have the bright white kind of “pretty” that the middle of a competitive cheer formation requires. Come to think of it, not one (of the mere three on a 25 athlete squad) child of color is anywhere near the front of our formations. Then there are the snide comments when a mistake in the stunt group is made and my daughter gets singled out, a coach telling her “That’s the worst second base performance I’ve ever seen.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for constructive criticism, and my children refer to me as a “bulldozer with words” when it comes to presenting them with the hard truths about performance assessments. However, nowhere in such a comment can anything constructive be found. Another child tumbles crooked, kicking my child in the face, and its my daughter’s fault. Never mind the fact that she has the highest tumbling skill level on the entire team. The only coach I have ever heard actually compliment my daughter on anything in the three and a half months of her participation with this team is one who used to be a coach on her former gymnastics team, who has seen her work her ass off every practice, 19 hours a week for years, and for the fruits of her labor, end up on the top of many a podium, draped in medals, representing her team with pride. He gets the best out of her not by belittling her when addressing a less than stellar tumbling pass, but by telling her he knows she is capable of better.  Constant criticism breeds lack of confidence, fosters loss of self-esteem, and divides a team. That’s a dangerous pattern to create in an environment where the safety of each of the team members depends not only on the performance of it’s individual members, but the chemistry and timing developed between them. When you alienate one, you hurt them all. When you build them up, encourage them, accent each one’s strengths in regard to the others, the best combined performances are achieved. I think this group of coaches really needs a seminar.  Admittedly, as stated earlier, this is the only all-star cheer organization that we have been associated with to date, and it is my fervent prayer that programs around the country are not fostering the same type of environment. It is the job of the coach to get the best out of the child in order to benefit the team as a whole. You certainly can’t do that with constant criticism, no reward, and minimal encouragement. 

[peekaboowahoo]

So, life can get crazy sometimes...

...and often does when one is a single parent with insanely active children. The last few weeks have been satisfying in some respects and frustrating in others. The kids are back in school. The girl child is tackling her first part-time job, an all A.P/honors load at school, and a demanding all-star cheer schedule. The boy child is in the seventh grade, and although things don’t seem to be as demanding this year as far as the load of homework coming home, he is trying to play both football and 13U travel baseball in the same season, which is certainly a big undertaking.  As proud as I am that my children are active, intelligent, talented, and very ambitious, there are certainly days when it would be lovely to simply kick my feet up, watch the Red Sox game in my p.j.s, and not have to do a thing except to breathe. I’m tired. I drive an average of 750 miles in a week, spend about 16 hours in my SUV, another 13 1/2 hours at practices and lessons, and whatever number of hours I spend at the baseball and football fields during the course of a weekend. Just their sports activities alone are, quite literally, a full-time job for me.  Add to that sporadically inserted off-campus sessions for my daughter as a yearbook editor, getting her to and from her part-time job, and throw in a few social events, and I am left with absolutely no available space in my world. I was actually quite upset when my son called from school today and asked if I could bring him extra clothes and appropriate shoes so he could stay after school for intramural basketball, as a precursor to upcoming basketball tryouts. Just the thought of adding one more morsel to a plate that is already weighing heavy on me was stressful. The thought of him wanting to play yet another sport quite daunting. It also begs the question about how well I am conveying the principal to my children of considering the effect our expectations have on those around us. I’m sure he didn’t think twice about picking up the phone, because I do make every attempt to give my children the opportunities to experience and achieve in multiple arenas as much as possible. That’s a goal of mine as a parent. At the same time, I know I have to stop trying to be a superhero in the process. I am, afterall, human. I tend to let the single mom guilt dictate what I expect of myself, and therefore end up setting an unrealistic standard for myself in the eyes of my children. I have to stop it.  I have to remember that I am first a human being that needs to take care of herself in order to be able to take care for anyone else, including my children. I’m not the only parent to be neglectful of myself, far from it. But while I think its important to encourage my children to follow their dreams, work hard to achieve them, and set ambitious goals for themselves, I have to remember that it is equally important for me to emulate the human need to care for oneself in a manner that fosters balance, and in that respect, the example I am setting falls short of the standard I want my kids to set for themselves. Afterall, the key to a successful, healthy life is balance in all things. Its about time I started setting that example. 

[peekaboowahoo]

Really hard to get a good shot of my computer screen, but I've been working on some new design ideas by trial, and lots, and lots, and lots of error. I'm finally pleased with how this turned out. Opinions please?

