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!

Sorority Life

The other morning I was texting with 2 of my Sorority Sisters.  My little man asked me who I was texting.  I told him that it was Aunt Katy and Aunt Jess.  He looked confused (as I only have one biological sister). 

I told him that we were sorority sisters and again he had a puzzled look on his face.  “What IS that Mom?” he asked.    Well, I said Mommy had a lot of friends in college and all of the girls were in a Sorority.  We lived in a house and had a lot of fun together.  “Wow, that must be a big house!” he said.

Yes, I told him, we had a big house, and a house mom who made sure the house was taken care of and cooked for us and we all had meals together.   “Whoa!” he said.  “I want one of those!”

I just sat there stunned.  (What does he think I do all day?)

I replied, Little Man you DO have one of those.  I am the MOM and that’s what I do. 

“I guess so Mom, but I really want to be in a Sorority when I go to college.”

I took a deep breathe,

replied…

let me tell you about Fraternities.

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!

We survived!

Last night I helped celebrate my friend’s little boy’s eighth birthday.  While we were checking in at Chuck E Cheese and ordering the requisite pizza and tokens, the cashier smiled at us and gave us the ‘single mom’s discount’.  (In all honesty, it was just a few extra tokens and three large soda cups) but we were excited that he recognized the fact that we were there, pulling off a birthday party for our little men and no daddy’s were around.

Author's note:  This is NOT a man bashing column today –more of a celebration of being a strong mommy. 

My friend lost her husband suddenly a few years ago. It was tragic. She was left with a little boy and a pre-teen girl and a lot of stress and uncertainty.  How the heck does one recover from losing the love of their life?  A bit after that my other friend ended up going through a very traumatic divorce and was struggling to hold it together for her little boys.  Meanwhile, I was sifting my way through single mommy hood and recovering from a bad relationship as well.  If you would have run into the three of us a few short years ago, you would have either run for cover or bought us a case of wine!

Through the power of sisterhood, womanhood and a few Xanax we rallied around each other.  We took turns holding one another up, babysitting each other’s kids when one mommy was just too tired, overwhelmed, or let’s face it – depressed to do it.  We were each other’s dates for Valentine’s Day.  We forced each other to get up and put on a cute dress and make up, and sometimes we had to remind each other to eat and hit the gym.  We took turns hugging each other’s kids, nursing boo boos and trying to fill in the gaps that were missing. 

Last night I smiled and laughed as I sat in the booth at Chuck E Cheese.  How the hell did we survive the last few years?  Now our kids are turning 8, 5, 4 and even one teenager.  They are all polite, healthy and loving little people.  I am not quite sure how we survived the last few years, but I sure am proud of what we have accomplished.  I am looking forward to more nights with our kids, a few glasses of wine and no more Xanax.