Perspective Makes All The Difference

Every year, it’s the same battle.


A battle with the school, to make sure his 504 Plan is reevaluated and updated. A battle with the teachers, to hold them accountable for following his 504 Plan. A battle with Bug, to actually do the homework we’ve gotten accommodations for.

Then compound all of that with sports.

Every year, it’s been a lot of the same thing. At the beginning of each season, I meet with his coaches and explain what makes Bug…Bug. I offer advice on what works best, and what doesn’t, in keeping him calm and upbeat. I give each coach a run-down on the physical signs to watch for, in order to better ward off the emotional breakdown that follows each one.

This year, though? This year is going to be different.

For starters, Bug told me at the beginning of the school year that he didn’t want to use his 504 Plan this year. And although he wasn’t able to convince me to give the thing up entirely, he did make some valid contributions to this year’s modifications. When pressed for why he didn’t want to use it? He’s just tired of being treated differently. He wants so badly to fit in, just the way he is.

Now, I would like to say that I’m such a fabulous mother that I instantly realized that I should apply that same logic to baseball. However, apparently I’m a little bit slower than instant.

Bug IS on a new baseball team. We’ve known the coach and a couple of the boys for some years now, and we’ve always been impressed. This coach is amazing, and has a definite affinity for working with young athletes. Plus, he lives and breathes baseball, so he knows what he’s talking about when he directs them. So when an opportunity came up for Bug to try out for this team, we jumped at it. And Bug made the team. (This is where my new found knowledge would have kicked in. You know, had I actually been able to claim it.) As I said, we already knew this coach. So there was no need for the “conversation”. We didn’t need to give him any pointers; he knows my kid well.

So I sat back, and watched. Watched how Bug interacted with the other boys on the team, and how they interacted back. Watched how he played, and how he handled himself when something in the game wasn’t going his way. And even though I could see how well he was doing, how much his self-esteem had improved, how much greater his self-control had gotten…well, it wasn’t until he made this comment to me that things started to click in my head.

Mom, you know why I like this team so much? I fit in. Just the way I am; I fit in. No one is pushing me to see how far they can go before I lose it, and they all just encourage me. I fit, Mom.

And yes, I cried at that.

But my true A-ha! moment came last night. Bug had been called by another team in our club, and asked to fill in for one game. The manager of this team has also known Bug for years. The difference, though, is that ALL of the other boys on the team have also known Bug for years. Which means they’ve all witnessed at least one very public meltdown during a game. The significance of that finally sunk in last night. Or, more accurately, the significance of the fact that almost NONE of the boys on his actual team had ever met him before August.

In a normal game, each of Bug’s teammates can be heard at various times in the game cheering him on or shouting some kind of encouragement; all based on that game’s performance and how awesome they all believe him to be. Last night was different. Oh, the boys on that team all encouraged him, it was just…not the same. Last night was more like how I used to encourage him when he was younger. “Keep your head up! Don’t let it get you down!”

It occurred to me last night that maybe one of the biggest reasons he’s doing so well on this new team and making such strides in mastering his self-control? Is that not one person on that field is waiting for him to fail.

They’re excited about watching him succeed.

Buy Me Some Peanuts and Crackerjacks

I love baseball season. I love almost everything about baseball season. Almost.

(Do I even need to clarify that I'm talking about BUG's baseball seasons?  Because as much as I love me some Colorado Rockies -- they hold a special place in my heart since their inaugural season was happening when the Teenager was born -- Major League Baseball just doesn't hold my attention in quite the same way.)

I love hearing the crack of the bat. 

I love watching amazing, miraculous, no one's ever gonna believe it catches.

I love hearing the cheers when he throws a ball from deep in center field, and it lands perfectly in the catcher's mitt.

I love watching him fit in with boys who forgive him his quirks, because they see him as valuable and just an awesome kid.

I even love watching him as he watches his teammates, because it's showing me that he's learning to pay attention even when the focus is not on him.

What I don't love, though?  Baseball dirt. I don't love how it takes beautifully white pants and makes them orange. And as amusing as it is, I'm not even overly fond of how it takes my handsome boy and turns him into an Oompa Loompa.

Very much like Pig Pen, actually, by the time the game is over.

But, mom.....baseball dirt makes everything taste BETTER.

Give up, mom. You're never gonna get it out of there. Besides, I don't want you to. I like it. Seeing all of that orange ground into the white? Really makes me feel like I'm doing my job out there, and doing it right.

*sigh*

Did I say I didn't love baseball dirt?  How can I not, when it has the power to give my baby another piece of himself back, when he struggles so hard to hold onto all that he can?

Another Angle For The Nike Campaign, Maybe?

Just a word of caution, here. This might turn into more of a rant. I'm okay if you want to browse through my archives today, instead. You know what they say: Forewarned is forearmed.

*big deep breath*

Most of you should know my stance on volunteerism, right? You've read my letter to parents, you've seen enough posts about how often both Coach and I volunteer, and you've even seen some posts on Jock's volunteering. Which is exactly what I want to talk about today.

How many 16 year old boys do you know that spend ANY time volunteering, let alone a significant amount? And by significant, I mean anything more than the couple of hours a month their mom makes them spend mowing Grandma's yard, or community service hours required by the school. No, I'm talking about volunteer time that is WILLINGLY donated, over and above what may be required by someone else. This is the kind of volunteering that Jock does. Especially every baseball season. This season has been no exception, and with our local Little League hosting both a District AND a State Tournament, there have been extra hours needed from volunteers. My son has once again stepped up to the plate (ha! Baseball puns for baseball volunteering! Not intentional, but I'm not taking it out, either!) and willingly donated his time. Time that (even while I don't see it) is extremely valuable to a teenage boy.

