Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Playoffs Play On

Little League baseball playoffs.

Let's be honest. No matter how exciting it is to see your son's team win a game, it means . . . there's another game.

It's enough already! Playoffs are maddening. They come right at the end of the school year, which is a crazily busy time. It seems like every other night we are going to some sort of end of year/end of season event. My whole family has gone over our yearly quota of pizza, hot dogs and cheeseburgers. The pants are not white any more and there are holes starting. The batting gloves are torn to shreds, not from the batting but from the slides into home. The hats have distinctive sweat rings. Embarrassingly, I am driving a minivan around emblazoned with my son's team names. Every time I take a corner, baseballs roll around inside the car. The cleats are getting too small. I am so unorganized, that I have to go to the grocery store at least once and sometimes several times a day. I blame it on the complete lack of ability to plan anything because you never know if you are going to have another game or not! I might have several afternoons free, I might have several games and snack duty. My kids might be able to do their homework, or we might get home at 9:00pm and bolt down macaroni and cheese for dinner.

And the playoff games do not tend to bring out the best in the parents or the coaches. In some cases quite the opposite. Come on people, let's not act like the outcome of the game will ensure our team goes to the Little League World Series. Now THAT is a frightening thought.

And any day now we are going to get the phone call inviting one or maybe two boys to play on the All-Star team. An honor, a great experience. A lot more practices and games. I'll have to re-do the painting on my minivan. I just don't know if I can take it right now.

A Momentous Week

Last week my middle son experienced a momentous week. He had his tenth birthday, hit a game-clinching home run in a playoff game, and was given unexpected news by the ophthalmologist: he no longer needs to wear glasses!

This is the equivalent for an adult male: waking up and being ten years younger, scoring a date with a hot salsa dance instructor, and then being told by your bank that you can charge anything you want on your credit card and never pay the bill.

Equivalent for a mom? Let's see . . . being told you look way too young to have a ten year old, watching the look of sheer pride on your son's face as he rounds the bases after that home run (and watching the coach from the other team have a temper tantrum), and after five years no longer having to keep track of eyeglasses that need adjustment on an almost weekly basis and seem magnetically attracted to the car bumper and basketballs in the face.