Spring is the season of baseball in my house. I am not a fan of professional baseball, but my husband is a die-hard Cubs fan and is trying to turn my sons into ones as well. The baseball that permeates our house, however, is Little League. For the last two years, my oldest son has played Tee-ball and I have chased the middle one around the field while desperately trying to get a glimpse of the older one playing. This year the oldest is playing machine pitch and the middle is finally getting to play Tee-ball. Both boys are loving it, but I am still chasing the middle one around the field at the other one’s games.
Why?
I thought as he got older it would be easier to go to the games with him. I thought he would listen and stay with me or possibly even be interested in watching the game. No such luck. I am so jealous of the moms whose children sit by them calmly through the entire game. My child is at the snack-bar, under the tables, on top of the tables, in the bathroom, trying to take down the American flag, climbing the back stop etc. If I don’t watch him literally every second, I don’t know where he is.
Last Sunday night we went out to dinner with friends at a local restaurant. It is a small place so theoretically it shouldn’t be hard to keep an eye on the kids. Well, it was. Once again my middle child was under the table, in the kitchen, in the bathroom and at one heart-stopping moment coming in from outside when I didn’t know he had left. He had literally been holding my hand two minutes before.
I am exhausted after these events. And I feel like a terrible mother since I can’t even keep an eye on my child.
My mother usually can trump every story I tell with a story about how terrible Eric was as a child. When I told her about my little man leaving the restaurant, she said he was just like Eric. Uh oh.
This is not the way I want them to emulate him.
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