Travel Ball 101

A couple years ago my dad and I got a hold of a five dollar, yellow, plastic whiffle ball bat and it changed the course of history. I don't know who mass produced that bat, heck, I don't know who planted trees in a perfect shade circle in the park next to my house, but each one of these people played into the story that would lead to today.

My dad and I first took that bat and ball down to the park. We found that circle of trees and made it our spot. Two years later, we've now played catch there a hundred times. Swung the softball bat there. Learned to field the grounder, catch the pop fly, and make the long throw to an imaginary home plate. It is funny, learning kinda sneaks up on you. I mean, I don't think I am all that much better than I was six months ago, but if I look back two years I have grown a ton! So it must be happening a little every day. It must be happening in the park and at the practices, I must be learning, because I am now playing travel ball.

At the end of All-Stars, a lot of girls were signing up for Fall Ball, and the truth is, I really miss my friends who are playing, but I wanted to go next level, and play a more competitive version of softball. Don't ask me why, I don't really know how to explain it, but I just wanted to be on a team that is designated as a cut above. So, I went and signed up for some tryouts at the end of summer.

Let's be honest, I didn't sign up for anything: my mom scouted out travel ball teams on Facebook and my dad called and talked to every coach in the Sacramento region holding a tryout. It is funny how the universe works. I was super bummed to miss out on one try out because I was sick and another because timing just didn't work out, but then it happened: I walked out onto that field and things just clicked: I was offered a spot on what would become my first travel ball team - the Yard Sharks! And what a season it was! 

We worked out three times a week, played like 60 games, and won a ton of medals! It was a great first travel ball experience. 

But as is my story and every story, there are highs and lows, there are wins and losses, and the one constant in life is that nothing every stays the same. After that first season with the YS, I moved onto another team, where I spent three seasons developing an even deeper understanding and love of the game. Today, while I love my friends on the team, I have made the scary decision once again to reach for the next highest wrung on the ladder and accept a spot on a team that will be traveling up and down the West Coast this summer. Just like when I left little league, I will miss my friends, but I know that chasing my dreams sometimes means taking a leap of faith. Wish me luck! 

Hey now You're an All-Star

Ok, I get it, Long time no talk. It has been like two and a half years since I posted anything, and in truth, there is too much to report so I won't even try to catch you up. By now you know the pandemic is passed, and the world is more or less back in order, but for me personally, it is the best it has ever been. 

It isn't like I haven't had friends before, I mean, I have had friends my whole life, but this summer feels different. I'll be going into middle school in a couple months, and there is just something different in the air. Last summer was my first time playing on an all-star softball team, we made it to the state championship and I don't know that I have ever been more proud to be a part of anything. It was incredible. But more than the cheering fans and the medals on ribbons, it was being a part of that team that I will never forget. I made some of the best friends I have ever had in my life. And since last summer, I have stayed connected with many of them throughout the year. 

This year I am in 12U all-stars, and some of my closest friends are still playing 10U this summer. Our team is good, and I hope we go far, but this summer it isn't just about winning, it is about the independence. I have had like 7 sleepovers in 4 weeks. My friend Gabby and I walked my neighborhood like we owned it. I spent the whole day today in Bella's pool, and last week Ellie crashed at my house and we stayed up so late I was a zombie the next day. 

There is just something about this summer. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it is the fact that I can message Bella on one app and call Ellie on another. Maybe it is getting to play on a team with Gabby and knowing that even if I strike out that she has totally got my back in the dugout and when she does the same, I've 100% got hers. Maybe it is the sleepovers or the fact that my brothers and I are going to Camp Sac tomorrow. I don't know for sure if it is just one thing, but I do know that when you add it all together, I am having an All-Star summer.  

Two Best Friends

 Ok, so the last time I chimed in, the COVID-19 pandemic was only a month old and the novelty of being cooped up in my house with my mom, dad and Jenny still had not worn off! Well, check the date, it has been six months since my last entry, and while everything has changed...nothing has changed. I'm still going to school through the computer screen, my dad still cooks the same 5 meals every week, and I still feel like I am living in a TV show where my house is the set and I never get to leave. However, I now have two new best friends.

The first is Grace. We were already like best friends, but for the last six months, we have had a Google Meet every other night. We talk, we laugh, sometimes we frustrate each other, other times we encourage each other, and I think that is the mark of a real best friend. Through thick and thin, and even a pandemic, my best friend and I have each other's backs. We have prepped for each holiday over the past 6 months together via Google Meet.

For mother's day, our mom's had decorated homes, with construction paper red carpets, confetti cannons, home made board games with home made dice. At father's day, the dad's got the same treatment, with crafted gifts that Grace and I literally spent hour and hours crafting together through our screens. We'd find a craft on youtube or pintrest and then we'd run around our homes gathering materials. Each event took several hours a night for over a week leading up to it. For the fourth of July we made our own fireworks, American Flags and decorations that were fit for a presidential palace. Yeah, we like to craft. 

Last night was Halloween. We went to Grace's house. Both our families are all about social distancing, so they have decided that if we all keep people out of our bubble, then we can kind of be in each other's bubbles. We do back yard hangouts a couple times a month and the parents social distance while Grace, her sister Quinn and I all play. Last night was EPIC! I dressed as a witch and we built a spooktacular haunted house for our parents. It had a poisoned lollypop pull, blood red punch in a bowl, treats and games. We love this time to plan, party and play together. 

The pandemic is not awesome, but having a best friend really is. 

Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I got another best friend this summer: his name is Rex. He is 5 months old today and is already 52 pounds! He is going to be a big dog, and I love him!

Alexa, Connect me to my Family

You can see the date I am writing this. It is April, 2020. March was a weird month at my house. To be honest, while the whole family really should have been focusing their time and energy considering how best to celebrate my half birthday on March 16, both my mom and my dad were glued to their screens shifting our entire school into this thing called, "Distance Learning." It really doesn't seem so complicated, so I don't know what has them working so hard, in reality, aren't the teachers doing all the work? Honestly, I don't see my parents reading Charlotte's Web in my Google Classroom!

