Confessions of a Baseball Mom

Nick, today this picture stole into my Facebook feed. It was taken three years ago when you were seven. I called it "Slugger". Today this picture made me cry.

Every year I look forward to spring. Warm weather, sunshine, green grass, flowers, and baseball. I love baseball. I played softball when I was 11 and 12 and while I wasn't very good at it, I still loved getting up to the plate and wondering if this would be the home run that I had been waiting for. My grandfather loved baseball and I have fond memories of sipping root beer floats and watching the Detroit Tigers play the Chicago White Sox and the Boston Red Sox (but never the Blue Sox that my younger brother always wondered about).

Some people think baseball is boring, but I think there is something quite peaceful about sitting in the stands and waiting to hear the crack of the bat or the thump of ball in mitt. It's a good thing I think this way because you need to have lots of patience and peace to be a baseball mom.

I call myself a baseball mom because for the last 5 years I have sat in the sun, the wind, the rain, and yes, even the snow through your countless (and sometimes everlasting) games and practices. I have been score keeper and snack bringer. And I love it. I look forward to baseball season, to playing catch with you, to see how you have gotten stronger over the winter. New cleats, new uniform, new team, new coach. A fresh start.

It all started way before you were old enough for t-ball. You had the love of the game from birth, it seemed. "Ball" was your first word and you had an obsession with any kind you could throw. So it seemed natural to encourage your passion. You would drag me outside as soon as all the snow melted (and sometimes even before) so that we could play catch or practice batting. We soon graduated from plastic bats and whiffle balls to tennis balls and foam bats. We bought plastic baseballs and a batting tee and an electronic pitching machine (to give my arm a rest). When you were consistently hitting every pitch I threw and hitting it way over my head, we came to see that you had talent. And the left arm on you, wow! Leftie pitchers are in high demand. Your dream was to be a major league baseball player and so we dreamed along with you.

When you were old enough we enrolled you in t-ball. Now t-ball is not the most exciting sport, although it is pretty entertaining. When you started an armpit fart mutiny in the outfield you cracked everyone up. Then came coach pitch. This was a huge step up. Now instead of being stationary, the ball came whizzing right at you. For a first grader that's a little scary. And when you were playing catcher and the ball hit you in the chest plate, well you didn't want to play anymore. But you had great coaches and they talked you into participating at the end of the game. Who got the game ball that night? You did, because you showed perseverance for getting back into the game. That ball meant so much to you - you slept with it that night.

That first year in machine pitch baseball you were unstoppable. You started out that year with a concussion, then got hit with the ball playing catcher, then ended up with strep throat. You had every reason to want to quit but we kept taking you to practice anyway. You grumbled and cried and sometimes didn't participate, but we kept on going and your coaches kept on teaching and encouraging you.

And do you know what happened? You started fielding balls instead of letting them roll through your legs. You started really connecting with the ball and hitting doubles consistently. Soon the coaches and players were calling you Slugger and you had earned a special spot in the lineup - they placed you 4th or 5th down the line (after several big hitters who were older than you) so you could send everyone home.

Oh we were so proud of you, and if you look back at the pictures from that year, you can see that you were proud of you too. You can see the confidence in the way you stood on 3rd base ready to run home, and in the smiles on your face, and in the way you were encouraging the other players. Remember how good you felt when Kenny FINALLY got a hit? The whole team cheered for him.

That is what being on a team is about.

Did you always want to play? With me or Dad or Uncle Jon - yes. As an organized sport? No. Registration for the league begins in March, when we are still stuck in snowdrifts, snow pants, and boots. You became legendary for deciding that you wanted to play ball as soon as registration had closed. Then we scrambled to get you a place in the league. Still, during the season there were many times I had to drag you to practice or wipe the sleepies out of your eyes before a Monday evening game. And at the end of the season you were always counting down the practices to when it would be over.

The Christmas before last season you asked for catcher's gear. The full Monty - mask, chest protector, shin guards, and glove. You had been so adamant about never wanting to play catcher ever since you had gotten hit in the chest that this took us by surprise. But who are we to stop any sort of interest in baseball, so we were all glad when Santa came through that year.

Last season you moved up to kid pitch, where the pitches came in on target, off target, slow, fast, SCARY. We saw a lot of kids get hit, but nothing serious. I could tell you were afraid, but you sucked in that fear and showed everyone what you were made of. When you could get a good pitch you hit well, and were soon getting back your nickname of Slugger. You made good use out of your catcher's gear and even worked through a few hits in the chest.

