Sheer gift

Yesterday evening was a blessing.

The weather was wonderful, terrific for baseball.

When the game began, Mr C came out of the home team dugout to tell me he couldn't go to karate or they would forefeit the game. It has been many weeks since I got to watch the game until it was over. It's been way too many weeks since I had the joy of sitting outside and just soaking up the wonders of spring.

Last fall Mr C was on a team that, even with a few terrific players, couldn't seem to pull itself together to win.

Although winning is still a matter of some hit or miss among fourth and fith graders, it's still nice when you see a team improve, as this one has -- very close to the end of the spring season.

The final score? 10-2, and that included a double by Mr C (a better chess player than he is a baseball player). For this mother, who has felt cheated of almost an entire season of watching her son's evolving boyhood, it was an opportunity to cast off temporarily the personas of priest and writer, cheering and biting my nails and taking my sweaty, hungry son (he'd already eaten) out for pizza and ice cream -- a wonderful feast on a lovely evening.

Technomoron

It was supposed to be a happy day for our little family. Mr. C, his dad and I sat in a pew at our Lutheran church, watching the DQ, robed in white, as she walked down the aisle to be confirmed. I had run in just as the service started with pants for Mr. C, camera and videocam at the ready to catch the service. Other congregants probably looked and me and thought: what kind of a barbarian is she, taking pictures during the service.

They don't know all the many years I don't have on video -- or how clumsy I am. This Sunday, the memory card was filled up. And we didn't have a good view of the sanctuary. Not to mention that Mr C's pants had apparently been baptized in dirt at some previous, pagan basketball game.

What's a mother to do? Overwhelmed by my ineptitude, I cried, in front of God and everybody. Well, especially God. But walking away after communion, watching my lovely child smilling as she sang in the praise band, I thought -- does Jesus care? I doubt it. And if He doesn't, perhaps....perhaps...it's not all that important that my grandchildren' won't have pictures of the confirmation.

Not to mention, that being the Episcopal and Lutheran child of two opinionated clergy, she's being confirmed again next year.