I've been in a bit of a funk over the past few days, ever since the pitiful conclusion of my son's very last varsity basketball season, of his life. My low-grade sorrow has nothing to do with the actual loss of the game, however. It has everything to do with the loss of another kind. Loss associated with endings and beginnings and the realization that every step my son takes toward the future, is another step away from me. And further, that there’s nothing that could (or should) be done about it.

Throughout the basketball season, I survived many fretful, mutha-of-a-playa moments, by peering at the shot-to-be, (or the clock, or the scoreboard) through clasped fingers. Today, I find myself peeking at the next phase of parental reality, through a similar screen. Only this time, the fingers are clasped over my heart. And, just as it was when I watched a game, I want neither to see the play fully, or miss it altogether.

I am also mourning the loss of those little moments of the season. Bitty visual bits, taken for granted at the time and now gone forever. I'm talking about stuff like the image of my boy jogging into the gymnasium with his team, for the pre-game warmups. He's wearing his school colors, smiling, joking and living jock-strappingly large. And the last time this event occurred, I hardly paid attention.

For me, however, the most precious piece of the basketball season, was being a regularly invited participant in my son’s world. I mean, aside from the weekly cash harvest, there are not many teen activities where parental involvement is not only desired, but expected by the offspring in question.

Attending my son's games gave me an automatic “in” to his day. Every Friday night, I knew what he was doing and who he was doing it with. Because I was there. And together, on Saturday, we talked about/reveled in/mourned the events of the night before. I'd share snippets from the stands, while he provided inside scoops from the bench.

Although it felt like a pain in the butt at the time, I will miss fixing his late night suppers, after an evening practice, or game. With the Cakers in bed, we'd have a chance to talk about nothing in particular. Momma's special fried egg sandwich seemed a favorite (The secret ingredients being seasoned pepper, no salt and perfect timing on the over-easy.).

With basketball season over, my status will now return to that of chief cook, logistics sniggler, and vehicle key provider. And in just a few month’s time, I’ll be helping him prepare for the move of his lifetime, off to college. While this is the way it's supposed to be, and I really am excited for him (and for us, and for the vacancy of a walk-in closet, with shelving...what to do?), there's a part of me that will forever pine for the spirit of a Friday night home game, and the opportunity, just one more time, to witness my baby-turned-man's proud, carefree gait around the gym.

In his colors.

To the beat of the cheering crowd.

Monkey Shines
Some progress is noted on my Blaze sleeve. This sleeve might be one of the worst pieces I've ever knit, and still be perfectly satisfied wearing. For some reason, the looping of the cables is really bad on this one. But, if I look at it through my fingers, I can hardly tell.



And now that it's March, and the days are getting noticably longer (driving my cat and my Cakers stir-crazy!), my fancy turns to knits of spring. Which means it's time to finish up the winter assignments and pull out last spring's UFOs. grr.

Crazy Daze
I'm afraid I'll be short on words around here, for a couple more weeks. In the world of Speshul Educashun, spring is a very busy time. In fact, over the next few days, I have exactly five, lengthy reports to write, in addition to managing my already spring-feverish, adolescent caseload. Which means, for me, homework. All this is in addition to my husband picking up a couple substantial contracts with new clients, meaning lots of single parenting in evenings.

So, I'm not whining. Just wharning.

Finally...
The winner of the guess the body part contest is......Reader Kelle! (Belly roll, please!). Kelle, I will email you.

And on the topic of my body parts, off site I have received a comment that my blog has turned to the Howard Stern of knit blogs, what with me baring my tongue and bra and blood red moles.

It wasn't my intention to turn this place into smut world. And hope that nobody really believes I would take myself so serious. That being said, I'm removing the offending shot from my blog.

Blessings to all, for a safe and satisfying week.


P.S. Keep an eye out for some cool changes around here...this week.

Labels: From My Loins, Passages