Still Reluctant, Still Here.

"Mom, you gotta start looking at things like a baseball game.  Focus on what happens next, not on what just went down, cuz you can't change that."  Nate Ball, my son.

I last published this blog almost 5 years ago.  Why has it been so long?  Let me just say the shit hit the fan.  I have been through 2 surgeries, 3 broken bones, 3 schools and that's just with my son.  My daughter switched sports after some super fun Cheer experiences.  Lets just say, the drama is real.  She now plays softball, and the drama is still real.

I was so overwhelmed 5 years ago,  I quit life.  I gave up on people.  I gave up on myself and I became really angry.  I saw my kids go trough some really painful situations and I did not know what to do.  I felt very alone.  I gained a lot of weight.  I came very close to losing my marriage and my Faith.  I thought the answer was for my kids to stop the sports, I even begged them to quit.  As a mom, that's probably the worst thing I have ever done.

But you know what?  They did not quit. They refused.  Even when coaches, teammates, other parents and even me, their own mother told them to.  I couldn't understand it.  I promised trips, cars, money, whatever they wanted.  But they would not quit.  Coaches told them they would never be successful.  Flat out bullied them.  But they loved their sports and they wanted to keep playing, no matter what.  I felt like they were gluttons for punishment,  I just couldn't understand why they would not quit.

I went to games, begrudgingly, I talked to no one.  I was miserable.  But then I did the smartest thing, as a mom,  I have ever done.  I let it all go.  I decided to let my kids do what they wanted and just support them.  I started to ignore the ugly comments, the let downs, the failures, the idiot and sometimes bizarre coaches, crazy, jealous, gossipy parents (more to come in future blogs about all that).  I found a peace in trusting my kids and their decisions.  I even realized they knew more that me  about how to handle these sports and just maybe I taught them to be this independent.  I needed to shut up.

I realized if they don't want to quit then neither do I.  I started losing weight, 30lbs so far and 50 to go.   Hopefully you will follow me on this journey.  I also started going to therapy.  One of the very best things I started to do was pray.  I started to replace my fear and failure with my Faith.  I separated my experiences from my kids, they are totally different.  I then started focusing on what happens next.  I remembered this morning that I love to write.  I love to express myself with words, it makes me happy.  So here I am.

The reluctant mom is still reluctant.  But I'm also still here, just like my kids and these dang sports. I'll share with you what I've learned and what I'm still learning.  Hopefully you'll laugh, roll your eyes and maybe shed a tear.   Just try not to rip on me too hard for my errors, grammatical or otherwise.  They are many and as I have come to realize, they have made me who I am.

Sore Winner

In 12 and under baseball there are things you can’t do.  One of them is running over the catcher or any player for that matter, in order to get to base, you have to slide.  If you don’t slide you will be kicked out of the game, and your team will take an out at each at bat.

I have seen this happen 5 times this season.  The kids that get thrown out can’t believe it.  The parents and coaches are angry.  Well get ready people because this is how it is in High School, it’s a safety issue and in case anyone hasn’t noticed, it’s a bunch of kids, let try and keep them safe.

This weekend we are playing another team from our town, during a tournament.  The kids all know each other and seem to get along. Apparently the parents and coaches do not like each other.  We are new to this so I’m just generally confused.  One of the other teams kids is running for home.  Our catcher has the ball, ready to tag him out.  The runner lowers his shoulder and plows down our catcher.  Not only does the ump call him out, he’s out of the game. 

It didn’t matter they beat us, but this is of no consolation.  The scorekeeper form the other team came over to finalize the score and was really pissed, he says he hates to come to our side, blah blah blah.  Our parents are pretty laid back, so they start laughing.  No one can believe he’s so mad, it wasn’t his kid that got thrown out and as I mentioned before, they won, HELLO, Mcfly.

He stormed off and continued to give us the stink eye; we continued to laugh our selves silly.  If you want to get that upset over 12-year-old baseball, be my guest.  My blood pressure is more important that that, and I am no spring chicken.  All I get from giving someone the stink eye is extra wrinkles.   And tell your kids to freaking slide, we are not in the MLB.  Not to mention it’s the rules, sink eye or not, and I didn’t make them.  The only thing I made is the kid and I would like him in one piece when all this nonsense is over.