Anyway, the point is, we are all staying home. We are stuck in the house, bla bla bla, and it is driving me a little bonkers. Yes, I have been doing my distance learning, but that is easy. The hard part is not really knowing how long this is going to go on for. The truth is, I love my mom and my dad, but I miss so many people so much. I miss my friends from school, and my teacher, Mrs. A, and my brothers! Oh, my brothers! Those boys! When we are home together they more or less ignore me because I am their "little sister" but I know they love me. Now, it is like some gigantic metal door was closing, like in a movie and they were running toward the door, but it closed and they were trapped on the other side. I wish they were trapped on my side. They are at their mom's house, and I am here at home.

Its funny though, you know, how something can seem kind of awful, but then when you start to explain it out loud, you start to remember how many good things are happening too. Like, now that we are doing school at home it has a new name, "Distance Learning," and that kind of makes it better because we aren't comparing it to school, its this whole "new" thing. I wonder if we should do the same with the rest of our life. I mean, we can't compare how life is today to how life was a month ago, that just wouldn't be fair, but maybe if we call this, "Distance Living," we can see how many good parts there really are.

I have one to three virtual playdates everyday with some of my best friends thanks to Google Hangout video chats. I usually only see my Nana at big events, she comes up for Easter and some big occasions, but since we started distance living, we have talked on FaceTime every week. It is funny to watch grandparents use FaceTime. I have never walked my dog so many times in any week I can remember! Last night, my brothers agreed to play with me, without even putting up a fight: we played Headbandz over a Zoom Video chat; it was so funny because my brothers and I kept changing our virtual backgrounds to dogs and stuff. Last week we had a whole family video chat with my grandma and papa, my aunties and my cousin Holly's family, I was a bit too shy to talk, but it made me happy to see everyone. I think I have seen more family in one week than maybe anytime I can remember. I think we need this technology to make us feel connected, and feeling connected makes everything less scary.

Two nights ago I walked into my dad's office, its this extra room in the back of our house. He had music playing on the little Alexa plugged into the wall by the door. I don't even know why I did this, but I walked straight over to the device and I said, "Alexa, play 'Did you Know My Friend,' by Peff Eick," and my dad's eyes just about popped out of his head. I don't think he knew that his Uncle Peff's song was on Alexa. I walked straight over to my dad and stood toe to toe, looking straight up at him. There was something so comforting about this song, about this moment, that we were surrounded by family even though we were Distant Living, I took his hand and put them on my shoulders, and I put mine on his and we danced. My dad, he is such a softy. I swear I think I saw a tear in his eye. Even though we are all distance living, the fact that we have people to stay connected with and the technology to keep us connected, it makes everything just a little better.

I don't think we can compare how life is today to how life used to be, but I can say this, using whatever tools we have to stay connected, whether the whole world is on quarantine or not seems like a pretty good way to spend our time.

If I could...

We went to get a haircut, well, I didn't get a haircut, my dad did. He doesn't even have that much hair so I don't know how it takes as long as it does. He let's me watch kids youtube while he sits in the chair and talks to the barber about all sorts of stuff, so I go along with him - don't tell mommy.

Just a side thought: the place smells funny. Great clips doesn't really smell like anything. I think that is because it is for boys and girls, but my dad's barber smells like men going on a date. You know, kind of fancy but not like perfume.

Anyway, we walked out of the barber shop, same one every time, and across the street is a little coffee shop and next door is a little antique shop. We went in there one time and they had all these old record players and typewriters. That place smelled kinda funny too now that I think about it...like old shoe boxes and yellowing newspapers. So, this time we walk by the antique shop and we peek through the window, and it is empty. Not empty like nobody in there; empty like, empty, empty. Nothing, just hard wood floors and dust. There is something about empty that gets my dad every-time. He is always asking, what would you do if you could build something in that open lot? What would you do in this space if this were your bedroom? What if we had a HUGE backyard.

"What kind of store would you put here if you could? A dance studio?"

"If I could," I said, "I would open a music shop, with guitars and all kinds of instruments."

Sometimes I say things and I am not sure why they affect my dad the way that they do. He is usually quick with a joke, a comeback, or an add-on to the conversation, but sometimes, it is like I just stop him in his tracks. I saw him look at me out of the corner of his eye, with that little sideways smirky grin. He just nodded and said, "Yeah, that would be awesome, I would come and visit you everyday." My dad, I think he loves that I love music, maybe that is partly why I love it, because he loves me and I love him.

The Modern Princess

When I was little, I loved me some princesses. No joke. When we went to Disneyland, I told the world, "you can keep your roller coasters and funnel cakes for your self, as for me, I want to hang with some princesses." I don't think it was that unusual for a little girl like me to see that magic and want to get close to it. Movie after movie made it out to look just so. Big sparkly dresses, abundance, large ballrooms and all eyes on the most beautiful girl in the room as she swayed and spun to the rhythms of a grand orchestra. Yea, being a princess looked like a good gig.

Now I wear ripped jeans and black vans. I'm what you might call a modern princess. I still love music, but instead of the delightful notes of Bipity Boppity Boo, I am more in to girl-anthems and something with a bit more of a kick. Hey, I'm eight, growing up in 2020, this world is on the move and so am I. I like making music too. That's something I never saw a princess do, they were always moved by the music, but in my world I think it is ok for a princess to make music that moves others. I have been playing guitar and writing songs. I know several chords on the guitar and can pluck out a few melodies off some tab sheets my dad and I get at our guitar lesson.

My dad. Ha! That guy! I think he must feel like he has won the lottery. His daughter has grown out of the Cinderella phase and into this modern princess wearing skate shoes and strumming guitar - I see him with that sparkle in his eye every time he smiles that crooked smile and says, "that's my girl." I know he loves me know matter what, so don't tell him, but I wear the vans in part to get his attention. He wears them too. They are his favorite shoe for skating and that is something he loves to do. So, I knew getting a slick pair of treads would catch his eye.