But then one sunny eve you were up to bat and a wild fast pitch smacked you hard in the upper thigh. You went down immediately. You hobbled off the field and put ice on the injury. It left a nice bruise and you could almost see the stitch marks from the ball on the skin, but you recovered and went on to finish the rest of the season. Despite the setbacks, you played a lot of ball at home throughout the summer, improving on hitting and catching and throwing.

I guess I didn't realize the bruise had bled through to your soul, though, because we were surprised when you proclaimed in January that you weren't going to play baseball this year.

"I'm just not that into it anymore," you said. You took down the life-size poster of Miguel Cabrera from your door and packed your equipment away.

"But Nick," Dad and I protested, "you love baseball! Don't you want to be a major league player anymore?"

"No, baseball is boring," you said. Everything was boring - it's your stock phrase of the year. "And I want to be a DJ now."

We were sad to hear you talk like this but hoped that maybe it was just the pattern, that you would come out of it once baseball season rolled around. We enrolled you in basketball, a new sport that you wanted to play, and while you liked it at the beginning, by the end you were frustrated. You never got the ball, no one ever passed to you, and you felt the coach never gave you a chance.

You became even more emphatic about not playing baseball after that. You didn't want to play any organized sports, just wanted to play at home or ride your skateboard or scooter. Any time someone would bring up the subject you would get very angry.

Dad and I struggled with what to do. Each year we had seen players on your baseball team who were miserable because they were forced into playing. There was no enjoyment for parents or children - just an immense power struggle. I had said to myself time and time again that I would never be that parent. We wanted you to be involved in something but didn't want to force you into it. After all, you're only 10. While there are a lot of benefits to playing on a team - learning how to work with others, being part of something greater than yourself, and learning how to play the game - I also knew that you had been playing ball on a team since you were 5 - what if you just needed a break? 

With each talk we had with you we could see that the passion just wasn't there anymore. For whatever reasons - fear of the ball, fear of the coach, etc. - the thrill was gone, as the late, great B.B. King said.  

I talked with other parents whose kids were gearing up for soccer or baseball. I asked what they would do if they were in my shoes. Many told me they didn't even give their kids a choice. Bottom line - their kids had to be involved in something, no matter what.

I have to admit, this left me a little unsettled and I began to wonder, what's so bad about not being involved? What would happen if we just gave you a little space? Maybe after missing a season you would find the joy and passion you once felt about playing baseball.

Then I had an epiphany. Nick, you've had a lot of positive years in baseball. But maybe you don't remember it that way. Maybe you only remember the strikeouts and being hit with the ball and missed plays. Maybe you only remember cold practices and being yelled at by your coach for making a mistake. Maybe those experiences have eclipsed the times you hit a double and scored two runs, or the time you made your first out of the season, or the way you got the team to rally by turning your caps inside out.

Sometimes we forget our successes in life and instead focus on all the times we fail. We forget about all the fun and good times we had and instead only remember the pain. It's the way we've developed - a protection so we don't get hurt the next time

Maybe that was what was preventing you from wanting to play baseball. And something inside me realized that you needed some time to remember the good stuff again. So Spring arrived and your gear stayed packed away. Your decision to not play was final and even though Dad and I were sad, we respected your wishes.

We have moved on in our Spring without baseball and I don't regret our decision. You get plenty of exercise and fresh air in other ways besides being on the field. And we spend time together in other ways besides playing catch in the front yard.

So why did I cry when I saw this picture today? Today is one of those perfect spring days - the sky is blue, the birds are singing, the green grass is sprinkled with dew. It is a perfect day for sitting on the sidelines and cheering for your favorite little league player, and it's days like today when I really REALLY miss being a baseball mom.

It is up to you to determine if and when you will play baseball again, but it is my job to tell you as your mom that no matter what you do, I am proud of you and will always be there cheering you on, your biggest fan.

Love Mom,

Finding Balance Along the Way

Things have been very rough in my home this past week. The eclipse at the beginning of the month started it off and as we made our way towards the equinox and the full moon the energy at home grew more intense. As the darkness that had been hidden came to light to be released, the boys and I all experienced the limits of our emotions: tantrums, anxiety attacks, depression, countless tears.

At some times I felt like I might never make it out of this energetic birthing canal alive. Thankfully with today's lunar eclipse energy I was able to see clearly again.

When I am having a hard time I go inward for clarity. Today was no different. Today I used a technique that I like to use from time to time, and that's to view a different perspective from myself at a different age. Today I went back to my self when I was pregnant with my second son.

