There can be crying in softball...

I am fairly certain I did a lot of oversharing yesterday after my baby hit her first over-the-fence home run in USSSA softball. And man, I felt guilty all night.

But y'all, (And I know I say thisi all the time!) watching her pitch, or bat, or just play anywhere on that field, is emotional for me. I start thinking how amazing it is that her body actually does what she wants it to do and before I know it I am a crying, blubbering mess.

It wasn't as if I just really wanted to be a Sport parent. No. And as a matter of fact, I remember when my boys played on an accessible soccer team in 2nd grade and we once had a game that was delayed due to a non-accessible game running long on the field. Parents started yelling at their children (and I mean, CHILDREN....not teenagers!) in the harshest tones. "Can you not see the ball? Get it!" And that was mild compared to when they started yelling for their little Bobby to "take number x out". It was insane.

So I didn't dream of that. I frankly was grateful that I assumed we would never be on the sidelines of such.

And then came Cate. She has loved playing sports since SHE begged US to put her in "kicky-ball" (soccer) when she was only 4.

And she couldn't wait to play softball as soon as she was old enough. ( I am relieved to say she has only played on teams with supportive cheering parents on the sidelines!)

But more than that -- these photos showed up in my memories the last two days and as soon as I saw them my stomach turned upside down.

Most summers have not been spent on the softball or soccer fields. Most of our summers have surgeries, hospital stays, rehabs. And don't get me wrong, we have fun even in the midst of that but not hit-the-ball-over-the-fence-and-run-the-bases fun.

So I will keep celebrating my Red. I am going to probably keep oversharing. And I am certain I will keep blubbering.

And I will trust that my beloved friends who have stood with me in the hard surgical seasons will understand as I celebrate and celebrate with me. And I will be forever grateful.

Thank you, Coach.

Cate was only three years old the first time she told her Daddy and I that she really (really really) wanted to play softball.  Her dad stayed on the lookout for teams. And even though she played soccer for a few years, and swam competitively as soon as she was old enough, it wasn't until she was 7 that we found a softball program for her to try.

Her little Firestorm team with the Paradise Valley, Arizona Softball league was purely delightful to watch. The parents had fun in the stands. The coaches showed respect and admiration for their young players and instilled great sportsmanship along with fundamental basics of the sport. We loved every minute.

After several seasons (both Fall and Spring ball) with the same coaches and team, we moved to Mississippi. By then, Cate was 9 and her passion for the sport had only grown. She opted to try a tournament team and see if she enjoyed the more intense level of play. 

Of course she did.

She has played catcher, pitcher, first base, any where her team needs her really. She can hit the ball like crazy at bat. And she smiles from ear to ear the entire time. The entire time that is except when someone is trying to steal to home....and then her face is fierce.

Getting to start at catcher for her school's high school team while in 7th grade was a highlight of our years in Mississippi. Those girls poured into her and she gave that team her very best. It was beautiful to watch.

Dad researched, studied, and even drove around looking for the area softball fields so he could get a sense of the teams before we moved to Delaware last summer. And man, Cate has landed on a great team. I can honestly say that the young women playing as the Brandywine Blast are the most supportive young people I believe I have had the privilege of meeting. Their support echoes throughout practices, throughout games, and throughout the week via text, phone calls, social media.

Covid-19 has cost them a lot of playing time this Spring. They are softly returning to the field with social distancing precautions, coaches wearing masks, rules about fist-bumps and high-fives....but they are returning. 

Saturday we had to opportunity to play a game (were supposed to play two but the second was rained out.). The Blast gained an early 2-0 lead but the Lions roared back if you will and soon we were down 3-2. Cate was on the mound at pitcher and I was quickly becoming re-acquainted with the complicated emotions of being the pitcher's mom: beaming with pride, attempting to use my mind-powers to help her hit the strike zone, and willing myself NOT to call her baby (Full disclosure: This was only marginally successful as after two different particularly hard calls, I may or may not have yelled, "Shake it off, Baby. You've got this." Sigh.).

The Blast ended up winning 15-3. My girl did not need my mind powers.

We left the field soaked through from the rain that blew in, but elated to be back playing and eager for the next opportunity.