My dad and I, we go on a lot of adventures. We are always off goofing around finding trouble to get into. In the last couple weeks, we have been to the park, the ice rink, DOCO, Old Sac, and we even drove past Funderland - but it was closed. But, the truth is, he works a lot too. He goes to Sac State on weekends and works late at Westlake at least a few nights a week. The thing is, when we are together, we adventure, but when he is not around, I miss him.

Every year since I was 3 my dad and I have dressed to the nines and have had a date night that keeps me walking on clouds for the whole year. At Westlake Charter School they put this night together for every dad and daughter just like us, it is called the My Princess and Me Dance. On this night, hundreds of princesses and their chaperones come to the school where the gym is curtained and decorated with covered tables, balloon arches and the DJ plays anthems that make me want to spin the night away.  I admit that I may have outgrown the princess fixation of my younger years, but this night is a blend between the glitter and gowns of the ballroom with the musical styling of my new found idols - it is perfection.

For the past two years my dad has had 8AM to 5:30PM class at CSUS on the day of the dance. I overheard him whispering to mommy that he convinced his whole class to take a short lunch so that they could all get out early. He changed into his best suit next to his car on the second story of the university parking garage and sped to Bel Air to buy a bouquet of flowers bigger than my entire torso. He knows I love flowers. When he rang the doorbell, I flung the door open to find him standing on the porch, flowers in hand and a crooked daddy smile as his eyes lit up at my outfit.

I love getting dressed for this night. This event is an opportunity to spend time with my dad, but it starts months earlier with shopping for a dress and shoes with my mommy...one of my favorite pastimes. On the day of the dance, my mommy helped me paint my nails, and dust my face with bronzer, gloss my lips and curl my hair. I love to dress to the nines.

Walking into the restaurant on my dad's arm, every table we passed stopped to drink us in. We were a sight to see. Several women commented on my dress. All eyes were on us as we sat down for dinner, both of us on the same side of the table, backs to the window, looking out across the entire scene.

At the entrance to the dance, they had laid a red carpet. It was perfection. Some of the middle school girls and volunteering moms, armed with Nikons, popped flashbulbs as we made our entrance as the paparazzi that our glorious entrance deserved. We stopped at the photo booth, waved to friends, and then we danced! We danced every dance like it was the last dance of our lives. I bought a dress that was made to spin and twirl, and oh man did I twirl. It was our best night of dancing yet. At previous events, I used to run off with my friends, hold hands and spin in circles on the dance floor, but his year, I wanted time with my daddy, and we spent that time dancing!

As the night wound down, we decided to end the evening with a little fro-yo and enjoy the company of my best friend Grace and her daddy. We laughed and talked, and promised to do it again. When I finally walked through the door, mommy was there with a hug and a, "how was it?" Truth is, it is hard to put into words, but I guess the answer is, it was what it must have been like to be a princess.

The Black Eye

It's 2018, I'm six years old, and the whole world has lessons for me to learn. Many of the lessons are scripted, some are hidden in the laugh tracks of the Richie Rich sitcoms that stream on Netflix, and others are seemingly unintentional.

This week, while hanging at the pool with my dad and the Clark girls, I went to lean on the pool chair while slipping on my flip flop. Who designed these pool chair death traps anyway? Did somebody have an extra bag of large rubber bands lying around and a metal chair frame and decide that one could complete the other? I leaned my entire body weight on the seat of the chair, I mean, I just sat in it, so I know it can hold my weight, but, the joke was on me because the seat is no seat at all, but a series of elastic straps. When my butt distributes its weight across the straps, it holds my body up, but when my tiny hand leans in, it finds its way right through the straps and I fell headlong right into the edge of the table.

Oh, I wasn't going to let the world know that I had been beaten by a poolside chair. I quickly shot up, looked around to count the number of observers who may have caught my bobbled balancing act and then made a bolt lock eye contact with my dad. He didn't realize that the pain behind my eyebrow had already started throbbing, but he knew by my look that I was holding something back. He intuitively picked me up and whispered, its ok, even though it wasn't. We walked to the car, drove quickly home, and by the time we hit the drive a goose egg bump was closing my left eye and by morning...I had a shiner!

I was mortified. I didn't want to go to church the next day nor horse camp that was to begin the day after that because I didn't want anybody to see me and think I looked weird. My parents tried every trick in the book: they tried to teach me that beauty was only skin deep, that it didn't matter what others thought and they even pointed to the lessons of a recently watched American Girl movie: our true friends will support us when we need them most.

Truth is, at six years old, a little of each of those lessons all came to fruition in the next couple days, so it would be easy to congratulate them on their prediction of my future, but in all honesty, it was the lesson that they didn't teach me that taught me the most. You see, my dad has learned to be one heck of a cook and my mom taught me to ride a bike. It is 2018, and roles don't seem to matter the way they did a hundred years ago when my parents were kids. There is no one size fits all solution to any of life's problems, and I know that because my parents are just regular hard working people who get as much wrong as they get right, but above all, no matter what role they are playing in the production of the day, they never waiver when it comes to loving me.

That is the lesson, the one that nobody planned, the one that hasn't been said, but is behind it all: I am worth loving. At the end of the day, that is what made it ok to go to horse camp with a black eye, as nervous as I was that the world would laugh at me, I know two trust worthy characters who have learned to stretch outside their own comforts to show me that I am worth the effort, and I believe them.

Today was the first day of horse camp, it took some courage, but just like in the American Girl movie, I told my best friend about my eye and she showed me she cared.