[peekaboowahoo]

One of things I respect most about my son is his work ethic when it comes to achieving his goals. It's an everyday routine...catching videos while it's sweltering outside and "four drills" and tee work around dusk. #baseballaddict #hardwork

[peekaboowahoo]

Hard work and great coaching really paying off. Even spray, handling the outside pitches, and staying level with the swing. Thanks so much to @throw90 (Mike Smith), @cba_elite (Matt White), and the coaches of #wm9baseball for sharing your knowledge and being so committed to player development. Micah @virginia_bound_21 is lucky to have such a great group of guys in his corner. (at The Hitting Zone)

[peekaboowahoo]

I took my 17yo with me to shop for tie dye supplies, cheer bow stuff, and beads and trinkets for their cheer backpack clip-on tags. This is the section she had to be dragged out of. Lord help me. (at Jo-Ann Fabrics)

[peekaboowahoo]

Lexy has successfully survived 3 days,15 hours, of Cheer Extreme Kernersville Supercamp. Now it's Mickayelyn's turn. And I'm driving...again...still. Who knows? The days are running together. #cheerextremeallstars #cheerextremekernersville (at Tumblebees Ultimate Gym)

[peekaboowahoo]

Youth Football Season Has Arrived

My son plays youth football, and he’s a pretty good little player. I’m not saying that because he’s my offspring, or because I love the game and relish any opportunity to spend time immersed in it. His speed, agility, toughness, versatility, and ever-rising football I.Q. are fairly formidable. And he has this uncanny vision that seems to kick in when he’s out there, finding gaps that are opening up in a split second and avoiding pitfalls that seem to come out of nowhere. Doesn’t hurt either that he lives to lay down a hard hit, in spite of his slight, 5′0 tall, 96lb. frame, and seems to have no fer when he steps onto the gridiron. He has it in his mind that size, or in his case, lack thereof, doesn’t matter, and there isn’t a player out there too big to get chopped down by a great tackle.   Trust me...as cold as it may sound, if the kid wasn’t very good, I would tell him so and suggest that his time may be better spent with alternate endeavors. Blowing sunshine up the rear ends of others, particularly my own children, is something I believe to be a disservice. God blesses us all with certain talents, and it takes all of those talents being utilized to their full potential to foster a well-rounded community. If we’re lucky, there are people in our lives who can see our strengths and weaknesses better than we, and encourage us to develop those talents we may not yet recognize.  My viewpoint is the same on the positions he plays. My “go to” comment to him is “Son, always make sure that you’re balancing your ambition with realism. Take a look at what your strengths and weaknesses are, be honest with yourself, and set your goals accordingly.” I think its important to teach him that when playing a team sport, consideration for what is best for the team as a whole must take priority over the desires of it’s individual players. As we work through our first week of workouts, I hope that not only will he keep that in mind, but that the remainder of our team members will do the same.  This team can be very special. We have a core group of 6 or 7 boys who have been playing together since they were 7/8 years old. They know each other. They possess a chemistry among them that only time and repetition can create. Key pieces have been added to that group, particularly over the previous two seasons, that have proven to be invaluable, and after our first two practices, it is apparent that there are several more that, with time, hard work, and commitment could certainly have a significant impact on the success of our season.  Last year, we lost only one regular season game, and were the ultimate Division I runners-up for the post-season championship. This year brings with it a mission, a point to prove, a need of revenge, if you will. Although our ultimate goal is always to play our very best football from the initial kickoff to the final whistle

[peekaboowahoo]

"Nothing is ever good enough that can be made better, and better is never good enough if it can be made best" - Ozzie "The Wizard" Smith #baseballhalloffame #OzzieSmith

[peekaboowahoo]

Took the Boy Child to work with hitting coach Mike Smith this afternoon. He's been grinding the last couple of weeks, focusing on throwing his hands ehile still keeping them in tight, and keeping the back side high on those low, outside pitches. So proud of his progress. Way to work son! @virginia_bound_21 (at The Hitting Zone)

[peekaboowahoo]

Coaching Youth Sports - Part 1 - The Athlete

Coaching youth sports is a constant balancing act. How tough is too tough? Is a coach delving out enough encouragement and praise along with the necessary criticism required to make their athlete/team better? Are the concerns of parents behind heard and respected? Is an atmosphere of unity and “team” being fostered, or are there fractures and subgroups within that structure? Is the well-being of the child being kept at the forefront throughout the process? Its a tough dynamic to manage, for sure. 

I’ve been involved in sports, quite literally, my entire life. I began with structured gymnastics at the age of four. I played recreational baseball on and off throughout my youth, and now I have three children who have been involved in competitive football, baseball, gymnastics, soccer, and cheerleading. I’ve looked at this subject from all angles, and after some serious introspection regarding recent experiences, it has become very clear that there is a problem to be addressed in the coaching of youth sports in our day and time. After having tumbled around my living room and used the jungle gym in my backyard as a set of bars for the previous year, I started gymnastics just after my fourth birthday. Over the course of the next thirteen years, I would compete for two gyms, and have eleven different coaches along the way. I won dozens of USAG district and regional all-around championships in levels 4-10, national titles on vault and floor exercise, and my competitive path ultimately culminated with two elite level floor championships and an elite vault championship during the 1990 and 1991 competitive seasons. I put that out there not to toot my own horn, but to give credit where credit is due. Indeed, I was the one who had to compete in meet after meet to accomplish these feats, but it was my coaches who taught me to do so.

