T-ball is over. It was our second year of baseball for the youngest set and, really, it was a fantastic experience. Even more so than last year (oh my, go read that link simply for BigBrother’s now-gone cheeks). And, even better, with less smoking! (Though in my survey I said that they need to make the fields no smoking.) But back to BigBrother’s experience with t-ball.

We were once again blessed with great coaches. T-ball is for ages three to six in our area which, if you know kids, involves a wide range of physical ability, emotional readiness and other such issues. And when I say wide range I mean a chasm of differences were present in our teammates. Our coaches understood this fact and did a wonderful job at corraling, encouraging, teaching and making sure that the game remained fun. They did a great job at making sure the best and fastest players weren’t the only one getting time fielding the ball. In fact, in one game where BigBrother was doing exceptionally well, he did handed the ball that he had just fielded over to a girl who hadn’t had a chance to throw it to first base yet. Heart-swelling moment.

As per usual, there were some issues. The YMCA remains less than organized. The seven o’clock game is late for my boys and some of our other teammates. Less smoking is good but, really, I’d prefer no smoking at a t-ball game. In fact, while photographing one of the high school girls’ game, I saw that they have a no smoking sign at their field. It’s just common sense. We did get rid of some issues though: no mean kid that taunted BigBrother this year and, wait for it, no mean parents. Really, this was almost the perfect year.

As evidenced by this smile on the field:

Except for that one time that BigBrother took a ball to the chest.

He was okay. Just kind of stunned. It was like the time that he took the soccer ball straight to his leg in soccer this past winter. Those two experiences were more of a, “Wait, the ball can actually hurt me,” than true injuries. Still, the look on his face was quite sad.

The best part of the season was his number. He was number 15, the last number on our team. Every other game, he would either bat first or last. When he would bat last, they would call, “LAST BATTER,” and then BigBrother would get to round the bases after he hit the ball. Home run! Twice a game! Every other game! And the crowd goes wild! Or at least we did.

What wasn’t an issue at the beginning of the season slowly began to become an issue. LittleBrother was too young to play this season. He started out not really minding. We always took his glove and played catch on the sidelines. Eventually, he started asking to play, and, for awhile at least, he was content when we said he could play next year. In fact, the season ended on a decent note. No big fits. No whining. No running onto the field. I was pleased. Then we went to the pizza party where they received their trophies and LittleBrother lost it. “I want a trophy, TOOOOO.” I know it could have been much worse, but I still felt a little bit sorry for him. And my ear drums at that point.

Will we play t-ball next year? Yes. Am I looking forward to paying full price for two children as there’s no point in a five year old having a membership at the YMCA just to get the reduced price? (The yearly expenditure would equal the amount of difference between the two costs.) No. I’ll have to budget wisely in the month or so leading up to sign ups to make sure I can afford to send them both out on the field. I expect that next year should bring about some interesting sibling issues on the field.

I’m glad he played this year. I’m proud of what he accomplished.

I almost don’t know what to do with my Thursday night now. Except see Eclipse.