Before every--EVERY--game, he is there to help with field set up and prep. There are two fields a night to set up and prep. This includes setting up the score keeper tables, roping off the dugouts and score keeper table, setting up the shade structures for the score keeper table, chalking the fields, and just generally making sure the park is ready for the teams playing to arrive. Then, he also donates multiple nights to being the official pitch count recorder at one of the fields (generally two games per field per night). He also works in the concession stand. (To be fair, he now gets paid to work in the concession stand. However, he was volunteering in there long before that ever happened, and even now has been seen volunteering in there on nights he's not scheduled.) And at the end of the night, he stays with me and helps to take down the score keeper tables and shade structures and generally make sure the fields and park are left in good condition for the next day. He does not do this for recognition; in fact, I don't think anyone at the school even realizes he does this. He's not doing it for padding on a college application, although he was happy when I pointed out that we could add all of this to those applications when he starts sending them out. No, he does it just because he's a good kid.

There are 13 members on our Little League board right now. Of those 13, there are at least 6 others who have teenage children. Teenage children who are perfectly happy to help out when they get paid, but can never be found or counted on when they are just volunteering. I wonder why that is? And I also wonder why it is that when additional volunteer time is needed, one of those parent-of-another-teenager board members (who has a child that is not only getting paid to work the concession stand but paid to empty the garbage cans each night) ALWAYS suggests MY son be the go-to kid, even if that means taking him off of one of the few paid shifts he has. Why are these other parents not suggesting their children step up and volunteer? Do they think it's enough that they, as parents, are volunteering? How can you expect your child to learn the importance, value and satisfaction that volunteerism is if you don't encourage them to do it, themselves? How can they learn that just by watching you?

Kids don't learn to walk by watching you. They don't learn to speak by watching you. They don't learn to ride a bike or swim by watching you. No. They learn BY ACTUALLY DOING IT.

I Still See Them At The Ballpark....Mostly

If you're a fan of Little League Baseball, or maybe just a fan of pretty green grass, you've got to agree that that field up there? Is beautiful. Right? I mean, that dirt is just the perfect shade of red, and the grass really couldn't be any greener. However, when you've spent (and I'm seriously not exaggerating, here) no fewer than 6 hours a night, every night for the last week, at that beautiful ballpark.....well, it starts to lose some of it's appeal.

This week has been All-Star Tournament Week for our Little League district, and OUR Little League has been the host again this year. Which is great, truly it is. It's a huge boon for our little town, and is tremendously exciting for our ball players. Especially those who have made the All-Star team for the age group that we are hosting. (Which, thank goodness, Bug did! Otherwise? I don't think I would have seen my kid at all this week.) Our concession stand is doing some serious business, and that's wonderful for next season's registration rates. The biggest downside to all of this? I'm the Tournament Director.

So, why is this a downside? Well, I get to coordinate all the volunteers to keep score, pitch count and to work in the concession stand. I get to coordinate the set up of the park and the fields being used (and you should know that for some amazingly odd reason, most of these teams seem to think they should arrive two hours before game time. For the love of chocolate....why?!?!). It might help here to remind you that our Board of Directors actually has 13 people on it. Wanna know how many of them followed through on any offers to help me coordinate volunteers, organize each age group's team and paperwork, and who show up each afternoon to help me with any of the field prep? Two. Everyone else seems to be okay with showing up at game time or at some point after, and taking as much credit as the visiting teams want to dish out. Which is a lot, because I'm not too shy to admit that our fields are GORGEOUS, our concession stand ROCKS, and everything is running BEYOND SMOOTHLY.

And I'm going to do it all again when we host the STATE tournament in a month. Because apparently, I am just not in my right mind.



Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

How Can You Not Love Him?

After his JV Baseball season ended this year, Jock was able to join one of the older teams in our local little league for the remainder of their season. They have been in the playoffs this past week, and it's a double elimination tournament. Sadly, they lost their first game; which means that every game since has been a "must win" game. Fortunately, they've kept winning and last night was the final semi-final (huh... that sounds odd) game.

Jock actually started as pitcher last night. Now, I know I spend a lot of time talking about how I think my kid is awesome and can do just about anything. However, prior to last night I can count on one hand the number of innings he's actually taken the pitcher's mound in his entire baseball career. Seriously, the entire thing. He's not a natural pitcher, and really only has one pitch. He takes an incredibly long time before EVERY PITCH before he even starts his wind up. The only thing I can think about that is that he's trying to psych out the batter?? Anyway, it comes down to him being so much more comfortable in other positions on that field. But this was the second time this coach has had him pitch, so he must see something I don't, right?

And you know what? He might not have been as strong as other pitchers; but he really wasn't bad. There were only three runs scored on our team last night, and some of those can actually be attributed to fielder errors, not bad pitching. So I stand corrected. My kid obviously rocks at even more than I've given him credit for.

But that's not the point of my post today. Nope. My point is that after the team won the game (Oh? I didn't tell you that? Yep... we are headed to the championship game tonight!!) last night, my little nieces and nephews--who absolutely ADORE Jock--went running up to him while he was sitting with the team. And this teenager, who doesn't hug me in public much anymore, picked all of these kids up and gave them all gigantic hugs and squeezes!