They taught me the value of hard work, of commitment, of sacrifice, and they didn’t do so by screaming at me, belittling me, or treating me with an attitude of indifference if I displeased them in some way. They pulled me to the side, pointed to the banners and trophies along the gym’s rafters, and asked me, “Is that what you want for yourself?” I, of course, would nod affirmatively, and would be told “Then you need to do ___________” Often, the tasks were not fun. Initially, I didn’t want to get up at 5:30 before school to run. I had no desire to be in front of the T.V. at 9:00 night after a three hour practice doing V-ups, grasshopper push-ups, dips, and toe points before bed. Before long, however, I could see the fruits of that undesirable labor. My body control improved dramatically, moves became both more fluid and more precise, and I stopped losing points for bobbles and unnecessary steps during routines. My scores went up nearly a full point, on average, and I was standing on the podium after every meet. The things I had previously dreaded became things I WANTED to do. When that mindset changed, I skipped an entire level in the off-season and never looked back.

That being said, its not all of the specific instructions I got over the years about technique, strengthening routine, conditioning, or work ethic that stand out in my mind. Did those things help shape me into a much better athlete and give me tools that have continued to benefit me throughout my life? Absolutely! But it was the positive feedback from my coaches that kept me going when I felt like I had reached the limits of my capabilities, when I felt like the burn in my muscles would never stop, and my frustrations would build to the limits of my tolerance. It is the “That’s my girl!” I’d hear when I landed a trick after the 150th attempt that stands out. Its the “Look at ‘Tough Stuff’ over here.” that would echo in my mind when I was working through pain that would motivate me to push myself harder. Most of all, though, its coaches who had the wherewithal to stop, look me in the eye, and tell me “You can do this. I BELIEVE in you.”, that made the difference for me. Its those coaches that I thought hung the moon back then, later modeled myself after when I began coaching myself, and now look back on with the utmost of love and respect because they showed me, both with word and deed, that they cared about ME. That it wasn’t just about winning, and it wasn’t just about the team as a whole (not to discount the importance of either), but they truly cared about me as an individual. Those actions not only made me a better athlete, and ultimately a better coach, but they also made me a better human being.  That’s really the bottom line, after all. Its not trophies, ribbons, or accolades of any kind that define a great coach. Those things are great benefits of a much bigger picture. Great coaches foster environments filled with mutual respect. They don’t criticize more than they praise. They don’t yell more than they clap. They don’t tolerate dissension among teammates. They never let their favoritism show. They reward all out effort as much as accomplishment, and discernible progress as much as success. Why? Because such actions shape good human beings. It demonstrates that every person has value. It teaches children to support one another, be kind to one another, respect one another, to set goals, and to lead, particularly by example. They learn that hard work pays off, and that half effort simply isn’t enough. These are the building blocks of character. The benefits of having children participate in organized sports are extensively studied, well-documented, and a big reason that many parents choose to get their children involved in sports at an early age. Involvement fosters good health, mental productivity, self-discipline, higher high school and college GPAs, and enhanced ability for sustained concentration, as well as a dramatic drop in incidence of depression Conversely, it is also extensively studied and well-documented that the “quality of coaching is a key factor for maximizing positive effects”. (GAO 2012) As a coach, it is essential to retain that fact in the forefront of one’s mind at all times. You can do harm or you can do good. Its an active choice. As a parent, don’t shop for the winning-est team, shop around for the very best coach you can find, and the desired results you wish for your child will play out organically. 

[peekaboowahoo]

And she added back handspring #3 with a light spot! Two weeks ahead of schedule! You go girl! (at Salem Gymnastics Sports Center)

[peekaboowahoo]

Alexys has been working so hard coming back from her shoulder dislocation in late March. She's way ahead of her rehab schedule with her tumbling, and I could not be more proud. A big "Thank you!" to Beau at Salem Gymnastics for continuing to fine tune technique and giving her the positive reinforcement she needs to continue to push herself. (at Salem Gymnastics Sports Center)

[peekaboowahoo]

“Tomorrow is another day...”

Its cliche, I know, but when you are the parent of a bipolar child, it becomes the thing you tell yourself constantly...at least I do. In the midst of a day of struggles, whether they be with my child or those around him who fail to understand his plight, I remind myself that we both get to start over with each new sunrise. There will come with it new opportunities to learn, teach, and grow.

[peekaboowahoo]

“OLE MISS TAKES THE LEAD!!”

Smitty’s voice rings out... Say what Smitty?!?!? The first half was a disaster on both sides of the ball. The first five minutes was so sloppy, riddled with empty possessions, nonexistent  defense, turnovers, and cheap fouls that I lost interest fairly quickly. The game simply became background noise, buried in the undercurrent of nightly activities. BYU just happened to find the bottom of the twine more often in the first twenty minutes, in spite of the lack of offensive presence from Mr. Triple Double himself, Kyle Collinsworth. Leading at the half by seventeen, BYU looked to be coasting into a contest with Xavier in the second round.  The Rebels, however, obviously had other ideas. Scoring forty points in the next thirteen minutes by banging under the boards and converting the old fashioned three-point play to perfection, suddenly Ole Miss leads by four. Oh how the tide has turned, the game becoming a tale of two halves, of pure talent verses sheer will. No matter how this contest plays out in the end, it is evident to me that the madness of March has truly begun when I find myself hoping for a win that would bust my own brackets, simply for the love of the game.