A Moment of Thanks

     Thank you LA Lakers.  You have given me the best mother days gift ever.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Your implosion on the court in Dallas, against my beloved Mavericks was a pleasure to watch.

     Thank you Kobe, for giving me the opportunity to talk to my kids about how bad it looks for great talent to bitch and complain like a baby.  Thank you Lamar Odom and Andrew Bynum for being complete losers and getting ejected from the game.  My 9 year old has better control of her behavior.  I mean I just can’t ask for better examples of soar losers.  Especially Bynum, beating up on little JJ Barea, did your mom teach you that move?  But again, thanks, it opened up a discussion on bullying.

     And thank you Mark Cuban for keeping it kinda classy.  But let me not forget my Mavericks.  Peja Stojakovic and Jason Terry who could not miss a three pointer if they tried.  And Jason Terry for being so sweet and thanking God for his momma, gotta love it.  Let me just say, "I love you Dirk Nowitzki".

     So go home you spoiled, entitled Lakers, lick your wounds, make excuses, and cry.   And kids remember, with great talent comes great responsibility.  Have a good attitude, no matter what.  I don’t care how good anyone thinks they are, everyone loses.   So if you get beat, trounced or hammered, do it with dignity, just like your momma taught you.

Really

This is a word I use quite a bit.  The league schedules two 7:30 p.m. games in a row on school nights, really?  My son cried the other day when he got picked off at 2^nd, really?  Some mean little girl called my daughter an idiot during practice, really?  The little brat was 3 years older than mine.  Her mother response was a light, “sorry”, really?  That’s all you’ve got!

The coach form the other team, continues to have his team steal bases, when they are ahead by 15 runs, really?  A parent from the other bench comes over to take a picture of his kid, who proceeds to smash the ball.  He starts screaming “take three, take three,” right in front of our parents, his team was already trouncing us.  Really.

You can’t hear my sarcasm; you can’t hear the inflection and tone in my voice.  The exasperation I feel when I say this.  People never cease to amaze me.  When we are winning by a significant amount, I quit cheering.   It’s not worth it to cheer for my kid when he is beating a struggling team.  Bragging when you win by 20 runs is simply poor form.

Clearly, I am one of the few people who subscribe to this point of view.  At one game I found myself praying for the other team to just strike a few of our kids out.  Oh well, I can’t change it and I don’t care to.  It a lesson to be learned and I hope my son and daughter learn to say, really?  Because in most of these situations, that’s all I’ve got.

If he’s 12, I’m 29

            At one of my son’s baseball games this weekend I noticed something a bit off.  The kids were freaking huge.  I mean 5, 7 and 150 lbs. big.  A couple of the kids on the team were taller than I.  This is 12 years and under baseball.

I get that some kids are bigger than others.  We have a big kid on our team.  But come on, some of these kids look like they could drive.  I consider asking one of them if he could drop my kid off at home after the game.

I’m sure I’m wrong.  I can’t imagine that any coach would purposefully play an older kid down in a younger bracket.  I mean winning can’t be that important.  Grown adults would never cheat, right?

Well, I’m not buying it.  Those kids were huge and I’m pretty sure one of them had a five o’clock shadow.  If those kids really are 12 then they need to be checked for a glandular problem, or radiation in the drinking water.  I bet you my tummy tuck surgery cash these kids were older and the parents and coaches played them down to win. 

I mean trying to pass these kids off as 12 is like trying to pass my size 14 butt off for a 6.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what’s going on here.  On the up side my 72 lb. kid pitched and struck one of the giants out.  The kid was at least 2 and a half times his size.  Good thing for the boys to learn early, size really doesn’t matter.

Swimming with Sharks

Sharks are fascinating, they never sleep, they never stop moving but no matter how comfortable you might get, do not be deceived. They will eat you.  This is my opinion of some of the parents I meet.  They smile a toothy grin, but when they get hungry, chomp.

I think they wait to smell the blood in the water.  Wait till you are hurting, having a rough time and then its like the shark in Nemo, they can’t control the urge to bite you in two.

I guess it’s the nature of people and I am sure the realm of sports is not the only place you will witness this phenomenon.  It just never gets any easier to watch people chew you up and spit you out. 

Well the best bet is education.  Find out which sharks are least likely to eat you and try to associate with those.  But again don’t be fooled, they all get hungry so try not to look like food.