How can you NOT adore a too-cute-for-his-own-good teenage boy who does things like that? I'm in so much trouble as the girls start catching onto this.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

No Pressure. Really.

There are many defining moments in life as a mother, and certainly some as life as a mother of an athlete. Twenty-five years ago, such moments were generally documented simply by being present in the stands, and maybe--maybe--if you were a really ambitious mother, written in a diary or journal somewhere. Or maybe you would have just jotted down scores and key points on the back of a ticket stub or program. Today, most of your defining moments are caught on some form of visual media: cell phone recording for possibly posting to a website, the timeless video recorder, or just a simple camera--whether digital or actual film. And today, your truly ambitions mothers scrapbook or blog, being sure to include those pictures.

Apparently, I am only somewhat ambitious. Or possibly only somewhat good at documenting these defining moments. I mean, sure... I blog about the events that are shaping my boys' athletic lives. But the pictures? Not really appearing so often here, are they?

Last week, Jock gave me one such defining moment. My boy, the one who doesn't get nearly the chances he wants to get because high school sports are ridiculously political, hit a home run in his baseball game. Not just any home run, though. Oh no. He hit a rarely-seen-in-the-pros-let-alone-in-high-school GRAND SLAM!

And why is this a defining moment for me, as opposed to a moment for him, you might be asking? Well, because this moment, this rare, spectacular moment; was not documented at all. I failed to bring the camera with me to the game that day. The only picture I got from that beauty of a hit came AFTER we got home, and I let the ball out of my hands long enough to set it on the counter.

It is truly a beautiful ball, and now sits on our trophy shelf. Where I have jotted down the score and the date, right on the leather. Apparently my love of the early 80's is reflected in more than my taste in music. It's in the way I document the moments of my kids' lives, too.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Open Letter To Parents of Athletes

Dear Parents of the kids on the team:

Hi. I'm pretty sure you all know me. I'm the coach's wife. But please, give me minute to reintroduce myself to you, ok?

I'm the woman who is married to the man who spends no less than 20 hours a week volunteering his time so that your child can experience something more of the sport than simply playing catch with you in the back yard when you have a few free minutes. I'm the woman who is married to the man who sometimes has to be reminded that he has his OWN children that he needs to spend some attention on, because he has a tendency to become wrapped up in creating as wonderful an experience as he can make this sport for YOUR child. I'm the woman who willingly gives her husband to your child, and the sport, for all those many hours each week.

I'm the woman who is the mother to one of those kids on that field. One of those kids who might possibly be more talented than your child; or he might be struggling. One of those kids who has other issues behind the scenes; issues that might possibly dictate occasional behaviors that you may witness. I'm the mother to one of those kids who rely on positive feedback and reinforcement, to encourage him to continue to make efforts to improve himself, his behaviors and his athletic abilities. I'm the mother who constantly tries to teach her child good sportsmanship above all else, and that winning -- while it is certainly a worthy goal -- is not the ONLY goal.

I'm the woman who not only willingly gives her husband to your child for several hours each week, but gives of her own time for at least 20 hours each week. I'm the woman who represents you on the Board of Directors. I'm the woman who works to ensure that we continue to have a good relationship with the town we play this sport in. I'm the woman who works to ensure that you don't have to pay increasingly exorbitant fees for your child to participate in this sport he loves. I'm the woman who occasionally has to miss watching her own children play, so that she can ensure you get to watch yours play.

All of that, and yet.....

I'm also the woman who is hurt, angry and disappointed. The woman who stands behind the stands at each game, listening to you. The woman who hears you belittle the kids on the field, constantly criticize each and every decision the coach makes, and make negative personal comments about certain individuals. The woman who reads the emails you send, attacking my child without knowing a single thing about him. The woman who wonders how you can feel qualified or justified in ANYTHING you are saying about the coach, any of the kids on the field, or any situation at all when you are never at a practice and only at games; never taking the opportunity to simply ASK the coach about something you may disagree with or wonder about.

Parents, this is just a game. Your child is not even in middle school yet, so to them it is still JUST A GAME that they play because they enjoy it. There is no way of knowing, at 10 and 11 years old, if your child is going to be the next big thing to hit the pros. Realistically, at least half of these kids won't even still be playing by the time they make it to the high school level, let alone anything beyond that. So why are you not taking the time now, when it counts and will stay with them, to teach them the value of good sportsmanship? The value of teamwork? The value of not believing that they are the superstar and everything revolves around them? Parents, you might not believe me when I say this, but your children emulate you. How you behave towards the game, the players, the coaches and the officials is exactly how they will behave as well.

Teach your children that the coaches are volunteering their time, and should be respected for that. Teach your children that building up your teammates is the key to a good season. Teach your children that the official is human, too, and makes mistakes. Teach your children that they can always improve, and to always be looking for ways to do that. Teach your children to recognize that the ultimate goal of the game is not to win, but to be able to walk off the field knowing that you have given your absolute best and can be proud of that fact.

Athletic talent in each child is either there, or it isn't. You can't force a child to be something he isn't. So parents, teach your children to be good sports, and good people. For only then will they be a person you have created and shaped, and you will be able to be truly proud of them.

And then maybe everyone will be able to enjoy the games again.

Thank you,

Sportsmama

Short And Sweet

This is the story of supreme dedication.

His, to improving his skills.

