Have you ever had two friends that you wanted to introduce to one another because you knew that they'd love each other?
That's how I'm feeling today. It's my pleasure to introduce you to Ami from Bunkers Down. I've come to love her writing and her family, and I'm delighted to share a guest post by her today. I think you'll love her humor and insight as much as I do.
So get comfortable (dare I say, bunker down?) and enjoy.
reader, I love the Olympics. I love them, I love them, I love them.
As a family we've spent many hours this past two weeks watching the
summer games on t.v. So many hours. Too many hours probably.
justify all this by saying that the Summer Olympics only come every
four years and since the kids aren't in school why not let them stay up
later and watch these educational and culturally enriching
In reality I just have an absurd fascination with Michael Phelps.
Here's what went down the other night at my house.
"I think I am going to go to the Olympics on the women's gymnastic team, " my nine year old daughter
I asked her, "It's such a brutal sport on your body. Look what
happened to Kerri Strug." We watch a clip of the 1996 Atlanta games
where Kerri landed a vault on one foot because she had torn two
ligaments in her foot.
"Fine!" she winces, "I'll do fencing and archery instead."
"I remember I was in college. I watched Kerri Strug's vault with my roommate on my small t.v. in our apartment," I reminisced.
lived in an apartment! That is so cool!" my daughter gushes. "I'm
going to live in an apartment some day in Chicago. I'm going to get
takeout for dinner every night and I'm going to have a dog. Apartments
are just so cool."
can tell that I have risen substantially in her eyes by sharing with
her my story of living in squalor during my early twenties.
ten year old son, anxious to steer the conversation back to sports, announces that
he is probably going to set his Olympic sights on joining the U.S.
swim team. "Really?" I asked, "I thought you would have rather had Bob
Costas' job. He gets to talk about all the different sports and share
all the statistics and scores. That would be a perfect fit for you."
He sniffs. "Maybe after I retire from swimming in my mid-thirties. Someone has to take Michael Phelps' place you know."
(I am not the only one obsessed with Phelps.)
five year old announces her intentions of going to the
Olympics on the U.S. diving team. And the trampoline team. And the
swim team. And in tennis. And rowing. "All of the teams!" she announces gleefully, "And I'll give you all my gold medals
because I'm going to live with you forever."
"So you're going to pay me rent with your medals?" I tease her. "Yes!" she answers.
watch Michael Phelps receive his medal on the stand. Will stands up tall and straight with his hand over his heart while they
play the national anthem. He takes his patriotism very seriously,
even as a couch
also greatly appreciates the increased modesty from the beach
volleyball players this year. Evidently he was a Benedictine monk in
his previous life.)
"Are you crying again Mom?" my older daughter asks. "You cry anytime someone gets a medal!"
"I'm not crying," I maintain, "I'm just tearing up a bit."
My son butts in, "She cries so much because of
what she is."
"Are you saying I'm a crybaby because I'm a girl?" I ask in a mock-angry voice.
"No. You cry because you're a mom. You think everyone is your kid." Will explains.
than the excitement, more than the dramatic finishes, more than Michael
Phelps, I love watching the Olympics because it gives me the unique
opportunity to really see my children. As we've sat on the couch, snuggled together, I am reminded of the fact that they are
real people with their own dreams and their own plans and their own ideas.
It humbles me immensely that I play a part in that.
And it does make me cry, just a little, tiny bit.