In honor of Senior Night tonight for my oldest son, I thought I would share this speech that I did for a class many years ago.  I was a stay-at-home-mom taking some college classes so I didn’t really have a lot in common with the other students in the class.  We had to do a “Toast or Roast” speech and class response played heavily into our grade.  I thought humor and sports (with a little brutal honesty thrown in) would help my grade.  (It did!)

And now that I have written the required typical blogger introductory paragraph, let me tell you how I really feel.

I have been watching my son play baseball for almost 15 years.  T-ball, coach pitch, Little League, Babe Ruth, travel teams, All-Stars and high school baseball.  It is safe to say that I have attended 90% of his games, usually only missing a game if I am watching his brother play. I cannot count the number of times I have had to make last minute trips to pick up drinks or transport players.  I have delivered forgotten gloves, belts, jerseys, even jock-straps and cups (as recently as this month!). I have sat through blistering heat, driving rain and even snow. 

And I would do it all again.  I realize now that every time we got home soaking wet and tired, every tear shed after a bad game, every angry outburst, every bruise and rolled ankle, they were all worth it.  The good coaches, the terrible coaches, the wins and the losses – worth it.  The trophies and the heartbreak – worth it. 

My oldest son has always been his own biggest critic.  He is also one of the those kids that wears his heart – as well as every other emotion – on his sleeve.  When you combine passion and high expectations in a kid with strong emotions, things get rough.  We have focused this year on body language.  I don’t ever want him to lose or even moderate his passion for the game but we do want to slightly change how he presents those feelings to other people.  Those friends that only know him off the field have trouble believing this.  In class he is calm, respectful, in control.  On the baseball field he spews emotion.  We are working hard on finding a balance.  And that work is worth it.

There are not words to truly describe WHY it is worth it.  But is has something to do with passion and accomplishment and growth.  It has to do with respect and maturity.  It has something to do guessing which of the guys in the dugout will be groomsmen at his wedding.

It has a lot to do with watching a boy that has a true love of the game.

As his senior season wraps up, I was expecting to be much more emotional.  Don’t get me wrong, I have already shed more than one tear and there will be a torrential downpour of them this evening as I walk him out onto the field.  But I think the emotions are tempered by the fact that he has already committed to playing baseball next year in college so I will get to continue to watch him play.  I will have to drive eight hours to see a game, but it will still be worth it.

So in honor of this transition, here is some insight into my feelings on baseball 11 years ago.  

“The Other Woman” or “What Happens When You Marry A Coach”

This evening, I would like to toast baseball. 

Now, I am no expert on baseball. In fact, I am embarrassed to admit that I do indeed “throw like a girl”. But baseball has been a constant in my life for the last 10 years. 

See, my husband was a high school baseball coach and I have been, well, a coach’s wife. That means that I have watched more high school baseball games than the average teenager has played. That also means that my own kids have been around a lot of baseball. In fact my son who is now 7 years old spent much of the first four months of his life bundled up in blankets watching baseball, in the snow. 

When my husband got his first varsity coaching position it was for a school in a league that was very spread out geographically. That means that once a week he would have to ride a bus to a game that was at least an hour and a half away. That was also the year that we had our second child, born the week before baseball season started. 

I eventually got used to being a single parent for most of the spring, although I did start to think of baseball as “the other woman”. I accepted the fact that every spring, SHE would steal my husband. However, she always returned him, usually bruised and weary, with a little more gray hair. 

My husband eventually resigned from that school and started helping out at local high school so he wouldn’t have to travel as much. While I appreciated how much money we were saving on gas, in a way it felt like he just moved closer to his mistress. 

Eventually, my two sons became old enough for tee ball, and sure enough, she stole them too. 

Now don’t get me wrong, while I personally think she can be an underhanded witch, baseball has given our kids the chance to be outside, to run, make friends, learn about sportsmanship and teamwork… but this past year she wasn’t so nice to me. 

Between my five year olds tee ball team, my seven year olds little league team and the freshman team my husband coached, there was over 200 hours of practice and more than 50 games during the months of March through May. While I wasn’t required to be at every practice, I did have to do a lot for their rendezvous with the “other woman”. I had to wash and lay out their clothes for their dates with her, I drove them to meet her, I packed them snacks to share and bought countless gallons of Gatorade. And don’t even get me started on summer baseball teams! 