Holy S#%&*

            I am starting to panic.  It is Saturday and I have nothing to do.  I keep thinking where is the baseball jersey.  Checking the clock to see when we have to get to competition.  I need 30 minutes to get her ready.  Then I realize, no sports.  It’s Easter Weekend, thank you Jesus.  All you naysayer atheists can shove it.  I love the holidays and now I love them even more, kids don’t plays sports on the holidays. 

In the future I need to make sure our coaches are Christian so we are assured these days off.  I got lucky this time, but you never know.  I need to make a mental note right now, because I am sure some type-A freak coach, somewhere, is having a game or practice or something.

And the bonus is tomorrow.  I have two whole days off from sports.  Big sigh.  I am going to church, I am going out for lunch and I will not be praying for my kids to hit the ball, land tumbling, stunting and just not get hurt.  I will be praying that I can handle all the issues that lie in wait for me during the next baseball and cheer season.  I mean on this day I realize if Jesus hung on the cross for me to be saved, I seriously need to stop worrying so much. 

Gym Wars

My daughter is looking for a new gym and she has narrowed it down to two places.  I am at a complete loss as to which one is the right fit and she seems to flip flop, no pun intended, every day.

I keep hoping the gods of cheer will somehow appear to me in my sleep, a burning bush will start talking to me, or a color-coded galactic pom pom will hit me in the face.  I’m even considering asking the magic eight ball, but am convinced the answer would be “ask again later”.

One gym formed with coaches from the other gym, and this has caused some friction.   Both programs seem very good.  The parents at both gyms talk trash on each other.  Some of them really have negative things to say.  It’s so stupid.  I am pretty sure there are enough cheerleaders to go around.  Can’t we all just get along?

So we are taking classes at both gyms a bit longer and weighing the pro’s and con’s, (checking out the uniforms, seeing who has bigger hair bows).  I feel like I should be more in control, have a better feeling one-way or the other.  I honestly don’t, which means either gym will probably be fine.  So I’m cutting the strings and letting the kid pick.  I am still looking to the heavens, hoping a sign appears in the night sky, oh my, look!  Never mind, it was just an airplane.

That Guy

At my son’s game last night I witness firsthand “that guy”.  You know what I’m talking about.  Speaking loudly.  His opinion needs to be heard.  And not just by his team, but by everyone.  Clearly, he is the smartest guy at the game, in the bleachers that is.

He got in a snit because the coach told, I’m assuming his kid on 2^nd to steal 3^rd, which didn’t turn out so good.  He was hot under the collar and as soon as the kid started to steal, he starts yelling, “don’t send him, he’s too slow”.

I can hear a muffled remark form someone in his vicinity, who did not feel the need to speak loudly enough for the world to hear.  The guy responds with, “I know but the kid is slow and he needs to know his limitation”.  He keeps complaining for a while until it was evident his team was getting trounced, so he finally shuts up.

My son has been trounced; we once lost a game 33 to 3, brutal.  That was the only game my son came off of and admitted he had zero fun.  Coaches will make bad decisions, they are just dad’s.  I live by the mantra; I’m not out there so I’ll keep my mouth shut.  I do complain, just quietly, so if I’m wrong I don’t look like “that guy”.

White Baseball Pants (eye roll)

White baseball pants.  Horrible idea.  I don’t care how good your stain remover is you are going to have to wash those suckers several times.  Let me say this clearly, white pants suck!

I get major leaguers wearing white.  They don’t have their mom’s franticly scrubbing the grass stains out.  For Pete’s sake, the people who wash their pants get paid to do it.  I pause for a moment and imagine a world where I get paid to do laundry.  I’d be rich and defiantly a lot less bitter.

So what is the point of white baseball pants?  Did all the moms on the team do something simultaneously to piss off the coaches?  I imagine these men sitting around late one night, drinking beer and plotting the white pants.  I can hear them laughing. “ Lets get white pants, it will be hilarious watching our wives trying to get out the stains, oh and lets line them in red so they can’t use bleach, MUHWAHAHAHAHAHAH………”  Either that, or these men where not thinking?

Well at least I bought two pair, yea.  I’m not even going to tell you what that cost me.  The only good thing, well there is no good thing.  Here goes the washer for the 4^th time.

