Well, it's that time of the year. The beginning of freshly mowed grass, the smell of leather gloves and the feel of red stitching on baseballs. While this has never held any relevance in my previous life, I find myself giddy with excitement, well because I have a 3 year old boy who is excited about starting up baseball this week.
Now, I may not be a soccer mom, but I am officially a baseball mom. Baseball moms don't dive mini-vans. And they don't wear frumpy clothes and have short boyish hairstyles. Scratch that - I do like sweats and I have a short spunky haircut. Anyhow, I am pleased to announce I have been nominated to be team mom. Well, "nominated" isn't perhaps true. There wasn't a committee that was lining up to vote me in. I kindly sacrificed myself to the baseball world to "help out". Whatever that means. I suppose I'll be the lucky mom that will sit on the sidelines tying up loose shoe strings and wiping runny noses. I rather envision myself being the "hero" offering up juice boxes and orange slices to filthy, stinky 3 year olds who are happier about their snack time than the baseball game they just played.
Yeah for baseball, runny noses and orange slices!
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