I struggle to blog in the summertime. I’m outside most of the time, so when I’m inside I’m doing the minimal amount of chores to keep the cholera down to a dull roar. My posts would all be of the “OMGGGGG AM OUTDOORS SUNSCREEN SMELLS GOOD LOOK THERE IS A BEE!!!!” variety.
Plus, things are hectic. Harry’s baseball schedule is punishing. Two games a week, one practice a week minimum. All starting at 6pm. I don’t get off work until 5:30. It’s been challenging, and I complain about it sometimes, but it’s so worth it.
One of Harry’s teachers has “serious concerns” about his perceived lack of focus & attention. It’s true, if he’s bored, he has a tendency to twitch, bounce and twirl. We’ve had to talk to him after some long, drawn-out games about not dancing in the outfield. But give him something to use that energy on, and I’m amazed by him.
Michael pointed out that our driveway has a slight slope away from the house, and encouraged Harry to practice throwing a ball against the garage door to improve his accuracy and range. Throw, wait for it to roll back. Over and over. He does it every day for at least a half-hour. He’s working on his hitting, and while he’s not one of those kids who occasionally connects and sends it high, wide and handsome into the outfield, he doesn’t strike out. Like, ever. Like, not since the first game they played a month ago.
Last night he played second base for half the game and he did very well. He was so determined to get in front of the ball that he misjudged one hit and took the ball right to the face. Let me just say to all you hockey & football parents out there – my god, how do you stand it? Sitting there on the bleachers, only able to see the ring of coaches around my kid while I heard the crying… I had my keys in my hand just in case it was a stitches / broken teeth scenario, but eventually the ring parted and my funny kid waved to the people watching on the bleachers and yelled “it hurts but I’m OK!”
(His glasses got bent. Not the for first time, definitely not for the last.)
Harry’s never been stoic about personal injury. We’ve had issues with that over the years, because every injury was cause for wailing, screaming, and all the tears. When he broke his arm we didn’t take him to the emergency room for six hours because we were convinced he was just being dramatic. To see him shake off something that actually really hurt and just continue to play was a huge step for him.
He’s learning to play with the team instead of critiquing their every mistake. Now, he’s not perfect at this. One of his teammates has an awful tendency to get the ball and then just stand there, gobsmacked, doing nothing with it as runners cruise on past him. It happened again last night and Harry stood in front of him yelling “I AM RIGHT HERE THROW ME THE BALL WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERRRRRREEEEE?????” But since the coaches – and stunned-bunny’s mom – were yelling the same thing I can kind of forgive him. And, you know, baby steps.
So it’s been good, and Ron starts next week, too. We’ve become those parents, who drive ourselves crazy getting to practices & games. We’re talking about buying them a batting helmet of their own. Harry “needs” cleats but he’s working so hard I haven’t got the heart to say no.
I find this all very strange, since I hated team sports as a kid and always got picked dead last. Stupid sports. :D