The Pool

So, it isn't like I don't shower. I am no stranger to a bathtub either. I try my best to get in eight servings at eight ounces per serving everyday. I have never lived in the desert. And my dad waters the lawn everyday, sometimes twice a day. Basically I am no stranger to water. I am surrounded by it on a daily basis. I love it in all forms. I love ice in my glass and water in my cup. I don't drink juice (my mom goes out of her way to buy me water boxes, so I have something to drink when the other kids bust out the 36 grams of sugar filled boxes of "juice"). I even love steam. When the shower steam does its thing, I'm always good for a steam etched finger drawing, usually calling out my love for my mommy - I <3 You Mommy.

So, if water is such a typical daily occurrence in my life, why then is it that my heart goes a flutter, my pupils dilate, my smile seems wider and my squeal just a bit louder when my parents announce that it is Memorial Day weekend, thus marking one of the most important annual events of the year in the Eick House: the opening of the Westlake Community Pool!

This wonderland is filled with adventures of every kind for me. The trek from the parking lot itself can be an obstacle to overcome, you see, in my excitement to scurry out to my dad's car, it is not unusual for me to forget my shoes. The hot lava dance across the scalding black-top asphalt parking lot is just what it takes to get a ride in my dad's arms - today, my brother Tyler carried me - Score! Just to get into the pool, you have to code your way through a labyrinth of locked doors - I feel like a spy every time: the first door takes a magnetic card key and the second a sequence of numbers, just beyond which sit two secret agents disguised as a couple pimple-faced teens "pretending" to be working a summer job...nice cover boys. On a busy day, every table, and every umbrella is taken, but this is our home court, and it is not unusual for us to know at least 3 umbrellas worth of friends, each of which wave and say hello as we sneak past the guards.

My dad always brings snacks. Every time he acts like I might eat or even want to sit for a moment prior to or instead of charging across the deck and plunging into the crisp cool goodness that is 10's of thousands of gallons of water - I never snack.  I strap on my goggles and I partake in every routine we have developed in my six summers of life at this pool. This was the first place I ever floated, and now I am able to almost swim across the entire thing. We play submarine, surfboard, and we dance the tango; then there is the climb on the shoulders, the stand on the shoulders and the claw the shoulders; there are all the areal maneuvers like air-splits, cannonball, and the pencil; and finally there are also the mandatory moves that my dad forces on me: the back-float, the distance swim and the crawl.

Upon reflection, it may be more than the water itself, the pool is a place where community comes to share time with each other, and truth be known, that is my favorite past time. More than anything else, I love it when my people and I are in it together, no technology, no hustle and bustle, just neck deep in maneuvers to keep ourselves from going under, and the feeling that if you start to slip, the strong arm of your family will always be there to pull you to the surface. It reminds me that this life was made for living together. Yeah, I love the pool.

Horse Camp? Really?

Ok, so here is the deal, I am one hundred percent sure that my parents were well meaning when they found this horse camp. I am sure my mom researched it online, checked Megan's Law records for the thirty miles surrounding the ranch; I'll bet she called ahead and asked about food; and I am quite certain my parents neither slept the night before I left for camp nor could they sit still for a moment after they dropped me off. Look, don't tell them I said so, but they can both be a bit high maintenance.

So, horse camp.

To begin, it is a 45 minute drive one way to the middle of nowhere. The sign on the corner of the fence says, Sugar Ditch Stables, but I'll tell you it could have been called out in the middle of nowhere, dusty, dirty and kinda stinky-town. My parents dropped me off at 8:30 AM each morning for a week, and on Monday, I only knew two things: 1st - Elliot, my best friend from Pre K would be there and 2nd - I was going to ride a horse.

Well, what do you know? It is Friday night and on the way home I cried real tears: I want to go back to that dusty old stinky farm so bad it feels like I'll never want anything this bad again as long as I live. I made friends, and crafts, I felt alive and independent, I came home dirty every day wearing my shorts, tank-top and pink cowgirl boots all covered in head to toe horse dust.

We did chores and shoveled poop. We saw a chicken lay an egg (don't tell the chicken, but the ranchers said they were going to eat that egg). We all made sun catchers and bird houses. We ate together and we laughed together and we played together.

And...I met someone. Someone special. I was a little shy at first. I wasn't sure how this relationship would develop, but by Wednesday I woke up with one name on my mind; by Thursday night as I lay my head on my pillow, I could just see those big brown eyes staring back at me; and on Friday night, I cried real tears because I already miss my Suzy Q. I want a pony, not just any pony, I want my Suzy Q.

I'd Rather Not Talk About It

I can be shy.

If you approach me without warning, if you make eye contact with the top of my head because I am staring straight down at the gap between my toes, if you think that because my dad once worked with you or my mom taught you or either of my parents know you from church, that I will respond when you speak to me: you are in for a surprise. I can lock it down. I once attended a 30 minute doctor's appointment, where I was the subject of study, and I never once spoke a word. Now, don't get me wrong, I started speaking in complete sentences at 13 months, I have got the words to articulate comprehension beyond my years. Unfortunately for you, I don't just give my words away to make anyone else feel good. After-all, I am in kindergarten, and while this spinning sphere technically revolves around the sun, I know it exists for the Daughter.

Last week, I was walking across some river rocks and I fell and I broke my arm.

There isn't that much more to tell. That single sentence pretty much sums up the facts and outside of facts, I'm not totally sure what else is pertinent here. Does it hurt? You are the adult, you've experienced, known someone who has experienced, or read up on the subject of this. You know the answer. Did I pick out the color of my cast? No, when my dad was my age and broke his arm they only had one color: plaster. Now, with the advancement of technology, they can make any color, but due to the current nature of political correctness they have to spin a wheel to determine what color you get; I was nearly stuck with paisley, but was relieved when I scored this hot pink number. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I'm not a fan of small talk, talking to strangers, or sharing personal information just because I am being asked, and apparently being a six year old girl with a hot pink cast is a magnet for all three.