Death By Cheer

On our way back from the national cheer competition our plane began to make a horrible noise.  I am not the biggest fan of flying, my control freak side just can’t make peace with being 35,000 feet off the ground in a glorified tin can.  So when the pilot made an unscheduled landing in Vegas, due to the strange noise, I was a bit, shall we say, freaked out.

Our plane was grounded due to a mechanical problem and we were stuck in the airport all day awaiting another plane that had to fly into Vegas from Denver to get everyone home.  We got into Denver 13 hours after we left LA.  We arrived home at 3:00am.

What an end to it all.  We go to our first national cheer competition, made a vacation out of it.  I celebrated my 40^th birthday with 22 cheerleaders singing happy birthday, which, by the way, was a highlight.  But now I’m wondering how close we came to some type of tragedy.  In my overly dramatic mind it was a huge mid air explosion.

I come to the realization that cheerleading almost killed me.  The only reason we were on that plane was because of my daughter’s competition.  I’m rolling my eyes wondering if this entire experience had ended in tragedy would it have all been worth it?  The injuries, the frustration, the hair bows and sparkly face stickers.  Would it have been a good way to enter heaven, fresh off a cheer competition?

Well, who the hell knows?  We had a great time.  If I had to I’d do it all over again, which by the way I will next year, I would.  I will however, give a bit more thought to driving, or prescription medication.

Cheers to you

My cheerleader just had her Nationals in Anaheim, California.   On the up side we went to Disneyland, California Adventure and Universal Studios, on the down side we came in last, again.  My daughter was prepared for it, so she wasn’t too upset.

The night we arrived was my 40^th birthday.  A cheer competition is actually a bit more bearable with a hang over.  Who am I to turn down birthday drinks?   You only turn 40 once and it you have to do it in Anaheim CA, during a cheer competition, well, you get the point.

I have to hand it to her it was not an easy time.  During her last performance she got kicked in the leg and performed while crying in pain.  We have a picture of her in a full extension, which is a group of girls holding her up by her feet, and you can see the footmark on her thigh.

That little girl has been figuratively and literally kicked when she was down.  But she carried on, periodically crying and half smiling.  She told me later she had to complete the performance for her team.  She amazes me.  I really learn a lot from her and I think we all need to pay a bit more attention to the amazing things our kids do.  Never give up, smile when it hurts, think of others before yourself, and if you want to wear a huge sparkly bow, go for it.  You’ve earned the right.

This one I can do

      I have established that I am not an athletic person.  I never played competitive sports, I was always the first person out at dodge ball, and I never made it up that damn rope in gym class.

      There is one sport that I can hold my own at and that is skiing.  I can ski most black runs and I have even tried deep powder and moguls, although I will admit to screaming, cussing and going slow.  I have a video of myself going down one of these runs, my husband pans back and at the bottom of the hill you can see my kids, laying down waiting for me, it took me a while.

     But I love to ski; I love to be on the hill with the kids, strainging every muscle in my body to keep up with them.  I love how friendly everyone is, the entire culture is right up my alley.  Let’s not forget how awesome it is that after being on the slopes, you can basically ski up to a bar and get a beer.

     This weekend I was skiing while my daughter was boarding and a snowstorm whips up.  We had around 30 yards of visibility, strong winds and we got a bit lost.  We found our way to the lodge but had to grab a towrope to get up the hill.  We don’t take many towropes, and this one was tough to hold on to.  We held on for dear life, the wind blowing us sideways, and the rope pulling us up.  After falling several times we made it, laughing the whole time.  It was great.   Clearly, I should have worked harder at climbing that rope in gym class.

I have no words

           Competitive sports are not for the weak at heart.  It amazes me how tough my kids are because I have to bite my tongue more times than not.  You will have parents and kids say cruel things.  You will see parents act like lunatics.  And some coach’s behavior is just, well, if you don’t laugh you might cry.  Sometimes I worry these people are going to bust a vein over these games.

           I had a coach tell me that my son was a “serious athlete”, but he needed to gain some weight.  He advised me to begin giving him protein shakes.  He did warn me to be careful of the amount since they can be hard on his liver.  My son was 8 years old at the time.  Correct me if I am wrong, but i’ve always heard the liver is kind of an important organ, one of those you can’t live with out.  We passed on the shakes.

