His first year of baseball. His first scrimmage. His first home run.
Well. that last one isn't quite entirely true. He had a decent hit and ran towards first... but never tagged the base. Continued to second. Missed that one too. By now the other team was in shock and frozen. He rounded third again without making contact. With a huge smile on his face he came home and finally tagged the plate. Home run? Sure why not.
I wish I could say he learned something important after that play but he did it again... and again.
And I'm pretty sure while he was in the outfield I saw him pick clover and eat it. What?
Baseball may not be his thing.
With five kids it is not unusual for us to spend a couple nights a week at sports, year round. It starts in the fall with soccer followed by basketball. Basketball overlaps with indoor soccer and then indoor soccer overlaps with baseball. From baseball a two week break before soccer again. Not all the kids play each sport, but someone is always going somewhere.
I have learned that going to practice and games is as much for the kids playing as the siblings being dragged along. All my kids have basically grown up on the sidelines watching their brothers and sisters play. I have so many sweet memories of cuddling babies on chilly nights.
We cheer from the grass or shout from the stands. We spread out blankets and pack supper. Iced tea for hot weather and hot chocolate for the cold nights. Sometimes there are playgrounds for climbing or benches for reading, wooded paths for exploring or grassy fields for playing.
I have watched the babies cheer for their older brothers as well as seen the older brothers gently coach the younger ones. Nothing could please a mother more.
I am thankful for these evenings. These nights when supper is eaten a bit faster and empty dishes cover the table as we head out the door. Getting there doesn't go as smoothly as I would like it, but as soon the van unloads at the field everything slows down. And it is always worth it.