The point here is, I'd rather not talk about it. A week ago I had no cast, I was just a 6 year old girl who could avoid eye contact, to which, most people naturally accepted as a sign that conversation was neither desired nor necessary. A first attempt at any of the above mentioned activity could be dissuaded by staring at my feet and zipping my lip, because, to be honest, most adults would give up on the sheer basis of lack of common grounds. Unfortunately, I now seem to have a big sign hanging around my neck saying, "Hey, check me out, I think you and I may have some common ground here, let's chat: do you have a daughter or a neighbor about my age who has also undergone a similar  trauma to the one you assume I am experiencing? Do you have a life story that you could share with me that may ease the burden you assume I am carrying? Do you have any personally probing questions I could answer for you about my dexterity, whether or not my pain registry is normed with yours, or might you have a jocular and far fetched situation you'd like to suggest in an attempt to explain my current situation? Step right up, don't take the lack of eye contact, the tight lipped silence or the hiding behind my dad's leg as a sign that you are making me uncomfortable, you just keep on asking until you get what you need." I did mention that it is a big sign.

So, I broke my arm, it hurt for a bit and the cast is uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as spending the next 4 weeks with a grown up magnet dangling in a sling!

T Minus 3

I'm a mathematician. I'm five. That's a number. I can count past 100, another number. I can add, subtract and I think about things in relationship to numbers. I know that my birthday is in the 9th month, I know there are five people in my family and I know that I start kindergarten in three days.

My parents are building me a school. It cost 30 million dollars (big number) and even though it is funded by the entire community, I know that the whole project really revolves around me. I like to run and jump and play - the school has a field, a track and a playground - this is no coincidence. Every classroom has a 70" TV, I love TV. Finally, the entire school is built next to a huge park...come on, it is so obvious.

I think people trust that my parents are trying their best to do right by the entire community by building a school that supports almost 1000 kids, but I know...

Just today, my mom was talking to my dad, and she had read an article that said we need more STEM for students. She looked me right in the eye and said, our school is going to have STEM. My dad spent the last week broadcasting to the entire community that no kids were allowed on campus because it was an active construction site...then he snuck me in to see my classroom. I overheard him telling someone that construction had fallen behind, he was upset because the big kid playground was not going to be completed by the first day of school: we went by to check on things and we saw construction workers finishing he kindergarten playground on a Saturday!

The truth is, I have watched these two my entire life, they work hard, they give to lots of kids, but this year, I think they are both excited that one of the kids who will benefit from all their hard work will be me. It may be kind of awkward from time to time, but the truth is, who else gets to spend 180 days at work right down the hall from their kindergartener...yeah, my parents are pretty lucky.

They'll Never Know

My parents will never remember this, but there was a time, way back, when I wasn't so brave. Not brave like I am now. There was a time when I cried at the thought of my parents leaving the room, and at the possibility of riding on a pony. Not now, not anymore. That was the old me and this year it is out with the old and in with the ... look out world here I come.

I'm going to be in kindergarten next year. It is almost July, so I guess it it time to say, I'm going to kindergarten "this year." It is big deal. At my school, we had a promotion ceremony and all the parents filled the room, there must have been one hundred parents clicking pictures in Mrs. Mo's classroom that day. Each of us got up off the carpet when we heard our name called and we crossed the floor to recieve our diploma from Mrs. Spalding our principal. Each student had the oppertunity to say something that we had liked about PreK.

It is fun to be brave. Not everyone is brave. My friend Cam wouldn't walk accross the carpet and talk to Mrs. Spalding in front of everyone, but I did. I told her one thing I remember about school this year, and inside I just laughed and laughed. Mrs. Spalding has no idea. She thought that I was just sharing a simple memory, an experience that any 5 year old would be joyfilled to relate in front of a room full of clicking cameras. What Mrs. Spalding didn't know is that I had publicly shared an inside joke. There must have been 100 cameras clicking in that room, all capturing me as I eloquently relayed a memory that all the kids in the class could recall; but the click I heard loudest, above all the other camera shutters, was that side mouthed click my dad makes when he winks one eye in the sly way he does when he means to say, "That's my girl."

Every kid in my pre-K class will forever remember the day that the big inflatable caterpillar came to our school. It was there for the big kids who had learned to read The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar, but once they we done using it, Mrs. Mo said we could sneak out into the yard and crawl through it. This is the special memory I told Mrs. Spalding I would never forget from school. What she doesn't know is that the reason I wouldn't forget it is this: when my dad picked me up from school that day, he peppered me with the same barrage of questions he asks everyday, "How was your day," and "What did you do?" On this particular day, I had a story ready for him.

Daddy: How was your day Abby Jane?
Me: It wasn't a good day (and here I cleverly insert a pregnant pause to lure him into thinking I had a bad day) It was a brilliant day!

Daddy: A brilliant day? Great! What did you do?
Me: Daddy Eick, you are not going to believe what we did today? I crawled out of a catapillar's bottom!

Oh, man, that did it. He made a funny face, then I made a funny face, then I started laughing, then he started laughing. I eventually explained to him what I meant, but for a minute there, I think he believed that I had actually crawled out of a real caterpillar. Whew, my dad, they say there is a sucker born every minute!

So, that was the moment. I walked across that carpeted floor, in front of every parent in my classroom community, in front of all my peers, and without even missing a step, I slipped the greatest inside joke ever, A Caterpillar Bottom Joke, right past the principal of the school and nobody in the room knew about it but me and my gullible old dad. That will be one for the record books!

Bravery comes in all shapes and sizes. This year I learned to master the monkey bars both forward and backward. I danced on stage in a dance recital. I rode a pony...and on my graduation day, I slipped an inside joke into the script right under the principal's nose.

It was like magic...

When you wake up before the sun it can really only mean one of two things. It could mean that the wind is blowing that tree just outside my window, and the branches are scratching just light enough to cause we to wonder what monsters are hiding in my closet. On the other hand, it could also mean that today is one of a number of official, I get a present, holidays.

Today was Valentine's day, and although that is not one of the big three gift getting holidays in a kid's life, it is big enough to wake up early for. I made sure my mommy and daddy were clear that I was expecting a present before I went to sleep last night. So, first thing this morning, mommy is head to toe soaking wet from the shower, and I am up and out of bed asking if we could go downstairs to look for a gift.