          Upon going to our first cheer competition I was bombarded by a multitude of skin baring uniforms on small children.  I had to pay extra for the length of our cheer skirts, so they were age appropriate.  Well not everyone sees this as important.  Nothing like a 6 year old in a two-piece cheer uniform.  At least the judges make the older girls remove the belly button rings before competition.   Seriously, just because you can pierce it does not mean you should.

          I have had parents tell me my kids were not good enough to make certain teams.  I have heard complaints over my kid’s performance; I have learned to roll my eyes.   I think it is a good thing to have no words, because the ones I do have are not very constructive.

Correction

I incorrectly reported the name of the team that played in the semi-finals.  I reported their name as Master Bladders.  They are the Master Bladers.  Due their old age and dirty style of play I feel this is a mistake anyone could have made, but I apologize for any offense.  Anyhoo, my bad.

Pepsi Center Bound

     My husband’s team won their semi-final play off game so we are Pepsi Center bound.  It was a heated re-match with the Master Bladders, their archrival.  Their fans can’t cheer for them, they have to yell, come on white, since they have kids present. 

     Clearly, their reputation preceded them; this poor team spent the entire first period in the penalty box.  The ref’s warned them that if they talked back they would add penalty time.  Most 2-minute penalties became 4 minutes.  I’m laughing myself silly, I mean come on, typical adult man, has to argue everything.  What am I saying typical 11 year old man as well.

     My sweet passive husband even got a penalty.  He was sprinting for the puck and got a bit out of control.  He barreled into a player, not on purpose, it’s e-league hockey, and he just couldn’t stop.  Unfortunately it was the only female player and she got angry.  She is yelling at my husband and he just looks at her with a glazed over look and skates away.  It’s the same look I get when I yell at him.  At least he is consistent.

     So stay tuned, 9:00 am this Sunday at the Pepsi Center.  After the game, we will all go to brunch like civilized Hockey Fan’s!

My bracket is better than yours

I’ve established I know little to nothing about sports.  I was never athletic; I was bad at the few sports I tried.  Most of what I know about sports I learned from watching my kids play and listening to my hubby.  I do enjoy basketball and am saddened by the shortness of my children.  I do not know the difference between double dribble, travel and walking, unless a vacation is involved. 

So it was much to my surprise when several years back my hubby asked me to fill out a bracket for the NCAA tournament.  So I did, and I won.  The very first time I filed one out I won.  Do you want to know my secret?  It’s very complicated.  I pick all the first seeds.

At first my husband laughed at me.  My reasoning was simple, isn’t that why they are ranked highly, because they are supposed to win?  Well it made perfect sense to me.  Well this year I am winning both my brackets.  I am even beating my husband’s family, which is crazy because they fill out their brackets with the care of a neurosurgeon. 

Next year I am considering consulting the bookies in Vegas.  If my simple approach wins I might ought to try getting some cash out of it. 

Those pants are sneaky little buggers

I don’t know about you, but in my house sports uniforms and gear get lost all the time.  My daughters ripped jeans I try to throw away keep showing up, but the sports uniforms are like elusive endangered animals.  I feel the need sew in tracking devices.  I mean the kids wear these things weekly, I am so careful to wash them and hand them over gently, with strict instructions to put them someplace safe.  Apparently, they have hidden hands and feet.  No matter where the kids put them, they end up someplace else.

Today we had a scrimmage at 9:30 in the morning.  I am not going.  I don’t need to drag the 9 year old out of bed at the crack of dawn on Sat. to sit in the cold watching a scrimmage.  So Dad gets the job, and I figure he would want it.  When I ask him to get the gear out the night before, so they don’t have to scramble in the morning, he gets irritated.  Clearly, what do I know about these things.

So this morning as they are scrambling to find the gear, the words I told you so are on the tip of my tongue.  I don’t say it as I realize this will not find the missing pants and will only heighten dad’s fragile state.  I inquire as to the sights that have been searched thus far.  I realize waking me was a final and highly resisted option.

We cover, laundry, drawers, closet, as I get my robe on.  I go check my daughter’s dirty laundry, because you never know what’s in that basket, negative no pants.  I go downstairs doing a cursory re-check.  I hear the whole; I already checked there, blah blah blah. 

