Parenting athletes requires particular obligations-some sport specific, some general to having athletic kids living in the house.  Until they move out, we are responsible for keeping track of practices, purchasing equipment and locating lost parts of uniforms.

We calendar games, attend training clinics and volunteer to work in snack shacks or host end of the season banquets.  We learn how to run a scoreboard, rake a field and wax skis.

Parents write the checks for tuitions and races, replace cleats on what seems like a monthly basis, and stock the pantry with excessive amounts of food to feed their famished bellies.  We know the value of having duffel bags for each sport, and invest in sturdy folding chairs, seat cushions and endless tubes of SPF 45 sunscreen.

Parenting athletes means we wash mouth guards and uniforms, and know the value of Oxi Clean to make grass stains disappear.  We wait in cars and on benches for practices to end, and we trudge through heat, wind, rain, and snow to show our supportive faces.

People always ask me how I do it.  Why do I drive 125 hours each way, every weekend, to transport my children to a ski hill in the wee hours of the morning.  My answer?  I just do.  Everyone has a busy life.  Everyone has places to go, people to see, things to do, jobs to work.  And I don’t sleep much.

When your kids have a passion for something, parents make it work.  It’s what we do.  Our payment is the smile on their faces as they finish a race course, the laugh that erupts as they play with friends in the snow, and the comfort of knowing exactly where they are every weekend night-asleep early in their beds to prepare for the next morning’s 7:00 a.m. training runs.

That’s how I do it.  And the why?  The photo my daughter texted I received from my daughter last weekend at 7:15 a.m. from the top of Squaw Valley says it all.

She knows a good thing when she sees it. Me, too.

Are you interested in what’s going on with our education system?  

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Please read my articles on Yahoo!News and let me know what your thoughts are about:


California’s education budget crisis


Community Service in the Classroom


Global Education and my teaching grant


School Shooting in Washington state and protecting our children

Last week I did something new.  It wasn’t as delicious as trying a new flavor of ice cream, or as adventurous as flying down a zip line.  It wasn’t as bold as a new hair color, or as daring as quitting my job.

Having never before visited the nation’s capitol, I was determined to do the tourist things.  I’m not shy about asking for help, advice, directions, or anything else that will keep me from doing what I want and seeing all the city has to offer.

Last night was one such experience.  After dinner I headed to the metro, and introduced myself to Calvin, the friendly older gentleman in charge of the L’Enfant Metro Station at night. He couldn’t have been happier to help this California girl navigate herself around the city.

After assuring me there were ‘lots of police’ out at night, he directed me onto the ‘blue line’ towards the capitol.  Upon exiting the underground stop I was astonished to be the only person within sight-and it was  8:30 p.m. on a Friday night!

Heading towards the Capitol Building I was struck by the majestic glow coming through the barren trees.  The strength, beauty and majesty of our country shone brightly, and I began circling the grounds to see it from every angle.  Turning, I caught a glimpse of the Washington Memorial towering high in the sky, lit up like a beacon.  I began walking, sure that there would be more undiscovered beauty waiting for me along the way.

Walking the city alone, in the dark, may not be for everyone.  But for me the calm and solitude of the chilly night was the perfect backdrop for the brillance I encountered.  And I didn’t have to share it with anyone else-it was all for me tonight.

Are you letting something get in your way?

 It has nothing to do with driving-I like that, too, especially when it’s on the open highway.  What I’m talking about are those rare moments when I’m completely locked in my glass bubble.  The engine isn’t running, the radio is silent, and if I’m lucky, the rain is gently falling on the roof.

When I was a kid, I used to love going in our garage when it was raining just to listen to the soft, rhythmic sound of rain hitting the shake shingles.  It felt safe, quiet, and I guess meditative, although I had no idea what that was at the time.

Today, I spend my days in an endless gurgle of people wanting, needing, and questioning.  My continuous ‘response with a smile’ feels exhausting by 4p.m. and I find myself craving quiet.  That is where the car comes in.

I don’t slip out to the garage and leave my family inside the house wondering what’s up with Mom.  I don’t drive around the block searching for a place to park.  Sometimes I do linger after I’ve arrived home, savoring the last of the NPR story, or taking a few deep breaths to center myself.

My car sitting time is often while I’m waiting for my son or daughter to finish a class, an activity, or some sport that doesn’t require spectating.  It’s best when I park in a quiet neighborhood without many pedestrians peering in the windows.  I prefer daylight quiet in my car, although I do keep a Halloween style skull lantern in my glove box to shed a little light as needed.

What do I do in the car?  I sit.  I write.  I think.  I grade the endless papers that my students provide me every day.  I don’t like to talk on the phone, but I do occasionally check my email, play Words with Friends, or send a text or two.  I write lots of blog posts, I do lesson plans, and once in awhile I’ll read a book or catch up on the newspaper.  I even keep a blanket handy.

Once I did fall asleep – it was dark and after dinner – that felt a bit embarrassing and disorienting.  As my teenage daughter would say, it was ‘sup-awk’ to wake up to the chatter of kids leaving their class knowing I had been snoring with the windows open!

Mostly I find that I breathe, sink into the seat, and just slow it down.  I let my heartbeat match the rain, and concentrate on me. Most of the time people don’t notice me there, and I like that.

Now that I’m an adult, I don’t get to hear the rain on the roof of our house.   The sound of rain hitting skylights just isn’t the same-it’s more of a ping than a satisfying thud.  But when I’m alone inside my car I hear it all-rain, the wind, birds, dogs, and passers-by all create a meditative backdrop to my thoughts.

As a turtle needs to retreat into its shell to protect its soft body, as a chipmunk scurries into its hole, and as a rabbit retreats to its den, I need a place to go and shut out the world.  The demands of a job and a family can, just for a moment, stay outside the bubble.  Safe, dry, and protected, I can breathe in and out, and find my center again.

Call me weird, but I really like to sit in my car.  Alone.  Quietly.  What about you? Where’s your quite place?