Mine, to photographing it.

Maybe I'll get lucky and improve as much as he will?

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

'Scuse Me, Blue?

I am glad that while both my boys enjoy the same sports, and are both talented athletes, they excel in different areas. It helps to keep the comparisons, both the ones they will do themselves and the inevitable ones that the adults in their lives will do, to a minimum.

Jock started his baseball career playing catcher and first base. So naturally, since he idolizes all things Jock, Bug wanted to play the same positions when he started that his brother played. And both boys played well at those positions. However, as they have grown and developed as players, they've both found their strengths to be in other areas. Jock is a fantastic left fielder. His arm is amazing, and the strength and accuracy he has is awesome.

Bug? Is turning into a phenomenal pitcher. Even his brother agrees, although he will rarely admit that to anyone. My little Bug throws fast, he throws hard, and he throws straight. (Well, most of the time. He IS only 10, so the stress of the game still gets him sometimes and he ends up throwing balls or hitting the batter. But he hasn't hurt anyone to the point of leaving the game, so it's all good.) He is totally committed to becoming a better pitcher.

Last season, Coach had built a pitching mound in our backyard for the boys. We ended up with either the wrong dirt, or just a bad pile of it, so the mound didn't get used much. By the end of the summer, it had pretty much been leveled out and was just another space in the yard. The pitching rubber was forgotten, and left laying out by the ladders and lawnmower. Last weekend, after hearing Bug talking to himself in the backyard and hearing some strange noises, I looked out the bathroom window (Had to stand on the edge of the tub to do that, too; but it was totally worth it!). There he was, on his knees in the dirt and rocks, attempting to rebuild that mound. He had piled up just enough to anchor that pitching rubber to. Then he stood up, and pretended to pitch.

So what did Coach do? He went out back and cleared an area at the other end of the yard to use as home plate. Now either he or Jock sit out there several times a week and catch for Bug. Occasionally, they'll have to duck quickly and let the ball slam into the block wall; and he's sent a couple over and into the neighbor's pool. But he's getting better.

Tonight, he threw 90 pitches in the game. Struck out at least as many as were walked. And allowed a very small number of actual hits. (We did lose the game, but it was our fielding errors that killed us. Ugh!) And still he managed to hit a double and score the only run our team had.

90 pitches. Now, if I could get him to pick up 90 pieces of trash at home, or brush one of the dogs 90 times (or both at 45 times each...I'm not that picky!) we'd be golden!

Sunburns and Sacrifices

If further proof is needed concerning what a bonehead I am when it comes to the sun, you should ask for pictures of the sunburn I got Saturday at Opening Day for the Little League. My arms, right up to and including my shoulders (because, as a board? We thought it was brilliant to have the female board members wear sleeveless shirts), are a fantastically beautiful shade of red so deep and dark that it looks almost purple. This conveniently matches my calves and the inside of my ankles (because it makes perfect sense that the FRONT of my legs are still a blinding white, doesn't it?).

On a related note, spray on sunscreen is not kind to your hair. You really shouldn't use it on your scalp. Does anyone know of a good way to keep that part of your scalp that always shows, because you have to part it somewhere, right?, from getting burned so badly that you can't really brush it well?

Also on a related note? When your shoulders are burned so badly that you can't lift your arms even shoulder height? Shaving your armpits is an excrutiating experience.

Another potentially useful piece of information regarding sunburns? Ten year old boys find massive enjoyment in pressing fingers against their mother's arms, just to watch how quickly the white fingerprint will fade.

Apparently, you CAN acquire a sunburn through a buttonhole.

_______________________________________________

Opening Day was awesome! I'm hoping I can find some pictures from someone on the board who took some, because **news flash** I didn't. I was too busy being the center of attention. Which also shouldn't surprise anyone.

I was the official emcee, and I also sang the National Anthem. As an added bonus to my natural narcissm, one of the high school coaches asked if I'd be willing to sing at occasional school events. WooHoo!! That would bring me back full circle, since I used to sing the Anthem at school sporting events when I was in high school.

The day started for me at the buttcrack of dawn early time of 6:30 in the morning. It has always been my belief that mornings shouldn't start before noon, and that opinion didn't change this weekend. However, as I'm in this league for the kids, I just keep reminding myself that bright futures require sacrifices. And what kind of mother would I be if I wasn't willing to sacrifice my sleep so that I could remain involved with my boys?

Well, I'd be a well-rested mother, but we won't mention that mm'kay?

Self Control and Sportsmanship

I talk a lot on here about Jock, and his successes and trials in the sports he plays. But my poor Bug doesn't seem to get much equal billing, does he?

Tonight his team had a scrimmage. Double bonus tonight, as Coach is actually the manager of the team. I'm actually a big believer in scrimmages, no matter the sport. They give you real game situations, without really counting. Scrimmages are a fantastic way for managers and coaches to see how their teams can work together, and where they might fall apart when it matters. Scrimmages also tell you if your players have been listening at all during practice. They are a phenomenal coaching tool.

They are also a source of stress for a player who leans towards perfectionism, and who cracks at the first sign of an off day. For a player who has a mood disorder, scrimmages mean just as much as a regular season game. Let me remind you that I have just such a player.

That's not all he is, though. He is also an incredible ball player. This boy of mine, at ten years old, can pitch a fast ball so fast, so hard and so focused that it literally knocks the catcher back if he's not planted well. The thwack sound it makes as it hits the glove is awesome.