It was like magic, the whole day. My parents co-authored a hand made card, they are so cute when they work together. They placed my card next to some magical candy hearts, magical because they have little words on them, and I can actually read some of the words. Also, they got me a great big stuffed doggie with a pink bow. My mommy laughed and told me that this dog wouldn't eat my candy hearts the way my real dog Jenny had! Mommy is so funny...she really doesn't get enough credit for being silly...I love her. *elbow-pinch

The morning was great, but don't tell mommy and daddy, the real magic was at school. We all wore red shirts, which, let me just say, was kind of amazing, because usually we all wear blue shirts. Then, Mrs. Mo, had us each hand out our gifts to one another. I was so proud to hand mine out. Joseph said he was going to try on his valentine's glasses as soon as he got home. On the way home, I told my daddy, "Today wasn't a good day, it was Brilliant!" I got toys and cards and I made a crown.

It doesn't seem to always please my parents when I wake up before the sun, but on a day like today, I have to be honest, it was such magic, I wouldn't want to miss a moment of it sleeping.

We Don't Need a Day

Happy Valentine's Day Mommy.

It seems funny that we need a special day on the calendar to remind us of what we already know. Today is filled with red hearts on display, reminding us that we once shared one heartbeat. I know that is one of your favorite stories, daddy says that every time you talk about it, your eyes fill with tears, that day you first heard my heartbeat: I figure that you were crying because it was the first time you realized that I was developing my own heartbeat instead of sharing yours, but don't worry mommy, my heart will always be connected with yours.

Now that I am thinking about it, this life must be so hard for you, I mean, watching me grow up. To you I must seem like just a baby, but I am really so big now. I am five years old. I am reading everywhere I look, picking out letters and trying on sounds. I have memorized far more song lyrics than you probably even realize: I can more or less sing the entire Trolls Soundtrack. And, as hard as this will be for daddy to hear...I'm getting married. Please, let me break the news to daddy, but I have decided, Hudson is definitely the one, there is no use putting it off any longer, we will be married in kindergarten. I figure the marriage thing makes sense, because once you have mastered the monkey bars, and once you are able to dress yourself for church, what else is there to hold you back?

Ok, maybe the getting dressed thing needs some work. I get it, you asked me to put on an appropriate outfit for church last Sunday and I came downstairs in a bright yellow shirt with a printed logo proclaiming my love of the beach and sporting my favorite grey and pink yoga pants. In my defense, I have been memorizing some of the bible versus that they teach in Sunday school at the Crossing, and I am pretty sure God loves kids who express confidence and happiness...both of which come shining through when you couple a yellow t-shirt with pink yoga pants! So, I'll work on the getting dressed thing, but you must admit, I am starting to get bigger and I know that must be tough on you.

Sometimes, when we are driving in the car, I catch you staring at me in the rear view mirror, or taking my picture when I am wearing doing something just right. I know you are watching me grow up, but I can tell, as much as I grow, you still see me as your little baby, and I want you to know, that is ok with me: I will always be yours. I want you to know just one thing: you aren't only watching me - I'm watching you. It is because of you that I know what it will mean to be a woman. Some day, just like you, I will be somebody worth listening to, I will have strong opinions about those who lead and how they should lead. I know, because of you, that women have every opportunity that a man has and that I will be who I am because of who I am not because of anyone's opinion but mine. I know that princesses are kind and work hard and that although they serve, they belong to no one.. I know that I will one day grow up to be a woman like you.

Happy Valentine's Day Mommy - our hearts will always be in rhythm.

My Voice

It has been four and one half years since the hardest day of my mom's life that she will never remember. They say something strange happens to a mommy's memory after the day her daughter is born. I hurt my knee last week, scraped it on the curb in front of UC Davis, I cried hard, but today it is fine...it must be about the same thing.

My mommy loves me. She doesn't think she loves me enough. She doesn't think she does enough. Me? I know different. I look back over these past four and one half years and I recognize the love that is poured into every worry, into every event planned, outing scheduled, every doctor's appointment, every birthday party; I see the pain in her eyes when we part in the morning, I see the love when when she picks me up. My mommy, she is so funny, she doesn't realize it, but just being in the same room with her is enough, its more than enough, it is what fills my heart.

When people hear me talk, they have the strangest reaction. Some people think I'll become a singer because I have a little scratch to my voice...I think I get that from my Daddy, he has a scratch in his voice too...it matches his face. Other passers by comment on the words I choose. My mom says I say the darnedest things - I'm not sure what that means, but I know she holds back the giggles every time I make "Air Quotes" with my fingers and say things like, "Well, it is a possibility..." or, "On the other hand..."

I don't think people are used to such sophisticated words coming out of such a small, albeit scratchy, voice. The thing is, and I get this from both my parents, I am always thinking. Sometimes I am playing, but even when I am playing, my mind is organizing armies of dolls to attend an event, meticulously planned, or I am climbing a wall, just to count the steps. My mind organizes and counts and calculates and processes all sorts of information, all the time. Every conversation within earshot is a map for me to follow to some newly discovered imagination destination. Truth be know, it creates a little anxiety for me sometimes, arriving at the end of an imaginary road initiated by some loose lipped hair dresser discussing the effects of over chlorinated pools on pretty blonde hair. Never the less, I am always processing. So, by the time the words tumble from my mouth, unveiling a long pondered thought, they mean something, they represent precision - my sentences are more often laser-beams than flood lights and I think that catches some adults off guard.

Today is Mother's Day. Whether the words come out playfully; or the phrase seems over-used; if I mumble it with a mouth filled with Norwegian waffle; or scream it amongst tears to steal her attention from Daddy; the words are meant with the utmost forethought, with the full weight of a deeply sophisticated purpose; sometimes the gravity of this thought is passed off as courtesy, but I don't dole out pleasantries for platitudes; when I say these words, they come from four and one half years of research. I love you Mommy. While my voice may be small, these words are the very foundation upon which my entire life is built.

