Saturday morning. Tournament morning. Mia’s playing in her snazzy new lime-green uniform. Merrick will be running around with his buddies. And Caleb and me? Will be doing nothing but sitting in the bleachers, watching the game. From the sidelines. Away from the field, away from the dugout. Not wringing our hands or pulling out our hair. Not popping asprin in a dugout full of chattering jumping 3rd-grade girls. Not obsessing over lineups and figuring out who’s where, who will throw a fit, who doesn’t care, or what will the parents think.
Even though we miss it all of course, there is a beauty beyond description that comes with not coaching
I can’t say that completely, because Caleb is coaching Merrick’s t-ball team. Trying to get preschoolers to learn the complicated game of baseball? Someone once compared it to herding cats. Upon observation, I have found it to be much more difficult than that. I do not envy my husband.
Nor will I help him.
Not when there’s a comfy fold-out chair next to Cheyenne calling my name.
The kids are out of school every Friday from now until the end of the school year. So I get 3-day weekends. Which means on Fridays and Saturdays, we all sleep until 7:15 a.m. instead of 6:30 a.m., and the kids freaking snack all day and eat us out of house and home. Summer is so close I can just taste it. All I need now is for the weather to get above 40 degrees and stay there.
I’ve been painting for Dustbowl which goes down one week from today. I’m nervous and excited and totally unprepared. It’s going to be awesome.