Tonight's scrimmage, though, was a little rough on him; as I suspected it would be. Nothing too major, but enough that he was crying in the dugout a couple of times. There was an umpire at the scrimmage tonight, and he's a new ump. We have one younger division that is mainly a slower paced, instructional division--while remaining real baseball, with all the same rules--that we also use younger umpires for. These umpires are generally 13-16 years old, and are just learning to umpire. This one wanted some practice before games started next week, and asked if he could ump our scrimmage. Sure, why not? That would give the boys some practice with an umpire as well. And really, this kid did a great job. He didn't really make any controversial calls, but there were a couple of calls that an older, more experienced ump would have made differently. Not a huge deal to the parents or coaches, or even most of the players.

But to Bug, who often has a difficult time making allowances for things, this was not good. On one play in particular, it was a race to the 1st base bag between Bug and the ball he had hit that was now being thrown by the third baseman. The parents in the stands thought he beat the ball. Bug thought he beat the ball. The umpire? Called him out.

Looking into the dugout, I could see him sitting on the bench with angry tears running down his cheeks. His teammates were commiserating with him, telling him it had been a great hit, and a great run to the base. He was just so .... not happy with it. Normally, I truly believe that you have to let the athletes console themselves and each other. The dugout is no place for the mama. Trust me. But with Bug, there are times when Coach and I know we have to step in, to hopefully derail the meltdown before it happens. As Coach was out on the field with the team, it was up to me.

So I went down into the dugout, and explained how the umpire was new and was just learning how to do things right. I reminded Bug that everyone makes mistakes when they're learning, and that next time that happened the call might go the other way. Just as he, Bug, was always learning new ways to be a better player, this boy was learning new ways to be a better umpire. We needed to understand that, and move on. Umpires are human, much as we might think otherwise during a stressful game, and we just needed to accept that mistakes will be made. It really helps Bug to have some things explained in detail to him, and anytime he can calm himself down by looking at things differently--I'm all for.

I will point out, though, that had this been a real game? I would have just called one of the other coaches over to the corner where they could talk to me through the mesh, and told them how to talk to Bug and what to say. Again, I am fully aware that moms do not belong in the dugout.

After the game, when we were busy giving him all sorts of props for his mad pitching skillz, I made sure to comment on something else equally as important that I wanted Bug to know was noticed. Despite being upset at the calls the umpire was making; despite being frustrated with the way the scrimmage was going; Bug never lost his temper on the field. He was not disrespectful to the umpire, the coaches or his teammates. He had somehow managed to control himself and his reactions, and he did it on his own.

And that was better than anything else that happened tonight.

I Don't Care What The Stats Say, It Was A Triple

So did you know it was baseball season? No? Well that might be because I haven't talked about it much, I suppose. Although I know I mentioned that Jock made the JV team at the school, I just haven't let you all know how games have gone.

FYI, we're undefeated. As there are only a small number of boys who were both on the infamous football team and on this baseball team, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that this sophomore class at the school has got some phenomenal athletic abilities running around in it.

This afternoon was the 6th game of the season. There are a lot of things I'm not happy with (again, it seems) this year, but I won't go into that here. This post is solely to brag on my kid's performance in this game. On a side note, I LOVE it when we play against this school. It doesn't matter what sport we're playing, anytime we play them--we win. And not only do we win, Jock totally rocks the field, too. And today? Same thing.

He made every play that was sent his way in left field. Awesome. And then he picked up the bat and stepped up to the plate. He swung at the first pitch (although, really? What was he thinking?! He knows he should never, NEVER, swing at the first pitch!), and the sound that bat made as it connected with that ball was beautiful. Absolutely musical. That ball went sailing on a straight shot out to center field. My boy, who can run the 40 yard dash in under 5 seconds and 60 yards --the distance from home plate to second base--in under 7 seconds, took off running. He rounded first, he rounded second, and he stopped at third.

(This would be the point where, if I was absolutely into being honest with everyone, I'd tell you that sadly, no. He did not hit a triple. Technically, he hit a single with two bases on errors. That beautifully hit ball? The short stop missed it AND the center fielder missed it, probably because it was flying hard, straight and fast. However, I don't care about the technicalities here. He hit the ball and landed himself on third base.)

And to top off what was already a good day (for him, at any rate), I was informed after the game as I was walking and talking with him on his way back to the team bus, that the duo of cute little brunettes that had been hanging out by the fence? Had apparently been checking out his butt. Which was an ego boost for him. Not that he needed that, as you'll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that my son? Is so not lacking in the self-confidence/he-knows-he's-cute department.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Motherhood....Kicked Up A Notch

So while I know I've had kids for going on sixteen years now, apparently I was never quite a "mom" before. Or maybe it's just that there are various stages of "mom-ness"? I think that might be it. And I reached a new one on Monday night.

Jock had his first baseball game of the season on Monday afternoon. Now, I'm not going to criticize the school or wonder (too loudly) why the heck someone decided it was a good idea to schedule a game...on a school night... at a school that is FOUR HOURS AWAY. However, regardless of the fact that this meant that the team would be leaving school BEFORE LUNCH that day, and scheduled to get home AFTER BEDTIME that night, we were still excited about the first game. (Which, sadly, as it was so far away, we had to miss. It's the one game of this season that there was just no way we could go to. One more reason to feel like such an imposter [spellcheck says that's spelled wrong, but the correct spelling--impostor--looks wrong to me. Pick the one you want, and read it that way, please] at this motherhood thing.)

