I feel like this has been a weekend of misery and stench. The friggin’ weather is horrible and constantly threatens to change much anticipated plans. Friday, I took two of the boys for well child checks, then to Costco and finally to a Chick Fil A experience I would not file under fun. My sinuses felt like they were going to explode and the double up of allergy meds and motrin was just not working and Devlynn had a game scheduled at 5:30 at a school 20ish minutes away that would require us all to pay admission. I opted to just bring Dexter. A date of sorts.
The weather was miserable. I definitely wore the wrong shoes and it was clear I should have showered or at least put on real pants before leaving. Dexter had to pee and as we walked up to wash hand, I caught a glimpse of my sad, haggard self and quickly rushed him out of the bathroom before I could take a second look. He and I sat at the very top, next to the announcers and watched and watched and watched. Devlynn stood on the sideline, only pacing back and forth. We moved down for a closer look, watching the clock count down to 5 minutes left, ever so often catching her look back at us. And I knew, I knew she’d not set foot on the field that day.
When the horn buzzed, she turned to me with tear filled eyes and I did what you’re suppose to do. “Devlynn, these things happen. Sometimes when you’re the new player, you have to work double hard”. I tried to say all the right things; I hugged her tightly. I wished her luck, handed her 10.00 and told her to be a good teammate and then sat in my van and sobbed. My heart broken for my child who was learning about life’s hard lumps.
Saturday, a new day. More hussle, more bussle. This time alone. Kevin had end of month, Devlynn is a Saturday closer. I dread these alone days. No one actually gets to watch then because I am chasing little kids here and there. Dexter fell asleep on the way there and so optimistically, after he woke, I sent him to the park with Davis and watched my Drew play. He was gonna pitch. Something he’s looked forward to for the whole season. His brother is a pitcher. I think naturally he feels he is too. When the other boys excitedly yelled, “Drew you’re gonna pitch!”, he looked at me with that sparkle, the one I can’t describe and I quickly texted his dad and prayed for some of the great pitches I’ve seen him throw in our back yard.
God instead chose to teach us another lesson.
He walked three runs. One after another I watched as he pitched so high, no one would even consider swinging at the ball. I watched his shoulders droop and his face fall. And I watched his spirit sink into the muddy dirt. I watched as the coach took the field, praying he’d take him out and then swallowing my tears when he didn’t. Finally, he switched with and outfielder and I watched his face turn red, and that redness turned to tears when he got thrown out at first. And when I went to talk to him in the dugout, he wouldn’t talk to me. And I am sure he didn’t hear me say, “it’s no big deal” because he knew, he’d likely never pitch again.
I missed the chance to teach him the lesson I’d tried to teach Devlynn. I just hid my red eyes in my sunglasses and cursed at myself for not holding him back. He wasn’t ready to be with the big boys. He’s too young, too small and doesn’t know enough but I let everyone else make a decision for me that I knew was wrong. And I sent my kid into that mess. Neither emotionally or physically ready to play at that level.
He recovered quickly, faster than me clearly. He was cheerful, joyfully saying maybe there will be a next time. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since Saturday. Replaying both it and Devlynn’s tearful face. I can’t help by think, in my anxiety filled head, I have cursed them with mediocrity.
I know in the logical part of my head that is an irrational thought.
Anxiety is a furious beast. He’s mean. Just brutal sometimes. I’ve chosen to live with it unmedicated but part of my self help is talking about it. Sometimes that’s hard. Because no one wants to hear it anymore. Or at least that’s what the anxiety is telling me. It makes me very aware of what I talk about, aware when people sharply react. It makes me feel stupid, little and without worth.
I’m probably not cut out to be a sports mom. Because I want for them to be happy and I know that the right field feels bad. And I worry it’s my fault they’re there. I’m not very social and now I’m worried about what people are saying behind my back and can’t make eye contact without feeling like I might cry of embarrassment. And all I want to do is watch them play and for them to be happy. But my stupid brain messes it all up. And I’d stay home if it wouldn’t mess them all up.
I’ve sort of been floating through the days with this indescribable sad lump lodged in the back of my throat. I walked a drizzly two miles last night, clinging to my sweater and wishing that I could skip songs faster. Alice in Chains is a mood changer for sure. I like to look inside the houses but they just didn’t seem so appealing and I wanted to sit down the entire time. I couldn’t walk out the sad like I normally can. At least enough that I can catch my breath. Lately it just feels like there is no room to breath.