Dumping Daddy

Daddy Ball and when Daddy isn’t wanted anymore

Let me start by saying that there is nothing better than seeing a parent volunteer to coach their child in his or her sport.  I worked at the YMCA for many years and youth sports programs can’t run without caring parents who volunteer to teach young people how to kick a ball, throw a spiral or bunt a bat.  However there comes a time when young athletes outgrow their parent and ultimately have to break up. 

For our family the break up happened around age 10.  Let me start the story when Samuel was 3.  Three seemed to be a little young to play sports, but Sam was athletic, and like I said before I worked at the Y, so I was able to sort of get Sam started early.  Our first venture was t-ball.  My village at the time all participated in coaching.  Sam’s Dad stood at first base, my boyfriend at 2^nd base, my Dad at 3^rd base, and of course me sitting down with the parents behind home plate.   Sam LOVED having all of his favorite people with him.  He would run the bases and high five each person who was coaching that section.  He loved hearing advice from his Dad or my Dad. The games were short (AMEN for T-ball!) and we had a great time.

After we graduated T-ball and ventured into Little League Sam’s dad still volunteered as a coach, but Pop Pop and I stayed in the stands, no comment as to what happened to that boyfriend.  Little league was great because there were more kids to meet, more dads to coach and “real” umpires to work the games.  By around age 8/9 when Sam started pitching we figured out his Dad was a really good pitching coach.  He would work with Sam at home and always helped the other kids out at the fields.  Sam definitely looked up to him for pitching advice and had eyes to be ‘just like Dad’ as far as baseball was concerned.

(Notice boyfriend and ex husband both cut out of this photo)

We joined a travel team and the competition got better, the games got tenser and the coaches’ voices got a lot louder.    What used to be a quick 45 minute game one day a week was turning into six to eight hours at a ball park or an all weekend marathon of baseball.  At this point the boys were getting nervous in the dugout, the coaches were talking strategy and the umpires are getting paid to be at these games.  The tension in the air was slowly getting thicker and I started seeing less smiles on Sam’s face. We were all prepared for more serious baseball and excited to be in a better league. However the tension, yelling, nail biting and fighting with umpires was getting pretty intense.  During one particular game when Sam was on the mound you could hear his Dad criticize each pitch from the dugout. A lightbulb went off for me!  His Daddy as the pitching coach was a bad combination.  I truly don’t remember if we won the game or lost the game. However I do remember driving home in the car.  Sam never cries about sports- ever.  However this particular night in a mix between anger and sadness he blurted out to me that he “didn’t’ want Daddy to coach him anymore.”  He had said the game wasn’t fun anymore and he wanted baseball to be something fun with his dad. 
 I was so proud of Sam and told him he needed to tell his Daddy.   We called his Dad and he told him his wishes. I am not going to lie; it was tough on all of us.  The next day Sam’s Dad came to the game and sat in the stands for the rest of the tournament.  We decided that as much as they both loved to share baseball, the coaching/player relationship was too much for them.   We found a travel team led by coaches who don’t have children on the team and realized that Sam responded really well to their energy and instruction.  Sam still plays Little League and loves all of the volunteer Dads that coach in the system.  His Dad will be a practice coach, pitching coach and work with Sam whenever he needs.  The balance of both has led to a great relationship for him and his Dad.  However, he won’t be calling pitches from the dugout.

Little League Champs 2016!

I’m Sexy and I know It

We are fortunate to live by the beach and my Little Man has been taking surf lessons since he was three.  He loves the water and fortunately for me he loves surf camp.  (What Mom wouldn’t like spending a relaxing day at the beach WITHOUT having to worry about their kids? Anyway, I digress).

I was dropping Little Man off at camp one morning and the head counselor came up to me in sort of a hushed tone.  “Little Man got himself a nick name this summer” the counselor said.  I smiled and took it as a sign of him fitting in and making friends.  I dropped of the surfboard off and proceeded to find my beach chair and book.  Surf camp is great book reading and tanning time for the Mommy!

A few hours later after camp was letting out I see my Little Man and his Junior Counselor running down the beach.  I then hear a 15 year old girl running after them yelling “Hey Sexy, wait up!” I thought it was a bit weird to hear a 15 year old call a 13 year old sexy, but whatever, I was enjoying my book and free time.

The next weekend I’m at the beach and one of the regular surf guys comes up to me and asks me something like “Hey, where’s sexy?”  I am completely confused and sort of take it as a compliment.  I smile and nod and just pretend that I don’t quite understand (You know, like when you missed the joke, but are afraid to say it.)

