Jonah started playing baseball this month. While I played softball when I was young, the role of a baseball mom is definitely a new one for me. In just the three short weeks that Jonah has played, my routine has been thrown topsy-turvy and I'm all discombobulated. I also have a few confessions...
I'm melting in my blue camping chair. Melting, people! They teased me by naming it "Fall Ball" when in reality, I live in Chattanooga, TN and it doesn't get really good and cold until January. Ok, maybe December if we're lucky. Which is nice if you like to wear flip-flops all the way until November like I do. Sitting in my blue chair that I've carried out to the ballfield while throwing a pound of snacks at a 2 year old just isn't very fun because it's hot and we always end up on the side facing the sun. I don't really do scorching hot unless my feet are being rhythmically splashed by waves.
So, I'm calling your bluff, Fall Ball. You lied.
Cleats, Bats, and Helmets, Oh My!
Growing up, I was only responsible for bringing a glove to softball games. Looking back, it was slightly gross to share helmets with all of my teammates. It's a wonder I never got lice. Oh, how times have changed! Not only was I asked to pay a hefty fee, but I also had to go out and get a list of equipment that rivaled the length of a school supply list: cleats, a batting helmet, a bat, a bag to hold all of the equipment with fancy clips that attach to the fence, and more. Insane! I thought about being the non-conformist, but you see how that went...
My Laundry Nemesis
Baseball uniforms are my laundry nemesis. Tennessee red clay doesn't come out of pants easily...go figure. From now until November, my kitchen sink will have stained baseball pants soaking overnight in a combination of Fels-Naptha and Oxi-clean two times a week. There is no room for laziness with uniform cleaning. With baseball games twice a week and a practice on a third day, I have to be on top of my stain-fighting game. I'm not sure about you, but I like to do laundry on my own timeline. You know, when I'm down to the last pair of underwear.
Confession: I've already forgotten to wash his uniform. In my defense, the uniform never made it to the laundry. It won't happen again. We've got a system.
Dinner? You mean you like to eat?
I'm such an amateur. Our games are at 6:00, so we're at the ballfield by 5:40 to warm up. Smart moms would have something in the crockpot. Better yet, smart moms would have thought about dinner before they left for the ballgame. For some reason I act surprised when my husband asks what we're going to eat. Every. Single. Time. Here's another sandwich, honey.
Ant in My Pants
Y'all...I didn't pay attention to where I placed my blue chair when staking my claim on the perfect spot to watch the game. I put my chair in the middle of an anthill. It wasn't until my feet were swarmed by ants that I noticed. The ants were very appreciative of the pound of goldfish crackers I threw at the two year old, who then dropped fifty percent of them on the ground. My feet? Not so much.
My Calendar Called
My calendar called. It said, "See you in November."
I will admit I really, really like white space on my calendar. I fight for white space. I like margin. I need margin in my life or I tend to get a little, um, shall we say...crazy. With one piece of paper, every single empty calendar square was gobbled up. So long, fall fun. Goodbye, quiet evenings at home. I'll miss you, regular bedtimes.
If you need me, I'll be at the ballfield. I'll be the sweaty girl at the end with goldfish crumbs under my feet.