Tee Ball Diaries: Surviving Summer Sports

As a single mom of two boys, I pride myself on being able to yell phrases like “Get on the bag!” or “Keep it up and you’ll ride the pine, son!” And actually knowing what I’m saying. You know what I don’t pride myself on? Cheeseburgers…in the back seat…at 9pm…on a school night. Therefore, I have made myself a short list to survive sports this year, and hopefully, you’ll survive right along with me.

1. It’s just a game.

I love the Lord. If I could find a home for every stray animal, I’d make that my life’s mission. I will get close enough to a new baby to smell it on any day of the week. If a close friend is going through a horrible time, I fight the urge to physically hold her. I am a peaceful, loving, tiny soccer mom of a woman. HOWEVER. Tell your 4 year old to block home plate and I WILL END YOU. That crazy loon, screaming at the 16 year old ump to “use the minimum wage he’s making to buy a *&%^ clue?” Yeah…regrettably, that’s me. I once followed a very tall child to the concession stand during tournaments with the hopes of asking him how old he REALLY was. You guys. Tee ball at the local parks and rec turns me into a female Ari Gold. But guess who doesn’t care if Billy Blocker covered home plate or not? My son. The person I’m there to see. I have resolved my insane mind to focus on the joy Maddox gets just walking up to the tee, to really see the smile on his face interacting with his teammates, and to praise him for the huge strides he has made from this year to last. (So far, no teenage umps have been harmed in the wake of pre-season tournaments.)

2. I mean it’s crazy, we finish each others’ sandwiches.

Late night Sonic runs are best reserved for single men and college students, not a toddler and his older brother. I’d rather be waterboarded by Chewbacca in my coat closet than to spend my entire Sunday afternoon meal prepping snacks for the week. But in the long run, it’s a better alternative to my 3 and 5 year olds developing pulmonary hypertension before they can drive a car. Portions of fruits and veggies, squeeze yogurts, string cheese, peanut butter sandwiches, and a trendy Thirty-One cooler are my new arsenal in a French fry free existence for us this season.

3. BRB, I’m in the laundry pile.

I am lucky. Last year our colors were green and grey, this year they’re red and black. To all you mommas fighting the white baseball pants fight I salute you and insist you stay strong, dear stain fighting warrior. Now this may seem amazingly easy to some, but to me it literally took a whole season and part of this one to come to the realization that we have two roads to travel in my house. Road one involves a bottle of Febreeze and pants with questionable okay-ness to wear again. Road two involves, wait for it, BUYING ANOTHER PAIR OF PANTS. I know. I know. Call me Einstein up in here. The two pants, one child theory has saved my sanity and kept Maddox from looking like an eternal extra from Oliver.

4. Regina George bought army pants and flip flops, so I bought army pants and flip flops.

The last thing that I have discovered on my sports journey, is that sports have put the other moms and I in a cool little club together. Parents actually cannot wait for their kids to play a sport, and MY KID IS DOING IT. I seriously have people tell me how jealous they are that my Jeep is so full of dirt and sand I could make a regulation diamond in my back yard. In a small southern town where 90% of my friends are stay at home moms with doting husbands, being the single working gal gets a little isolating. Now I can talk for hours about coach pitch and practices running over and cleats on my hardwoods. Commiserating that your Saturday mornings are no longer your own is the great equalizer; and even better, PEOPLE WITH YOUNGER KIDS ARE JEALOUS OF ME! THEY WANT TO BE ME! THEY WANT ALL THE SPORTS! Its like I’m being invited to wear pink on Wednesdays.

So happy sportsing, mamas! Anything I forgot? Add it in the comments… I need all the help I can get here.