But yesterday -- barely 24 hours after the game -- we received word that one of Cate's coaches died suddenly while on an early morning run. 

We are heart-broken. Just absolutely heart-broken. And though I am so new to this group and don't know the families as much as I would had this been a typical softball season, my heart so overflows with gratitude for these men who give of their time and energy to coach my daughter.

Coaches carry the power to build up, the power to teach, the power to grow a passion -- or squelch it. And though we have had fabulous coaches in our softball tenure (only really one that briefly made my blood pressure rise....), this group -- Coach Garrett, Coach Mike, and Coach Jeff -- are truly exceptional.

Coach Jeff was the quietest of these three. But his guidance no less important. His quiet instruction during practice will create a void. His steadfast voice behind first base will be hard to replace. And most importantly watching the evident pride on his face when his daughter took to the field will be irreplaceable. My heart hurts.

Thank you Coach, for your willingness to serve, encourage, mold our young player. Thank you for the time you took to pour into Cate's life. Thank you for using your life to enrich others.

You made an impact on these young lives. You made an impact on the parents. You are already missed.

Just a little crying in softball.

I cried through pitching practice tonight. Not blubbering or anything, I just couldn't stop my eyes from um, leaking.

I feel like I have stumbled through Cate's first three years of softball. I didn't know to bring chairs. I didn't know to bring snacks. I had to learn about sunflower seeds and the flavors -- all the flavors!

Little Red during her first season playing softball. She was only 8 but when a ball popped off the bat, she threw her mask off and caught it!

We had the sweetest team mates in Phoenix. Those mamas held my hand and walked me through. By the end of Cate's second year with these precious girls, I was not only feeling like I had my bearings, I was taking pictures and keeping score. Ok. Admittedly, I did one or the other. I couldn't manage both. But we all made some wonderful friends and memories and developed a love of softball that follows us still.

As a result, I may have strutted onto the softball field for fall ball for Cate after our move to Mississippi. I was no longer a novice. I had a chair after all.  And for that first season, I sat and encouraged the Mamas just beginning the softball journey and took a deep breath. Yes, here, pull your chair next to mine. I know what I am doing. Cheesy smile.

Then my girl decided to do tournament ball. 

Oh my merciful heavens. Not only did I need a chair -- my precious Facebook friends gave me a list a mile long of things to take: water coolers, iPhone chargers, blankets, cooling cloths (sometimes used on the same day), sunscreen, lip balm, clean socks, extra pants, a wagon.....thank goodness for all those dear ones who answered my call for help. We didn't show up unprepared to one tournament this Spring. (Except that one time we had taken the chairs out of the wagon and Claire had to make a run to the local Wal-Mart for replacements!)

The rules are even different. Cate is much much quicker on the learning curve of course, but I have assumed the position I thought I had left behind....that of novice, newbie, much-to-learn-mama. Sigh.

But none of that -- NONE OF IT -- were the reason for my tears tonight.

Tonight at pitching practice with Coach Meredith.

No, these were happy tears. These tears were the overflow of my heart as I prayerfully thanked God for the little legs on this girl that work so hard. The little arms that heed the instructions of her amazing pitching coach and conform to do exactly as Meredith tells her.  I find myself constantly wanting to photograph her pitching. I want to photograph her playing. I want to share. And then share. And finally overshare. I don't want to brag on her. That is really not it -- well, maybe a bit -- but the pride is something I can't quite put into words. I tried tonight when Cate asked why I was crying.

We climbed in the van and I was choked up telling her how proud I was of how hard she worked. She had the sweetest smile as she asked why that made me cry. And I tried to be gentle as I reminded her that sometimes children's legs don't work on command. Sometimes their arms can't lift a ball much less throw it. I told her that I never for one second want to take her abilities for granted. I always always want to give thanks.

We talked about the importance of using our gifts to glorify God for a bit before we turned up the only music she ever wants to listen to and belted the soundtrack from "Newsies" all the way home.

Nothing like singing "Now is the time to seize the day" at the top of your lungs to bring levity to the entire situation.

But I am pretty sure we haven't seen the last of my tears.