Ok, Baseball. We need to have a little chat.

Listen. We've just been a little hasty with this getting back together. You're coming on a little strong. Dude, you're just going to need to GIVE ME A MINUTE, PLEASE.

I mean just last week your fields were covered in snow in a whole lot of areas around this fair land. Here in Northern Virginia the winds were so high we thought the Wicked Witch of the West was going be flying by at any minute. And really, it hasn't been that long since I broke up with Basketball. This just seems a little rushed.

I always think I'll be ready for our reunion in March. There will be a sunny day here or there and I'll be so excited. But then something crazy will happen like 40 mph winds or snowflakes showing up on my weather app. So, maybe I was just too optimistic about us getting together this soon. 

You're just rather high maintenance in the early weeks of the season, you know? Like you require so much of my energy and my time. So much planning. Do I need an umbrella? Do I need my sunglasses and sunscreen? Do I need a sweatshirt? How many tubes of chapstick does one need for Wizard of Oz level windstorms? If I wear boots, will it suddenly get warm and I'll need my flip flops? Will there be a long period of time in between games which means I should bring some reading material? Will there be a concession stand or do I need to pack a cooler? Will there be a parking space near the field so I can watch from my car and eat popcorn and listen to Bon Jovi? Will the Port-A-Potty have toilet paper and hand sanitizer?  

But, as usual, I'm a fool for you, Baseball. So I write down the schedule on the calendar and I fill up my car with so many supplies, I deserve a Boy Scout Survival badge. I'll even hop in my car in the early hours of a Saturday morning at 5:00 am and travel to a field in the dark, pouring down, cold rain - all the while wondering if you're going to cancel on me at the last minute. I know. I know about your fancy-schmancy turf field. You're always yapping, "Rain is no big deal on my totallyawesomesupercool turf field." Blah, blah, blah. 

Look I'm not impressed by all that material stuff anymore. I know that for years Madonna and 16 Candles made me value a guy with a Jake Ryan smile and a red Porsche, but I've grown up, ok? Your turf field does not impress me. I mean Basketball has given all kinds of excitement and fun in the past few years. Just this season it delivered the most exciting championship win I've ever seen in quadruple overtime. Often times, it's given me a big, shiny trophy. And even still, I always end up coming back to you, Baseball. Everyone knows it's gonna happen. Just look at my son's face with that fancy trophy a few years ago. He's all, "Dude, this is cool, but my mom's totally gonna dump you, man."
 

I would like to point out for you, Baseball, that Basketball has done some very considerate things for me in our time together. Like providing indoor plumbing. And heated gyms. And a time limit, for the love. Also, Basketball canceled with plenty of notice, so that I was able to know ahead of time if I could stay in my pjs and eat nachos on my couch and watch 80s movies. Basketball didn't wait until I showed up with my hair and make up all done to say, "Sorry, Folks. Park's closed. Moose out front shoulda told ya." 

(There were lots of 80s movies this winter. Lots.)

Let's just ease in here, alrighty? I have purchased all the Oxi-clean and the Shout and that bar of soap with the weird name. We've ordered all the new pretty white pants. I still need to get the sunflower seeds and the new water bottles because the old ones have disappeared into the black hole that I'm sure also holds all of our lost socks and pacifiers. I need to fish through the garage and find the fold-up chairs. I need to say a few prayers so that I remember that umpires are God's children, too.  
 

Anyway, you don't need to worry your pretty, little head about it, Baseball. You know I'll come back. I always do. I'll realize soon enough that I'm my best self when I'm with you, but you need to be your best self also and you have some work to do.

I will find you, Baseball. I promise I will find you. Until we meet again. And by that I mean when it's at least 60 degrees with no discernible wind at a park with actual plumbing.

On behalf of all the Baseball Moms, I send our best regards,

Jenn

Jennifer P. Skinner

http://viewfrombehindhomeplate.blogspot.com/