T-ball is over. Which is probably good as games were always on Thursdays and today, being a Thursday, is starting off rather cold and wet. BigBrother, however, is not really embracing the end of the season. I can’t blame him. I mean, look how happy he was to be taking t-ball pictures.

For two days after t-ball was over, trophies having been handed out, BigBrother wore his hat as he ran around the yard and ran errands with FireDad. I remember feeling that way as each of my softball seasons ended. Of course, our hats back in the day, except for my last year, were those horrible trucker type hats with the mesh back and the high front featuring the name of our sponsor. No, I won’t scan that for you, either.

I’m torn, however, with the ending of BigBrother’s first t-ball season. I know he loved playing but there are a few reasons that I’m glad this season is over.

Reasons that I’m glad t-ball is over:

1. The Mean Kid on the team will stop poking his forefinger in my BigBrother’s face on the field and knocking LittleBrother down on the sidelines. I know I can’t protect my kids from everything. (You know, they might want to be firefighters.) But when some mean, nasty kid gets in his face every. single. game., well, I get kind of peeved. At the very last game, the Mean Kid finally pushed LittleBrother with his glove. I wanted to cuss at the kid but, well, I don’t do that. I simply said, “Excuse me,” picked up LittleBrother and sat in my chair. Later, another Mom on the team gave me kudos for saying something. Apparently the Mean Kid didn’t just pick on my children. He was mean to all of them. (I don’t know if that made me feel better or worse.) He also spit on kids at the first game. Glad to be done with that… until next year… and hopefully the Mean Kid will be on some other poor kids’ team.

2. We can get away from the smoke. No, seriously. WHO SMOKES AT A T-BALL GAME? I mean, you’re not even allowed to smoke at PNC Park so why on Earth would you be allowed to smoke at a t-ball game? The ages of these children are three to six, depending on when they start(ed) Kindergarten. A large number of these children have younger brothers and sisters running around the sideline with happy little pink lungs. A surprisingly large number of the mothers were pregnant, gestating little lungs. But these smokers didn’t care. They didn’t walk to their cars to light up. They stood behind my chair, where my one and a half year old sat on my lap, and blew their nasty smoke over my head. UGH!

3. Playing guessing games with the weather. The constant, “Will it rain hard enough to cancel the game or can we get it in between the raindrops or, OMG! THUNDER! RUN!” got tiresome. Make-up games made for rescheduling of other things and busy weeks. I’m glad to be done with that as I prefer to know my schedule weeks in advance. What can I say? I don’t like change.

But, other than those things, we had a great season. It was a great experience for BigBrother. He found something that he really likes. He could really take or leave basketball. But t-ball? He throws the ball alone in our yard now, runs and gets it and then throws it to “first base,” yelling what he is doing the whole while. It’s adorable.

And that’s the main reason I’m sad that the season is over: BigBrother loved it. He mentioned t-ball just yesterday. We reminded him that t-ball was over now. “Don’t you remember getting your trophy.” His trophy, of course, is still sitting at his placemat on our kitchen table. It has to sit there, to be admired at breakfast, lunch, dinner and all table snacks. He nodded but his face fell a bit. We explained that he could play again next year but, really, what does a year mean to a three and a half year old? A cross between absolutely nothing and an eternity.

Again, I can’t say enough about the coaches, the experience. Hesitant at first, he was running the bases on his own by his last three or four games. He laughed when he would swing and miss, the missing becoming less of a normal occurrence in those last few games. He would also run for the ball and actively field it. He bonded with his coaches, understanding to listen to them. He didn’t always hustle on and off the field. He didn’t always like paying attention when he was on the field. (Lasering other kids and pretending to be a cross between Buzz Lightyear, Spiderman and a Transformer were other means of field standing entertainment. Would that be Buzz Spideformer?) He also deeply, truly and really loved getting ice cream cones after games. But, really, so did I. So did FireDad. LittleBrother, our lactose intolerant little buddy, however, was not as deeply moved by the after game tradition.

All in all, I’m thrilled with this recent organized sports experience. Minus the Mean Kid, the other kids on his team were great to and for BigBrother as well. BigBrother brought the entertainment value with his aforementioned Buzz Spideformer performances. I still don’t think we’ll be purchasing tiny cleats for next year (it’s community t-ball, folks, not the big leagues) but we may need to purchase LittleBrother’s glove soon so he’ll stop gunning for his brother’s glove.

I can handle this, by the way, being a T-ball Mom. I didn’t yell from the sidelines (except to tell him to leave the Mean Kid alone and keep his hands to himself). I did cheer and clap when he hit and ran but I never scolded. I won’t be that kind of T-ball Mom. But, really, this is much better than the squeaking shoes of basketball. Fresh air (minus the smoke), dog piles on the ball and laughter? Yes please!