I see my pregnant 36 year old self. She is worried.

"I love this first child so much!" she says. "He has become my all. How is it possible to have room in my heart for two?"

I feel her pain. It has been a long struggle of feeling and finding balance within, for myself as well as the boys. My 45 year old self comes in to join the conversation. She looks haggard, with bags under her eyes. She looks tired and sad.

"It has been 10 years since the birth of the second child and I have been put through the ringer," she tells us." One child will have a problem and when that is fixed the other will have a problem. And the cycle continues. There is no time to enjoy either one to the fullest - and I have had to push all my own problems and desires so far down I don't even know what they are anymore."

The 36 year old's frown deepens. "So it is helpless?"

I take a deep breath so I can share my new perspective with them. "No, it is not hopeless. In fact, the future looks pretty bright. But you have to do something. Let this new child into your heart immediately, right now, without fear. Cherish the time you have with your firstborn but don't think that it will end when the new baby comes. It won't be the same - it will be different for sure - but it will be more. You will have more love to give, not less. You will have more lessons to learn, from two perspectives instead of one.

It will not always be easy to strike a balance and keep everyone's needs met, but always try to meet the needs that matter most. So the dishes are dirty but your little one wants to play with you. Always make time for play. The dishes will always be there. Their feelings won't be hurt if you ignore them.

Don't ever let your children think that your daily duties around the house are more important than they are. When they ask you to lie with them before bedtime or tuck them in, do it, no matter what. This shows them they are important and matter."

"But what about me? Don't I matter?" says the 45 year old self.

"You absolutely matter and that's why it is important to schedule time for yourself so you can make your needs met. But sometimes you have to make a sacrifice for the greater good. That book may really be calling you and you may be super exhausted and want to go to bed too, but that one last show of love before they go to sleep can truly make all the difference. That they can go to sleep all tucked in and knowing that they are loved and safe will make for great teens and great adults. That's the whole purpose behind being a parent, right? To nurture and raise loving children that turn into great human beings."

"Sometimes in the drudgery of it all (cooking, cleaning, laundry, driving, rinse, repeat) I forget what the big picture looks like."

"And as for having enough love in your heart for both children, I want to show you what the true capacity of your heart is. Place your hands over your heart and feel into what you think your love looks and feels like."

I see the 45 year old's heart as she projects it to me. There is clearly an imbalance of love there, most goes to the first child, then her second, and two tiny slivers are reserved for herself and her husband.

She starts to cry. "This child is just so difficult and he triggers my anger. He can take care of himself while the other one seems to need me more."

"But this is not true is it?" I ask gently.

"No," she weeps.

"In fact, doesn't the second one need you just as much and sometimes more because of his independence?"

She nods.

"But you don't truly feel that you can give to both at the same time. I'm here to tell you that you can. Open up your heart and look into it and tell me what you see."

Both women give a little gasp.

"It's so bright in here! I can see forever!"

"Do you see any walls dividing your love into compartments?" I ask.

"No, it is just one big reverberating space."

"That is your heart. That is your capacity for love. Now, look further. Do you see the source of this love?"

We look at cords that are connected to our hearts and to a giant ball of energy in space. I continue.

"You are connected to the love from the Creator/God/Source, who is everlasting and omnipresient, and that means that your well of love can never run dry.  It feeds you with love as you feed and fill your children with love. God has no favorites - we are all a recipient of love if we choose. Some of us may have a harder time receiving or giving that love but it is always there for us to drink.

Rely on the energy and love of the Creator to fill you up, not the deeds or misdeeds of your family. It is your own love that makes you worthy, don't you see? That when you allow unconditional love to overflow from your heart and on to your family, without any selfish needs for love in return, then you will have the balance you seek.

So let go of any perceived notions or perceptions that you aren't getting as much love as you need, or that there must be a kink in your cord, because you get what you allow.  That well of love is always there for you. Drink it in everyday so you will always have more than enough. There is no lack. There is only the allowing of lack. It is your own perception."

A rush of white light extends over us and I see our heart cords being cleansed and cleared of any blocks or negativity. The love from the Source begins to flow freely now.

I look at both my selves. The 36 year old basks in the glow of her pregnancy. I can see the heartbeat of the child in her womb and see how he is connected both to her heart and to the love of the Creator. The 46 year old's color has returned and the bags under her eyes are gone. She no longer looks haggard, but beautiful and radiant with light.

I hug my selves. They disappear back into me with a whisper of thanks, for we know that this is a turning point in my/our lives, that we are all healed and can now move forward with love.