This excitement lasted right up until I got a text message from Jock about 9:45 pm.

Well, the bus broke down.

Yeah, you read that right. The stupid bus broke down. And they were still two hours away from home. So I asked him to keep me informed about what was going on, and what the school was doing. Which he did, at regular intervals. All.Night.Long.

10:30... They're sending a new bus and telling us we'll be home about 12:30. Or so.
11:30... New time. About 2 am.
12:15... Still no bus.
1:10.... Finally loaded us on the new bus. Be home in a couple of hours.
3:04... We'll be at the school in about 15 minutes. Come and get me please.

So I put my shoes and jacket on, and headed out to the school. I beat the bus there by about 10 minutes, and when it pulled in and Jock got off, he walked up to my window and just said

I'm really tired, Mom.

I know, baby. Get in and I'll get you home.

Turns out Monday night was my introduction to the next stage of mom-hood. For despite the fact that I had to get up for work at 6 in the morning; despite the fact that I tried laying down both on the sofa AND in my bed.... I simply could not get to sleep. At all.

I tossed. I turned. I repeatedly smacked Coach, as he just happened to be laying (snoring away, the pukeface!) next to me as I flopped over. Nothing worked. I just couldn't keep my eyes closed, knowing my boy wasn't home and that not only did I not know just when he'd be home, I had no idea just where he even was!

Apparently, I will have no problems waiting up for him when he starts dating. And next year, when we once again do this stupid baseball game with this particular school? I am sooo going to be there.

Adventures In Buying a "Fan Club" (Otherwise known as an Athletic Supporter)

I'm sure I've said quite often how much I really do enjoy parenting boys. They're easy, less drama, and they are just plain fun. And oh, do they ever keep me laughing.

Jock came home from baseball practice tonight grumbling. Apparently, the coach had the nerve to suggest that my boy would make a good back up catcher. (Please note the sarcasm, directed completely towards my silly son. Jock hasn't played catcher for more than half an inning in about 3 years. He knows the position, but it certainly isn't his primary one. The coach needed a a back up, one of the other boys mentioned Jock had played it before, so the coach tried him there. And liked what he saw well enough to tell my boy he'd like to see more.) After *gently* reminding my son that ANY playing time is GOOD playing time, and that he should ..ahem, CONTINUE... looking at this as a way to get on that diamond more (15 boys on the team, only 9 can be on the diamond..... he only has to be consistently better than 6 of them!), we finally got to the REAL reason he wasn't happy.

He has to wear a cup to play catcher.

He hates wearing one. It's not that he disagrees with the purpose behind them. Oh no! He's all for the protection. However, he feels he can't run as fast with one on. And he thinks it's a hassle to constantly be taking it out and putting it back in there between innings. However, he maintains enough of his sanity NOT to have argued with the coach, and agreed to wear one. Only one small problem.

He didn't have one that fit him. Because these things are apparently like shoes, and as you grow you need to get bigger ones; and as the last time he wore one he was 13 (and I'll admit to being just clueless enough for it to ... literally.... just occur to me that this means he hasn't been wearing one during the last two football seasons, either. **Note to self.... talk to that boy about that, and how it's really much more acceptable to me if he wears one from now on.**); It.Didn't.Fit.

Now, as his mother, the last thing on my mind is his cup size. Honestly, since the last time I saw what needs to fit in there he was only about 5, all those things look too big. And uncomfortable. But I'm a girl, so what do I know? So off we went to the sporting goods store.

All you mothers of boys out there, just remember that forewarned is forearmed. Especially if your boys are athletes. Most especially if your boys are athletes in sports that require the use of protective equipment for your future grandchildren. Much like bodily air emissions and use of the word "poop", athletic cups are a massive source of amusement. For example:

--The supporter itself can be pulled out of the package and stretched, testing for elasticity.

--The cup can also be removed from the package, and held closely to what it will be holding; you know... to assure a snug fit.

--Both of those can be remarked upon as one of the following: Too small....Too tight...Looks like old man underwear....or Holy Hell that's huge!

And all of this can (and probably will if your boys are ANYTHING like mine) absolutely be done while shopping with their mother.

It's a good thing I don't embarrass easily. He knows that now.

Which actually scares me. He's a smart one, this kid. I can only imagine what he'll try to do next time we go shopping for something.

Be Gentle, Its My First Time

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

There are moments in every boy's life that he looks back on as a moment his dad taught him something. With any luck, its something useful. The really fortunate ones recognize that moment as more than just a moment they learned something. They recognize it as a moment their dad passed along a piece of himself.

You all know that Coach is just that. A coach. Right? I know I've mentioned it a time or three thousand. And while he loves teaching kids, our boys specifically, about anything to do with any and all details of any and all sports..... he lives for the times when he is ASKED to show them how to do something.

Last week was the Little League All Star Tournament here in our little corner of Arizona. With Bug's team out of the running for the championship, my guys were still hanging out at the ballpark, watching games while I was busy doing Hosting Board stuff. Bug took the opportunity to make his dad feel ten feet tall. He asked Coach to teach him how to keep score. If you've ever kept score for a baseball or softball game, and I mean really kept a detailed score book, you know that there is a lot involved in it. And my ten year old Bug wanted to know it all.

Yes, Coach still had his score book from the regular season. Yes, it was pulled out and carted to the field with us. And yes, Bug sat there for most of the entire game, completely engrossed in his dad's words.

