We had eight games this weekend — and about the same amount last weekend. Between two boys and three (or some seasons four) teams (with all-star or travel), it’s a lot of baseball.
I love it.
I have always loved baseball, the sport itself, and the aesthetic. White uniforms on crisp green, blue sky, sunshine, eating and drinking outside while talking with friends or family. Baseball is a relatively quiet sport, too, which I enjoy (no thank you, buzzers and whistles). What is there not to love?
My boys love it, too. Love it. Okay, I might have encouraged that some. (Red Sox baseball-themed room, anyone? Braves game? Atlanta is only five hours! Where are we going on vacation, and is there a ballpark? Heh.)
Being a baseball mom is a LOT. It’s weekend plans that don’t get made until the last minute until the game times for the tournament bracket come out, and the constant readjusting when the team wins or loses, splitting which parent is going where with which kid, and do we need a babysitter to help? It’s driving to some park you’ve never heard of in a part of the city you’ve never been to, and hoping there’s food nearby so you can get something if the day stretches into 12 hours (ahem, Memorial Day Tournament). It’s keeping sunblock, children’s Tylenol, a first-aid kit, extra hats, and four bats that roll around the back of your car every time you turn. It’s orange dirt all.over.the.house.and.car. It’s baseballs everywhere, including in your bed, randomly. It’s every single color belt and matching kneesocks you could ever want, and probably several pairs of each. It’s white pants that will never, ever get clean so just let go and throw them out when the knees get worn through. It’s the gaggle of little sisters with dirty Barbies, chalk, goldfish, red ICEE mouths, and coloring books all in a girl pile in front of the bleachers. It’s one tired kid, one empty fridge with no time to get groceries, and some meltdowns for everyone at the end of a long, hot, day at the field.
READ: White Baseball Pants: A Rant
And REAL baseball moms have matching shirts from Etsy with the entire team’s names on it, matching earrings, a pin with the player’s picture and number, and a waterbottle or hat that says “Baseball Mom” on it. REAL baseball moms have a collapsable wagon with a tent, folding chairs, cooler, fans, and a bucket of balls in it. REAL baseball mom’s shirts say: Moms Against White Pants, Baseball Mom, Can’t.Baseball.Bye., I Love My Little Slugger. REAL baseball moms go ALLLLLLL out with the team gear.
Hmmm. Maybe I’m not a REAL baseball mom. I don’t have a wagon with a tent, (though I probably should, baseball in Florida is HOT). I don’t have an Etsy team T-shirt (that would get expensive, quick). I don’t even always know all the kids’ names, depending on which team we’re on even though I cheer loudly for all of them. I wear my walking shoes to games in case I get 30 minutes to myself to walk a few laps while the team is warming up — not cute baseball sneakers. I don’t have a team hat (again, gets expensive, quick), or earrings, or even a water bottle sticker.
Yet.
I love how much my boys love this game. I love this game.
But mostly, I love my boys. So does every REAL baseball mom.
