Sunday, April 24, 2016

Baseball season is among us

As a little girl I literally lived at the ballpark. I played tee ball and a couple of years of softball, but in the end it just wasn't my cup of tea. This is how serious softball was taken for me, one year we got to put our nicknames on the back of our jerseys- my nickname was….wait for it….Burpy. Because I had an UNBELIEVABLE burping ability. I still do, I just keep it pent up, stuff like that is frowned upon as an adult. My little brother played ball from tee ball on- never missing a season. So as part of that package I was drug along to the ball park to find my own mischief to get into. I walked miles around that ballpark, because let's face it, sitting still watching your little brother play ball is no ideal of fun. There was the infamous dirt pile. Every ballpark has A dirt pile, and every kid not playing ball flocks to it. If you didn't come home from the ballpark covered in dirt from the field, you were coming home covered in dirt from the dirt pile. That one dirt pile provided endless hours of fun for the kids on the sidelines. Another fond memory was the snow cone stand. For about three seasons the ballpark had a snow cone stand, and it was the best thing ever. It blossomed my love for snow cones today, especially the Eagle Brand cream they put on top. YUM!  I'm pretty sure my parents went broke those summers buying me snow cones. When I was about twelve all of my little girl friends were starting their "cycles," and for some insane reason I just couldn't wait to start mine. Every day I would think, today will be the day that I would become a woman. One hot ballpark day I decided strawberry would be the snow cone flavor of the day. It was delicious! A couple of hours later I felt a rumbling in my gut. I hurry to the bathroom and do the do and when I wiped it was red. Holy cow- I had FINALLY started my period!!! I took off running as fast as I could to tell my mom the great news, only for her to rain on my parade. I told her how when I wiped it was red. She asked me if any was in my panties, I said no. Then she asked for more details- #1 or #2. #2. She prodded further- did you eat a snow cone? Yes. What color was it? Red. Then the pieces fell together, and I was no longer a "woman." Complete and total pre teen devastation. Little did I know then, how unglamorous becoming a woman really was.

Twenty years later, I'm starting over again. The life of a ballpark rat. Except this time, I'm the mama. Chris and my Dad the coaches. I remember from the time my brother was a tee baller until he made it to high school he had one coach, and that was my dad.  I'd say he's officially come out of retirement. Ethan will always have memories of his Daddy and Poppy coaching him. There is nothing more special than having your own Dad coach you. It's a huge task, but one very much worth it. Every day Ethan asks, "Do we have baseball today?" He's so excited to play, which makes my Dad's day. Hopefully Ethan will still have that fire by the end of the season- something tells me he will. The joy of tee ball is it's about the only level of baseball, where there's no competitive spirit. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with having a competitive spirt, but there's such a sweet innocence about tee ball. It's really only about having a good time, and hopefully learning a little along the way. In two years I will have two baseballers and I cannot even imagine how hectic our schedule will be then! My life will be spent at the ballpark, which I could imagine it no other way. This is just the beginning.

Be still my heart.

Opening ceremony at the ballpark


The day after Evan's injury, it looked absolutely horrible. He looked like he got in a fight with a tiger.

VERY first game





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