The following day I have Little Man with me and the same surf guy comes up to us. He high fives Little Man and says “Hey Sexy, what’s up?” 

WAIT A MINUTE!?!

Is my Little Man the “Sexy” that they keep talking about at the beach? 

He is 8! This is crazy. 

I quickly ask how Little Man got this nick name.  Apparently, Little Man is extremely confident in his surfing skills. During camp he would get up on a wave and say, “Look at me, I’m so sexy!”  Oh Lord help me!

I kind of laugh it off, take Little Man aside and tell him 8 year olds are Not Sexy and that it is not a good thing to say.  He agrees and we let it go. Plus, baseball season was starting and there was no way the boys on the baseball field were going to be ok playing with a player nicknamed “sexy”.

Life has been quiet for me and Little Man, but every few weekends we run into a few of the surf guys at the beach and they are still looking for “Sexy” to come out and surf with them.

A little hearing can go a long way

“Mom I can’t hear."  

What?!?!?  Not this again.  

When my Little Man was 3 we realized that he was pretty much deaf.  He was toddling through life reading lips.  You know when a little kid gets on your lap, grabs your cheeks and looks you in the eye and you think, isn’t that cute he loves me?  Well, my baby boy was doing that all of the time and I just sat there thinking he loved me so much.  Turns out, he couldn’t hear and was doing that to read my lips.  (Insert tear and heartbreak here)

Fast forward a few years, a few ear surgeries and a lot of Dr. appointments later and I think we are all in the clear.  Then I come home to “I can’t hear."

Crap, Crap and double Crap! 

I immediately go into super mommy mode.  I call the surgeon and insist on the very next appointment.  I call the pediatrician and book a backup appointment; I rearrange my work schedule and get Little Man out school in time for the appointment. 

Yep, ears are blocked, partly infected, partly gooey buildup and a whole lot of who knows what?  The Dr. was able to get the left ear clear and gave us meds for the right.  Little Man is now seemingly back to normal (or as normal as you can be on 50% hearing) and we proceed through our days – me being Supermom and him being Awesomekid!

Until he becomes the pitcher at the baseball game.  We are at the fields, I’m in the bleachers sporting my mommy gear talking to the baseball mommies, Little Man enters the field and takes the pitcher’s mound.   Not to brag, but my Little Man is a good baseball player, like naturally good, he can basically catch anything thrown at him and has really great hand/eye coordination.  I look at him and he is so excited to be playing Pitcher.

Then it happened… the first ball gets hit right at him and he can’t find it.  Next ball, hit towards him and it goes under his legs, then the next he catches but misthrows to first, and on and on.  It was like watching a person who had never played ball before.  I started shrinking down and trying to hide between the mommies.  The coaches were yelling, the dads were yelling, heck even the kids were yelling!  No matter what was hit towards him, he just couldn’t get the ball. 

Then I overhear a mommy from the 2^nd row bleacher “I don’t think that kid can hear” she says.

Oh CRAP!  That is right!  They put this big helmet over my little guy’s head to protect him from the balls, but it also must be blocking out all of the sound. I forgot to tell the coach that my Little Man was only playing with about 50% hearing.  I now shrink even further down into the cold bleachers.  How did SuperMom overlook the one thing I had been focused on all week?!?!?!

Somehow we made it out of the inning and my Little Man got relieved as pitcher.  He had a great rest of the game and the team won.

When I asked him about being pitcher, he told me it was “Awesome!”   I’m glad to see that my Little Man didn’t let all of the yelling from the fans and the coaches get to him. 

Wait, who am I kidding?  He couldn’t HEAR them!

It's only a week....

This week starts a new challenge for me.

No, I’m not restarting my 90 day challenge nor am I training for a new race, nor did I decide to take on any extreme sports….  I am becoming a ‘One Week On, One Week Off Parent’.  

For the past five years I have put up the argument that my little man needs to be with his Mommy as much as possible.  Sure, he can see his Dad whenever he wants, and yes I encourage long weeks away on family vacations with the “other family.”  But all in all, I knew that I had my little man at home with me most of the time.  I was content, my little man with me and all was right in the world.

Then it hit me!  My little man is growing up.  He has friends and not all of his friends live in my neighborhood.  He has sisters – you guessed it, they live at his Dad’s house.  He has toys and games and bikes and an entire little life and I am not part of it. 

