Coming down from a wonderful weekend. Over 90 degrees both days. Sheer heaven. Lacrosse, track, botanical gardens, church spaghetti dinner, Mass… busy and fun. 

After last night’s dinner, my 15 year old son took my 8 year old daughter in the back yard with lacrosse sticks and a hacky-sack ball.  I followed and quietly sat on the deck to watch.  It was getting dark, the frogs were singing and it was simply a beautiful night.  He would throw, she would miss.  He would encourage, throw, she would miss. But then she would laugh.  And try again.  And again.  

These two are sometimes oil and water.  You’ve got a male teenager being, well, a teenager… and a red-headed eight year old (annoying sister) being, well, an eight year old annoying sister.  But last night the planets were aligned and lacrosse was on their minds.  

My son was not throwing for an eight year old.  He wasn’t “giving her a break,” and she did not want it that way.  After about 30 throws and misses, my daughter caught the ball with her lacrosse stick.  I jumped to my feet and cheered.  Her grin was from ear to ear and my teenager’s was almost as wide. About 20 more throws later, she caught it again. 

I’ll remember last night forever.  It was a quiet, calm and happy night.  The kind of moment a mother keeps close to her heart. 

Just before bedtime I suggested a trip to Dairy Queen for a special Sunday night treat.  Cheers all around.  My daughter and I went alone and “picked up” everyone’s order.  It was dark and late.  My daughter began to eat her chocolaty swirls as we headed to the car.  It was then that I heard a satisfied voice say behind me, “Ahhhh. Now that scratches the old itch!”

“Yes it does, honey.  Yes it does.”