Happy Mother's Day

Sun Glasses and Tappin Toes

I'm 3 1/2 years old, and although I couldn't tell you which end of an allen wrench hooks into a hexagon hitch, I can tell you that sun glasses go well with bluesy tunes and tapping toes.

I was sitting at the dinner table tonight sorting through my collection of treasures. I'm what you might call a collector. I'm not sure if I get this from my pack rat father or from my mother who has a love of fine things she can't afford, but either way, I take great pride and pleasure in accumulating things that peak my interest.

I put things in boxes, or baskets, I slip cherished items into cupboards and I squirrel away gems into the backs of drawers. Then, when the time is just right, I uncover these stashes just to relive the magic of their first conception.

Tonight is was a cloth double handled bag, light blue, with some company's logo imprinted on the front. No doubt this bag was handed to one of my parents, filled with edu-shwag, as they leashed themselves up with a lanyard bearing a name badge as they entered into a conference about education. It must have been sunny when I hid this stash of treasures, because, as the rain poured down outside the kitchen window, I pulled from the satchel summer toys and bubbles, sun screen, a floppy hat and a pair of turtle shell Rayban knockoff sunglasses mom must have picked up at Old Navy for two bucks.

The timing couldn't have been better. My dad was in the kitchen doing what my dad does. He loves the kitchen. It is partly his center stage so everyone in the front of the house can catch his extroverted exploits, and part protection from having to roll up his sleeves and tangle with my brother's homework or the dog chewing on my shoes: from his perch behind the island sink, he can claim wet hands and never have to cross over into the living room which is the domain of my mother.

There was my dad, cooking my favorite meal, corn flake chicken, when, as he often does, he broke the, awkward only to him, silence. "Another Saturday Night" by Cat Stevens came belting from his belly like he was a Thursday night auditioner in a Chicago blues bar. Cat is a folk singer, but coming from my dad's gravely pipes, everything sounds a little bluesy.

I had just slipped on my shades as my dad rolled up the first verse.  I was instantly transported into my own music video. I could feel the camera frame tight on my face, the glare from the window glinting off my shades, I couldn't help cocking my head just a bit to the side and waggling my free right hand in the air to the assumed back beat of the song. I was on autopilot,  at the mercy of the music and the shades working together to tap my toes and wiggle my shoes to the sound of the song. Without thinking, I swung down to my belly, rolled off the chair like it was a choreographed move in the musical that is my life, and I hit the kitchen tile floor with both socked feet sliding to the beat.

It may have been the song, or it could have been the magic of the shades, regardless of the driving force, the outcome was worth the effort. I love to dance, and my dad loves to sing, but the joy we share isn't just the intertwining of our artistic extroversions, it is the pure joy that is my mommy's face when my daddy and I get caught up in the moment. Thank you mommy for loving us for being us.

A Quirky Set of Drums

Everyone has got something...

My dad has a bad hip that locks up from too many years of standing sideways riding on boards; my mom was issued a bad set of bulbs that can't tune into anything far away without the help of curved glass; my papa can't hear everything I say out of one ear even though I'm as loud as my dad; my brother Johnny has a straight smile with crooked teeth and my brother Tyler has a crooked smile with straight teeth. We've all got something...

Me? I was dealt a bad set of drums. It seems like every week one of these darn things is acting up and getting infected. Truth is, my dad spent half his childhood waking up in the middle of the night with an ear-ache, so I guess I can lay this on him. I have the routine down pretty good now: I tug at it for a bit. Then I do some tossing and turning for a night or two. Then, around day three, I don't tell anyone I am in pain, but I do begin to demand the irrational at the top of my voluble register.  I just want what I want at this point and I am not afraid to ask for it.

Usually what I want is the same thing I always want when balance is not present in the universe: Mommy. Ah, the cure all, go to in a pinch, never let you down, bottle of the good stuff - mommy. 

By the the end of the third day, I have to admit, I can be a little challenging to deal with. I start to lose it for the tiniest of reasons, but the thing that really sets me off, the thing that flips my switch after three days of a growing ear infection, the thing I just can not stand for, it is just one little word, the second smallest word in the English language: no.

Oh, I just can't stand to hear that word on a sore ear. 

Truth is, I won't stand for it. You go three days with your ear drum swelling to the point of near bursting and then you ask for a chocolate chip cookie only to hear that it is just before dinner. I can't tell time, I don't know it is before dinner. I just want a cookie. If this happened to you, you might be inclined to throw a crayon as well.

By the time my parents catch on to the ear thing, it is usually around midnight. I wait until everyone finally settles in, right when that REM state starts to flicker and everyone is taking in long deep breaths of well deserved sleep, then: BLAMO! 

I typically start with the scream. Then I start the "don't touch me" routine, followed by the "please hold me," then some, "wait, don't touch me, now hold me," followed by the "why aren't you listening to me" arm & leg-full-flail-tantrum. When it is clear that I have every one's attention, I start the run in place while screaming, followed by the you chase me around the house while I shout "Walk away," which leads to my parents walking away, and then I chase them. During this tug of war, I'll sometimes throw in a minor injury when I run so quickly from or to my parents that I smash into a coffee table in the dark, which does make my ear feel better for a moment while throbbing pain shoots through whichever body part crushed against the offending furniture. At this point I throw in a scream and begin the routine again from run in place.

Eventually, after some Tylenol and some long calm down conversations, my mommy gets me to sleep. The next day, one of my parents explains to their boss why they can't be at work again, they call my school and let them know to make one less art project supply kit, and we head off to see Dr. Sarah. 

I'm sure this nice lady has a last name, and after as many years as she spent becoming a doctor, you would think she deserves her last name to be attempted, but she chose pediatrics and a husband with 13 consonants in his last name so she is stuck with Dr. Sarah. She is a very nice lady, it is the same routine every time, she pokes a little, and lets me play with her heart listener, and then she pokes a pointy flashlight in my ear and prescribes the meds.