I make it down to the bowels of the house, better know as the basement where my son has chosen to dwell.  I look around.   He is sitting on his bed, his dad barking to just wear his black pants.  I stay calm, I get in my zone.  My keen eyesight allows me to scan quickly over the situation. I start to calculate in my mind, I go through the w’s, when, who, where, what the ……

I see the pile of cloths I gave him two days ago, on the shelf above his bed.  IT WAS A MIRACLE, a Christmas miracle.  There they where about a foot from the kids head. It’s always the last place you check.  Actually, it’s always the last place mom checks.

Thank God my kids are special

Some lady in New York is suing the private school her 4 year old used to go to.  She has accused the school of being one big play room, putting the 4 year old in a 2 year old class and thus damaging her kids chances for getting into a prestigious private school, then Ivy League college.

Now we can all sue the various gyms, schools, sports and music programs.  I can’t wait to blame others for my kids shortfalls, although, let’s be honest, they don’t really have any.  But it nice to know I can sue someone if all the money I am spending on him or her doesn’t pay off, even though it will, I’m not concerned.

I mean, thank God my kids are so special, I will never have to worry about this.  I am expecting a call any day now from the top colleges in the country.  I fell so sorry for this woman.  Clearly her kid was not good enough and she was thinking, I’ll spend nineteen thousand dollars and get her up to speed.  Well, we can’t all be winners.

I’m glad I don’t have this problem.  I guess it’s in the genetics.  Who knows what would have happened if they weren’t good and got on the wrong team or ended up in the wrong class at school.  The key to your kid’s success is not in the amount of money you spend.  I beg God daily to make my kids perfect, so far, so good.

Well I better go, the phone is ringing, and I’m sure its Harvard.

Smile, I'm paying for it.

           Since our season is so long and obviously a bit more serious than we had anticipated.  Hubby and I decide it might be a good idea to get the kid some extra help in the batting department.  Don’t get me wrong, the kid can hit, but after his last 6 at bats resulted in 4 walks, one single, one strike out, we figured he needs an intervention.

           

We purchase a 12-lesson package, at a place called Hitstreak.  They film the kid, break down his swing, great stuff, I highly recommend it.  We luck out and get a great coach.  Young guy, Marcus, played high school ball at a local high school and then spent some time in the big leagues.  Very nice guy, he looks like he is having fun, smiling and cracking jokes.  I honesty think this guy is thrilled to be making a living teaching kids the sport.

            My kid is 11 and probably too young to be getting private lessons.  At least I’m not paying for my 6 or 7 year old to take privates.  But let me tell you, someone else is.  I almost fell off my chair.  I’m watching my kid bat, I look over at this little cutie-pa-too-tie, and wouldn’t ya know it, he is in a private lesson.  I don’t know if he is any good or not, but I figure at his age, it’s anyone’s best guess.

Clearly, this has got to be a bit of a waste.  At 7, does the kid even know if he likes baseball, football, lacrosse, perhaps water sports?  We live in the burgs of upper middle class America.  The options are limitless.  Why not wait till the kid has the ability to pick what he really likes.  When my kid was his age he liked Barney and Power Rangers, things change.  I at least waited till me kid could rationalize to me, why he wanted to play at this level.  (His answer, “because I loves baseball, seriously mom, I LOVE baseball, please, please, please……”)

            So junior is hitting, then coach asks junior if he wants to pitch, or should I say lob the ball.  Should they even really throw at that age?  Have you ever seen a 6 or 7-year-old pitch?   If Dante could rewrite the Inferno, he would defiantly make one of the lower rings of hell a 7-year-old kid pitch game, brutal.  Those at bats go on forever.

            Well, me thinks this poor coach was feeling like this private was going on forever.  He looks like I do when I go to the dentist, except this is a game, he chose to do teach it, and he’s getting paid.  I get it, we all do things we don’t really love, just to pay the bills, tide us over till we get to the good stuff.  But for Gods sake, fake it man.  If you look like you would rather be playing in traffic, just say no I’m busy and don’t take the kids money.  Come on parents, you should really go to your kid’s private lessons.  For 35 bucks you can get the 12 year old down the street to watch the brat all night.

            So I’m relieved we got the coach we got.  But I tell you right now.  I’ll be at every single lesson.  I certainly do not need to pay someone to look miserable while my kid plays baseball.  I can do that for free.