I asked my little man his thoughts on going to his Dad’s for one week and my house for one week?   His response was something like this: “Mom, why are we STILL talking about this? I told Dad this so many times. I am o.k. with staying for a week.  I would like it.  Plus, really Mom, it’s just a week.”

Ok, little Dude, I hear you.  It really is ‘just a week’.   I can try to do this.

So, after much deliberation, a few long talks with girlfriends and other single parents and a few sad thoughts, I gave in.  I am going to try this out and see how it goes.   I packed up not one, but three bags of stuff for my little man – baseball gear, baseball uniforms for a week, swim gear, ear meds, summer homework, summer reading lists, school supply list and directions a mile long on all the ins and outs of having my little man for a week.

My little man was set and I was mentally prepared for my one week "off".    I dropped him off and unloaded his luggage while his step mom looked at me with crazed eyes and an overwhelmed expression.  Apparently, in all of the debating and fighting back and forth about our one week on/off program, my ex -husband forgot to mention to his wife that our little man will be with them for a week!  She will now be handling the camp drop off, the lunches, the pick-up and the homework, meals and all the other fun of having three kids at home for the summer.

I quickly hugged and kissed my little man and ran out of the house as fast as I could.  I swear I could see the steam coming off the step mommy and I was not about to be a part of that conversation.  I will be happily enjoying my “off week” and I might suggest to Super Step Mommy to repeat as I do  - “it’s only a week, it’s only a week, it’s only a week….”

Lessons of Little League

We all know that sometimes parents take the fun out of things.  Or, maybe it is that parents end up having so much fun they forget that they are the parents and not the kids?

I noticed this recently at the little league field.  To be honest, I could have a blog entitled – I saw it at little league as there is a ton of juicy stuff I could write about it there.  Anyway, I digress…

Last week my little man’s team was playing the undefeated team – translation –this was a tough game for the 7 year olds.  We (See I’m already doing the parent fan club thing, using the ‘we’ to describe the team)…  We started the game off great! One kid had a double, and then a few of our kids had home runs. It was a really exciting game from the stands.  The score rose and rose until it was 16-13 us.  Then the other team got two runs and two outs and bases loaded.  My little man was at pitcher. (For all of you non little league readers it means he was standing next to the coach who was pitching)  The kid version gets to wear a big helmet and stand on the mound and play defense, but the coach does the actual pitching.  So there we are, Little Man on the mound, other team’s coach pitching, 2 outs, down by 1 run, bases loaded – and No, I am not making this up.  Just as the coach goes to pitch the ball, my little man yelled something like “go team”.  I’m not so sure why he yelled at the moment, but he did.  Well, this little yell set off a firestorm from the opposing coach.  He yelled at the Umpire, yelled at my little man, yelled at our coach, just basically threw a fit that a kid could yell during his pitching.  Our coach yelled back at the other coach, the umpire calmed it all down and the game when on.  The next pitch, the batter hit and the ball flew right into my little man’s glove.  He caught the last out and the game was over! Everyone cheered and the parents gossiped about the actions of the other coaches.

When we got home that night I asked my little man if he was upset about the coaches yelling and stopping the game.  I was thinking he might be embarrassed or nervous about playing pitcher again.  His response?  “Mom, I have no idea what was going on.  My helmet is so big, I can’t see anything and it covers my ears too so I can’t hear.”  Well, where you excited to catch the winning ball? I asked.  “Mom, I just put out my glove like I was supposed to.”  Good point little man – just do what you are supposed to, stay in position, where your gear and have fun.  Maybe the parents should learn a little lesson from you?

His next game was Saturday.  I didn’t make it, but I heard they got crushed 21-4.  Yesterday I asked him about his game.  “It was awesome mom! We had so much fun!” he said.  I said, really?  What was the score?  He replied “we lost like 10-2, but whatever, it was fun….”

What Mom's Can't Do...

My son has a book that is called “What Mom’s Can’t Do.”  It mentions things like Mom’s can’t keep lizards in their pockets, can’t give quick hellos/goodbyes, and can’t eat frosted flakes for breakfast.  Lately I feel as if the author left out some important pages of “What Mom’s Can’t Do.”

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk updating my calendar of to-dos, when an email popped up on my screen from Coach Chris – our now infamous baseball coach who insists on ten push-ups and ten sit-ups a night.  The subject was protection – Not Helmets, Not Sex Ed, but a CUP.  What the!?  He would like all parents to make sure their little men where their cups from now on at practice.  Ok.  I think to myself, I can do this.  But first, how does one by a cup?   Is there a size chart?  A tape measure?  Do you think the lady at Victoria Secrets who sizes me can do the same for a cup?  Once I am able to get a cup, what do I actually do with it? How does it stay in place?  There aren’t any strings or fasteners.  And then I fast forward to the obvious Mom question – how do you wash it?  UGH!