Look, it could be worse. A lot worse. The truth is we have all got something. I don't know many adults who still have quirky drums: it seems to be something you grow out of, so truth be known, I'll take what I got over what some people got, because the truth is - we've all got something.

The Elbow

Let's just start by stating the obvious - not everything makes sense. You can't explain God, but you know He is there. You know ice cream is bad for you, but in that intangible and unexplainable moment, you know the benefits of 71 grams of sugar on your tongue out rank the counterbalancing 90 minutes on the treadmill to reach equilibrium. Life doesn't always have to make sense. We are given five senses, and some would argue a sixth, and it is our job to keep the whole juggling act together using the gifts we've got. If a long jog in the morning puts you together, good for you, but if you think the gal down the street is silly for meditating through needle point, or the guy at your work plays too many video games, or if you think that the guy who needs two seats on the airplane should maybe pass the Cinnabon stand on his way to the boarding gate, don't judge, everyone is juggling their own senses to meet their own given situations: Me? I've got my mommy's elbow.

Look, I am not asking anyone to understand, I don't even fully get it myself, but there is something about the safety of that angular body part that just puts my feet on the ground. Since I took that first breath of life in that hospital room in Roseville, this world has thrown me some curve balls. Who knew a soy allergy undetected for 14 months months would keep my little tummy in painful knots? And what is the deal with all the other babies getting full and luxurious nights of uninterrupted sleep, while I have felt the need to wake-up screaming every 45 minutes since birth? And don't even get me started on the whole grocery store old lady walk-up commenting on what a cute little boy my mommy has when I am so clearly 100% angelic-little-girl-princess material! So, when the going get's rough, my mommy draws me in tight for an: only the way mommy can, make it all better, heart to heart, head on shoulder, hug...and that's when, without hesitation nor fail, I reach out and get a grip on mommy's elbow.

I can't really paint you a picture, but I assume that for the athlete it must be that moment she steps on the court and everything becomes balanced in the universe, or the painter who picks up the soft bristled brush on her way to the magic of a blank canvas, and to the pastor on the pulpit it is his right hand on the book. I reach out, eyes closed, salty with tears, and find that one patch of skin on my mommy that isn't as baby soft as my own little bottom, the one angle on her torso without a gentle curve, and I latch on with my little baby grip. My mommy can feel my entire body relax once I find that grip, as if I have docked and can now receive the comfort mommy is dispatching. My daddy, from across the room, can see my body relax and give way to mommy's love, he can hear my cries turn from scream to whimper, all because I have found my grip on life that just puts me together.

Don't judge: you may have your Zoomba, the guy down the street may listen to golf on the radio, for someone else Facebook may be the place they dock to gain peace, for me - I have my mommy's elbow.

We Want What We Can't Have

I suppose poor people want to be rich and rich people want to be free and the free want to be married and the happily married with kids just seem to want a little peace and quiet, well, this is all according to my dad - he says we want what we can't have.

Me? I just want a blue cookie.

Honestly, I am not even sure where I got the idea, but the blue cookie has been the apple of my eye for as long as I have been able to talk. Granted, I was an early talker, but I have to tell you, I have been eye balling that golden ticket for a long time.

I have a soy and dairy allergy. If you are reading these words for the first time, they may not have the impact that they should, so I will say it again: if there is dairy or soy inside something I can not eat it. You may be a little annoyed by having been told the same thing twice, if that's you, you might want to stop reading now. No soy. No dairy. 

Cheese, ice cream, sandwich meat, mac n' cheese, pizza, any sliced bread that doesn't taste like feet, any meat from a restaurant, every seasoning package for every tasty stew, every soup in every can, everything that has nuts is also processed in a factory that processes soy, every cookie, cake, ding dong, Twinkie, and sugar filled kids party treat of any kind, if it comes in a package that makes a crinkly noise - the universal calling card for junk food sound - it has soy in it, I can't eat it. If it says yum yum, sweetness, or "kid approved" it has dairy in it - I can't eat it. More or less, if it comes off the aisle that every mom tries to avoid in the grocery store, it is a no go. 

Have you ever been to a no soy no dairy kids birthday party? Yeah. Me neither. They don't make 'em. So my mom has to cringe and follow me around at every little kid gig to make sure some 3 year old smuggler doesn't slip me a Cheeto when nobody is looking. At my pre-school they have my mugshot on the wall above the lunch cart like a post office wanted sign to heads-up any substitute teacher not to offer me milk and graham crackers - one is dairy the other has soy.

Apparently, if it comes in a box to make life easy for a chef on the go, it is filled with soy so the guy who made the box can earn an extra buck. So, in my house, everything is made from scratch. That may sound gourmet, but I'm not going to lie: my dad does all the cooking, and he only knows how to cook 4 meals, so it is leftovers 3 nights a week and no variety 365. I love the man, but I am buying him a cookbook for his birthday this October, then I am going to give him two months to figure out how to whip up a soy free dairy free blue cookie by Christmas.

A girl can dream.

We're Moving to the Beach

Daddy bought a little flip flop for mommy's charm bracelet so that we could always remember the family plan - I am going to High School in San Clemente! You see, we took a family trip this spring: some families like to visit amusement parks; some families are more cultured and visit museums. Our family took a trip to the coast. I thought the best part of the trip would be burying my brother in the sand or getting my toes wet in the surf, but my parents seemed happiest when they found the gluten free store on main street? Grown ups!

Daddy took me to Stewart Surf shop, where apparently the "they make the greatest surfboards in the world." I don't know what a surf board is yet, but I had fun looking at all the pretty colored coffee tables they had leaning against the wall.

We stayed in an amazing house, we visited with family, my brothers were there of course...but it was during this trip that I realized that when you live with boys, they are your brothers and when you live with girls, they are your sisters. So, now I have two sisters.

This life just keeps on getting better!