I've never been more proud of either of them. Bug, for following through on something he asked his dad to show him. And Coach, for remembering that times like this are reasons he started coaching his kids in the first place, and for patiently explaining every nuance of that silly book.

I'm also proud of myself. For not breaking down and bawling like a little baby every time I looked at them huddled together under that blue canopy.

**Ok... so cut me a little slack here! Its my first Photo Story Friday, and I'm posting this just knowing that I had too few photos and too many words. I'll work on it for next week, ok?**

It Wouldn't Win American Idol, But.....

Ok, Cecily..... because you specifically asked for it, you got it.

Although I suppose any of you out there can feel free to look at it, too. I mean, its not like this is a private blog or anything. Just keep in mind that the professional videographer we had all set up called at the last minute to tell me that he had to go... um.... wash his dog, or something like that. So what we got was Coach and the Kodak.

There will be no booing or throwing of over-ripe vegetables allowed. Also, it might be sort of, kind of, a rule here that the ego of the blog owner be stroked. Whether its sincere or not.

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And it seems that the results of the audience poll are overwhelmingly in favor of my posting pictures here. I like the suggestions to only leave them up for a little while, and then go back and delete them. As Lunanik mentioned, that helps to weed out my regular reader friends from the creepy stalker types. So, consider yourselves forewarned. Get out the umbrellas, because there is a very real possibility that I will begin showering you with pictures.

Although, maybe.... in the spirit of the desert here, I'll only sprinkle them around sparingly.

Baseball in Hell

At no point in your life is it ever really, truly enjoyable to STILL be at a Little League game--for 9 year olds!-- at 10:30 at night. Really. I don't care if it IS your kid pitching the best game of his life and he's hitting back to back to back home runs. If that stupid game has now gone on for three hours because YOU CAN'T BREAK THE STUPID TIE... it's too long. And it's not fun.

It's even less fun if you don't have a kid in the game, and you're just there because at some point you thought it would be a GREAT idea to volunteer to be on the board for said Little League, and your city is hosting the All Star tournament for this age group, and you are the designated board member on duty for the night. And you've been at the field since 4:00 pm. Setting up the scorekeeper's tables at both fields being used. Getting the concession stand ready to open ON TIME. Coordinating and directing multiple score keepers and coaches from 10 other cities. With no help from the other--male--members of the board. Actually, with no help from anyone other than your teenage son (who has been nothing short of amazingly wonderful all week long, helping his poor, pathetic mother out the way he has!). At all. Really--no one. Oh... and it was 113 degrees at 4:00 pm. And its STILL over 100 degrees at 10:30 pm.

Oh yes. And you've done this Exact.Same.Thing every night this week.

What was that definition of insanity? Doing the exact same thing repeatedly, and expecting different results? I think that might also be the definition of Little League Volunteer.

Have I mentioned that I ran again, and was elected again, to the board for next season? All that sweat that has been seen running down my face this week? Yeah, that was my brain seeping out my pores.

Some Mommy Moments and Random Pride

Just some random things I'm proud of at the moment....

• Jock, who struggled ALL YEAR with English and Math classes, often feeling fortunate to just barely get a "D" to maintain sports eligibility, just got his final report card for his freshman year. That English grade? C. That math grade? C+. Every other class was a B. He worked so hard for those, and I'm so proud of that effort. But I think I'm more proud (prouder?) of the fact that he recognizes that those grades are a direct result of how hard he worked. He knows he earned them, and he's proud of himself. I love it when they can see the results of their own hard work!
• My little Bug made the Little League All-Star team for his age group. There were 20 kids that tried out, and only 13 made it. Only four of those 13 are nine years old. He's one of them. How cool is that?
• Despite being a teenage boy, who by the very definition is weighed down by loads of testosterone made even more sluggishly heavy in the summer months, Jock still gets up EVERY morning to go to the weight training being provided for the football team. He actually sets his alarm and gets up before I make my trek down the hall to wake him. Why does this impress me so much? Because he's getting up at 5:30 in the morning. How many teenagers do you know of who do that willingly? Especially in the summertime when they KNOW they're supposed to be sleeping?
• Both my boys, every day without fail since I lost my job, have asked me how the search is going. Now, I don't know if they ask because they truly want me to find something, or because they have a pretty good inkling of the financial ugliness right now, or just because they really want me out of the house on a regular basis. The point is, they are asking. Hey! I'll take what I can get when it comes to thinking they are thoughtful little people.

And finally.....

I'm really proud of the fact that even on days I haven't had an interview set up (and in the almost 2 weeks I've been unemployed? There have only been two of those.).... I've managed to shower, brush my teeth and get dressed. Because let's face it.... it would be so much easier and more comfortable to stay in my jammies.

Of course, then I'd stink. And I certainly wouldn't want to be confused with Bug's feet!

At Least Its Not His Underwear

*and yes, I know that title will most likely bring me some very strange traffic*

I'm sure at least most of you are familiar with the superstitious practices running rampant throughout the sporting world. Ask almost any athlete, professional or amateur, and they'll tell you they've got some sort of good luck charm. Lucky socks. Lucky gloves. Lucky underwear.

Well, Jock is no different. He's just as superstitious as the rest of them. His lucky "item" changes depending on the sport; and it changes each season. It can also change during the season if he's been in a slump; he changes something, and then comes out of that slump. We've had our fair share of lucky socks and lucky undershirts. Pre-game rituals that must not be changed lest the team suffer dire consequences.