Now, I know there are a lot worse things in life for kids and husbands to be into, so I accepted the fact that baseball and I had joint custody of my family (although it did irritate me a little that she was the “fun” one out of the two of us.) 

Then this spring, out of the blue, she was dealt a blow. My husband left her. Or more specifically, he resigned from coaching high school baseball. He was able to see that while he was getting enjoyment out of coaching, he wasn’t getting to watch our kids’ enjoyment in playing. Or maybe, he just wants to chaperone his own sons first dates with baseball. So we took away that joint custody deal. Now, she just has supervised visitation. 

So to baseball… may she, I mean it, forever be America’s favorite pastime.  And may she keep her mitts off my husband. 

** An important follow up note:  My husband did not stay away from “her” for long.  He is now an assistant coach for our high school team so he gets to coach as well as watch our boys play.  So yeah, “she” won. 

When I discovered that April 14th was National Reach As High As You Can Day I immediately thought I should write a post about reaching personal goals and striving to be the best version of yourself.   Never stop reaching for those things others have told you were unattainable.  I thought it would be a great time to talk about personal milestones and the people in our lives that have been there to help us. 

But then I changed my mind and decided to go in a more literal direction.

So in honor of National Reach-As-High-As-You-Can-Day I would like to recognize a couple of important tools in my life.  

Before I introduce those tools, let me give you a little perspective.  I am not super tall.  I’m not even moderately tall.  I am average height… for a 13 to 14 year old girl.  And for some additional perspective, my husband (who is the shortest of 4 male siblings) is exactly one foot taller than I am.  

“Reach as high as you can” are words I say to myself almost daily.  Luckily, I have accepted my limits and have learned how to overcome some obstacles with the help of a few clever tools.  

One might think that a step-stool would be a favorite choice of mine… but one would be mistaken.  If I am cleaning out a high shelf or getting a heavy object down then I do grab a stool or ladder but if I just need the small, rarely used box of breadcrumbs from the top shelf I’m not going to dig out the stepladder or even drag a chair across the kitchen.  I just grab my favorite kitchen tongs.  They are a seriously underrated utensil.  Conveniently located on my kitchen counter, lightweight, quality metal that will not bend under moderate weight, grippy rubber ends… they should be standard equipment for any less-than-tall cook in the kitchen.

My other favorite “tool” that often helps when reaching as high as I can is not quite enough is my youngest son.  At 16 years old, he has not yet reached his 6 foot goal but he is significantly taller than I am and he has goofy long arms (I call him my baby giraffe… he is all limbs that don’t always work together in a graceful way).  But even before he blew past me on our family height chart he helped me out.  As a young child he did not weigh much… and he always seemed to be under foot… and he liked to try to help…  So rather than going to find a chair or stool to stand on it was just easier and quicker to lift him up above my head and ask him to grab whatever I needed.  I think the first time my husband walked in on this he sternly told me that was NOT appropriate use of a child.  Then I believe he fell down laughing.  

So take a moment today on Reach-As-High-As-You-Can-Day and give thanks for what you can reach but also for the help you receive in reaching those last few inches!

I have always admired people that read poetry.  There’s some dark, hidden part of me that wants to wear a beret and smoke a cigarette while absorbing deep philosophical meaning from beatnik poetry.  But the rest of me realizes that the last time I really “got” poetry I was reading Shel Silverstein in grade school.  That may be why I decided to change my major from literature to history.  I was just too intimidated by the poetry classes.  

I remember being so relieved finding out a final was in the form of essay questions instead of multiple choice or fill in the blanks.  Even in math, the only questions I was likely to get correct were the story problems.  There was no question that reading and writing have always been my strengths.

Until someone says the word poetry.  

And then I panic.

I have friends that after a few drinks say things like “for the next 10 minutes let’s only speak in haikus.”  Seriously??  That’s usually my sign to find the restroom with the longest line and hide there until the “fun” is over.  But while I was intimidated by those friends, I was also mesmerized.  I mean, I barely understand children’s books that rhyme and these people throw out effing poetry while drinking??  Un-rehearsed??  To those of you who can do that… I think you’re total badasses.   But please don’t invite me to join you.  

As for other forms of poetry, I am going to give them another try.  I just bought the sun and her flowers by Rupi Kaur.  I honestly do not remember where I first heard about it but at some point, for some reason, I added it to my list of books to read someday.  Turns out that someday is now.  Review to come soon…