I am sure this subject has been tackled before and the questions I raise are not unique.  But, where is the Mommy book on subjects like these?  There are moms all over the world whose Daddy counterparts are working, in the military, secret agents, deadbeats, what have you.  Moms are single handedly raising little men and we need a HOW TO BOOK!

A few other suggestions I have for a how to book on raising a boy.

1.        Skateboarding 101.  My theory on skateboarding was start them young, so if and when he falls on the ground he is much closer and therefore the impact wouldn’t be as rough.  It was a good theory and kind of worked, however I have no clue how to skate board.  How did my son learn?  I borrowed every kid in the neighborhood, boyfriend of my girlfriends, and generally pleaded with people at the park to teach him.  Sometimes it just takes a village…

2.       Surfing/Riding the waves.  I found the most fantastic surf instructor ever. But, did not realize that if you are 4 and take a break of a few months in between lessons, you may develop a fear of the waves.  So, one particularly choppy day my bikini clad body was forced to swim out to sea and ride a few waves in to show my little man that it wasn’t all that scary.  Honestly – I was scared to death! It was cold! I fell a lot, and I hate seaweed.  However, when you are the only parent around you have to suck it up and jump on a board and smile your way into your wipeout.

3.       Pee standing up.  Ok, this is where I draw the demonstration line.  I relied on some creative parenting skills here.  Drop a few Fruit Loops in the commode and teach your little man to aim.

On the last pages of “What Moms Can’t Do” the book ends with saying “What one thing Mom’s CAN do is LOVE YOU.” And yes, that is true.  It is because of love that I will happily go out and buy my son a cup… 

The things we do for love...

There is nothing I despise more than spending my Saturday morning at the little league field – really nothing tops the discomfort I feel. 

My people skills and personality have helped me get far in life and I’ve successfully conquered closed societies like the High School Cheerleading Squad, a Southern Sorority (new member of the year and President), secret societies (sorry, you won’t get the name out of me), the local HOA, and even the PTA.  But for some unknown reason the cliques of the Little League leave me shivering with uneasiness.   I am not sure who scares me more; the clusters of happy moms sipping their Evian and pushing their strollers, or the groups of Dads scouting the players and predicting who the ringers will be, or the groups of grandparents in their pop up chairs trying to hold on to the toddlers who are too young to play, but are dressed like their older siblings anyway.  Either way, each group is an unwelcome challenge that leaves me dreading Saturday a.m.

…this leads me to my little man. 

 I honestly have never said no to my son (ok, yes I say NO to things like No new pets, No you can’t eat that, No you cannot jump off the roof).   However if the request is reasonable and no one is going to be harmed, than I generally go along with it for the happiness of my little man.  I’ve taken him on trips, we’ve tried new adventures, I’ve enrolled him in every sport you can imagine and I’ve happily been the snack mom.  I’ve gone as far as coach the cheerleaders for his flag football team, because no other mom would and I had a few pom poms and spirit dust in my closet.  But, I draw the line at Little League. 

I’ve pawned off the practices and games to everyone I can think of. I’ve corralled my parents into helping, let my ex husband have him extra days, scheduled Drs. Appointments, anything I can think of to NOT have to go the dreaded little league field. 

So imagine my dilemma when my little man comes home from baseball practice asking me to be the dugout mom.  WHAT?!?! How did the devil get a hold of my little man and play games with my baby?!  There is NO WAY I can be the dugout mom. 

I tried to stall.  “Mom, the coach really needs you now”. 

I tried to deflect.  “Don’t you like Karate more than baseball?”

I tried to play dumb.  “I don’t know anything about baseball.”

Then he hit me with the knockout punch.  “Mom you would get to spend time with me and be the coolest mom on the team.”

Ouch!

He got me.  He hit me where it hurts. 

Of course I’ll be the dugout mom.  Of course I’ll label all your bags, memorize the line-up, figure out  which kids have peanut allergies and make sure you all get bathroom breaks.  Of course I’ll bring coffee, have band aids and smile while all of the dads yell at me about the line up and the moms question me about this week’s snack.

At least I won’t have to deal with the Evian sipping moms or the grandparents in their pop up chairs.

Go Cubs!