This year, in all sports, all of his superstitions have centered around the same thing. His sideburns. It started during football season. He didn't shave them off all season long, and his team went undefeated and he led his position in touchdowns. BUT.... for baseball season, when he'd grow them out, he either wouldn't play or he'd play crappy. So, he got in the habit of shaving them off on game day mornings. And when he'd do that, not only would he get to play in the game that day, he'd get a spectacular hit. Then the freshman season was over, and he went down to play with the Little League. I'm not sure if he didn't take it as serious as he did the school team, or if he thought he'd try something different, but he stopped shaving his sideburns off. And promptly hit something of a slump. Ok, not precisely a slump.... but he certainly wasn't playing as well as he could have.

His final game of the regular season was tonight. And so, this morning? He shaved the sideburns off. And tonight? Phenomenal performance. The first thing he said to me when he left the dugout and we were walking to the car?

I TOLD you it was the chops!

Whatever. I know the truth; the real reason his performance was so much better tonight (oh... that beautiful ball he hit out right to the fence in center field... absolutely gorgeous hit! Brought in three runs and landed him a triple!). It had nothing to do with his sideburns, or lack of. Oh no. Wanna know why they won, and he did so well?

I was wearing the same jeans I've worn each time he's won a game this baseball season. That's right. It was all me.

I'm such a good mom.

Honey....Some Things You Should Know

Dear Coach,

Yes, I know I've been remarkably awful lately at keeping you informed of what exactly is going on in our lives, and the lives of those important to us. Baseball season keeps us so busy, and you and I both know that it is a true rarity for us to be able to do more than wave and blow kisses as we pass each other coming and going. Dinners together are a distant memory, and I'm not sure we even remember what it means to cuddle these days. (And on a side note, dear? We probably need to get to that soon, as its getting ever closer to the Fires of Hell temperatures the damn Arizona summers bring on. And I've never been that into you all sweaty and gross. And I'm pretty sure you've never been that into me all sweaty and gross. I'm jes' sayin....)

So in a better, more valiant effort to keep you in the loop..... I'm here to tell you a few things I think I might have neglected to let you in on.

First, have you seen the kitchen? I can't find a counter top anywhere in there, and I know we had at least one a couple of months ago. Also, we seem to be missing every single fork we own. So I'm thinking we're going to need to learn how to eat spaghetti with a spoon.

The little dog is out of food. And, um... I think she has been for a couple of weeks now. I've just been filling her dish with the big dog's food. She likes it, but now that you know that, it probably explains the new level of energy she's been showing.

I believe we're having dinner with your mother this weekend. It was supposed to be lunch, but between baseball games for our boys, soccer games for our darling nieces, and Little League board meetings (oh yeah... I've got one of those this weekend, too!)... I think we end up way past the lunch hour.

Have we decided that we are going to be more ecologically friendly? The spiders are getting out of hand, and I'm guessing that means you haven't sprayed lately. Or is it that you're being money-conscious, and spider-webs make great sunscreens on the windows? Could you let me know? I'd like to be prepared next time one looks up at me with all eight eyes from the faucet I use to fill the dogs' water dish outside. I'd hate to accidentally kill some new pet of yours.

Also, have we decided to grow our bushes out front into trees? I'm all for more shade here, especially as it starts getting ridiculously hot, but they're kinda scratchy. And not very pretty. And the tree we do have in the backyard? Um, not to alarm you or anything, but I think it might be alive and steadily inching its way to our bedroom window. Or quite possibly the spiders have just strung webbing from the branches to our window, and its pulling them closer. Either way, its reaching for me every time I walk outside to the kennel.

If you do get an urge to look for the kitchen, try not to disturb the cereal bowls the boys have left there. I know that they look like they are just bowls filled with milk in solid form sporting a spoon for a handle.... but I've got it on good authority that they just possibly might be extra credit science projects. Probably best not to touch those until the end of the school year. (Although since that time frame coincides with the end of baseball season, maybe that warning isn't really necessary?)

Laundry is a continuing issue here, isn't it? For future reference, socks can be found in the dryer, your jeans can be located on the back of the sofa, your work shirts are all hanging up in the doorway to the laundry room, and your underwear *should* be in your drawer. If you can't find it there, check on top of the box that is still sitting in our closet. That's most likely where I was last seen with the laundry basket. Oh, and clean towels are probably going to be found in the basket sitting behind the sofa. Give 'em a good shake before you use them, as there has been an increase in flying dog hair these days, and those two hang out in the living room a lot lately.

Speaking of the dog hair, try not to disturb the getting-larger-by-the-day pile under the bar stool by the shelf unit, mm'kay? I'm pretty sure Bug is trying to grow his own pet. He'd be awfully heartbroken if you somehow got rid of "Spike".

The various food items you keep noticing in every room of the house? Those aren't being left there by careless, lazy children. Oh no. I'm trying a new foraging routine out. If we leave food out for them, they won't start up with the "I'm hungry, Mom... what's for dinner?" bit they usually pull when we get home from practice or games. If it works, I will have revolutionized the way parents everywhere feed their busy kids.

Heck, it might even free up a little more time to fit in yet another activity!

Love you baby!

Air Kisses and Ghost Hugs,

Sports Mama

PS: Your dinner is in the microwave. Of course, I think it might be the one I left for you a couple of days ago. Add a bit of water, it should still be ok.