That either meant that he was looking particularly adorable and sweet — which he is — or that he busted out one of the many faces that he is known for. If you’ve met him, you’ve seen one. He’s full of them. Lots of them. He’s got a face for every possible emotion. And usually he has multiple faces per emotion. He’s a very heart-on-his-sleeve kinda kid. Or, you know, his face as the case might be!

So, I took a look at BigBrother’s picture… and laughed out loud.

I wish I could approach all of the issues in my life with such blatant confidence. He’s all, “T-ball? Imma smash you into next week. You can’t handle this!”

LittleBrother, on the other hand, is considerably less… uh… high-strung than his brother. He approaches t-ball with a very relaxed attitude. If he wants to be on the field, he kind of saunters out there, slowly yet surely. When he’s done because it’s hotter than Hades, he slowly meanders off the field. When he hits the ball, he slowly runs but mostly walks to first base. He is his own person and we love him just the same.

So different, but so awesome.

Since it’s t-ball and absolutely everyone who swings a bat gets to run the bases and cross home plate, the “going well” is less about winning and more about awesome brother moments. LittleBrother continues to warm up to the idea of playing on a team, listening to a coach and paying attention to the task at hand. BigBrother is all about sports, all the time, so he’s stoked in general.

But the moment above is just one of the many moments that warm my heart. BigBrother was helping LittleBrother crouch down for his turn to field the ball. And I caught LittleBrother looking up at him like he was awesome. Later, as LittleBrother’s attention span started to float away with dandelion puffs at the end of an inning, BigBrother picked up his glove and helped him off the field. I was about to prompt him to do it, mouth hanging open as I sat in my chair about to yell to them on the field; he did it without being asked.

Heart-warming moments aside, there are also total moments of hilarious win like this attempt at a high five after LittleBrother batted in his first t-ball game ever.

[The last photo is best viewed larger. Go ahead. I'll wait.]

Oh man. Have you ever seen such a complete fail be such a complete win? For me, at least. I laughed out loud. When I was clicking through pictures to select ones to share in this post, the stop-motion-action of those three photos is hilarious. Okay, enough making fun of my kids.

But, really, t-ball has been great so far this season. I was hoping the game would be canceled this evening as I’m not feeling well and FireDad is working, but the forecast changed and it looks like we have a storm-free evening. I’ll just pull myself up by the bootstraps and hope for another gem of a moment like the one above.

Which moment above? You decide.

I was the older sister… the much older sister. By the time my younger brother was doing stuff, I was sooooo over it. I had been there, done that. He followed me everywhere and I thought he was annoying. In fact, he’s still kinda annoying, but that’s another story.

I’ve watched you watch your brother for three years now. At first, you thought the sun rose and set on his head. You would stare and smile and coo and nom on his face. You rolled early to get to him. You talked early to talk with him. You walked and ran early to keep up with him. And you haven’t stopped trying ever since.

You’ve sat on the sidelines for two years of t-ball games, watching your brother hit the ball, run the bases, throw the ball and laugh with his teammates. You’ve run out onto the field, desperately wanting to play. You’ve stood on the sidelines with your glove on your hand. And on your head. I’ve watched you be patient about it. I’ve watched you be impatient about it, throwing spectacular tantrums to voice your displeasure at riding the bench of brotherhood.

That changed today.

Your first t-ball practice was uneventful, really. You guys didn’t even get to bat. Your coach recognized the young team and thought it would benefit everyone if we spent an hour working on throwing the ball. We’ve been working on that with you, of course, learning that — once again — you are like your Daddy: You throw right-handed and you bat left-handed. That’s pretty cool.

You kept up today, with minor encouragement from me. You stood next to your brother on the line and threw to your coach. You came to me a few times, but you always went back. Even when the ball freaked you out a little bit.

And then you got to run the bases. For the first time ever. We practiced the song. You knew where to go. And you went.

The joy on your face was something I want to remember forever. I wish I could approach new things in life with the same joy that you were exuding as you ran from first to second base. It was a pure joy. You didn’t care what other people thought of your open-mouthed grin as you ran your little legs. You didn’t care. And man, that was fantastic.

I wish that for you always. Whether you’re doing something just to keep up with your brother or doing something new just because you want to do it. I hope you run at it with your mouth hanging open and your laughter floating on the spring breeze. I hope you embrace it fully, even when you’re scared it’s going to hit you in the face. I hope you know that you have our support as much as your older brother does and that we’ll love you even when you throw yourself on the ground at the end of that something new because you simply don’t want to leave, for it to be over.

I wish this for you always. I wish this joy for your life.

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.

_
[For more Wordless Wednesday, visit Life Down Our Lane.]

I’ll publish this now to give me hope for the next week!

(I’m visible in this photo! Upside down but visible!)

I know I keep taking pics of these but, man, they’re my favorite.

We taught BigBrother the magic of throwing helicopters in the air.

FireDad took one day off this week which meant he didn’t have to shave for five days. Hello, Sexy.

T-ball started again. Someone is happy.

Someone would be happier if he could actually play.

In fact, we’re all happy.

Did I mention this guy is happy?

I’m a day late posting these this week because I was gone all day yesterday. Here’s hoping we have another fun week of happy, outside memories!

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!

He’s grown so much in six months. During that time, he really popped out of his shell. I attribute some of that to his fabulous first year of preschool experience. I think a nod can be given to basketball as well. And, of course, the constant prodding encouragement to actually speak to people when spoken to by us, the parents, might also have finally gotten through his thick skull (brought to you by the genetics of Yours Truly). Whatever the case, he is loving t-ball. He looks forward to games. He is devastated when a thunderstorm results in the cancellation of said game. We read Froggy Plays T-ball all day on game days. And he generally has a great time.

He has learned to run the bases, though he prefers if the coach helping him bat runs with him to first base. He generally runs to second, third and home on his own though one time he forgot to run to second. He doesn’t swing the bat very hard but, again, with patient coaches, he’s helped along with nice words and instruction. Eventually, he gets out of the initial foul ball territory and is quite proud when he does! As for fielding, our team has taken a different approach than some of the other teams. Someone is always on first base. The rest of the team is split into two lines where the second baseman and shortstop would stand. The two kids who are the front of the line with each batter are then allowed to field the ball. After that batter, the go to the back of the line (where BigBrother chest bumps with his friends and makes laser sounds, of course). BigBrother has actually started running after the ball and, on occasion, comes up with it. He knows to throw to first, though he’s a bit slow about it (which does not result in yelling by the coaches, by the way). He’s always so proud. So are we! I love that the coaches approach fielding in this manner because it gives everyone a chance to touch the ball and avoids the infamous T-ball Dog Pile every time someone hits the ball. Smart coaches we have! And, of course, after each game, they get a snack.

And, so, in short, BigBrother is having a fabulous time playing t-ball. (And learning!)

There are some issues, of course, but they have little to do with BigBrother, the coaches, the YMCA or even ourselves. I’m learning, far too quickly for my liking, that not everyone is in the game for the fun of it nor do people care about how the decisions they make affect other people. But that’s a different post for another week. Today we are just happy that things are going so well!

Here’s a video from BigBrother’s first ever t-ball game (early May 2009) as he crosses the plate after his first time around the bases. (Warning: Goodness, I am loud. Turn down your volume for Pete’s sake.)

He’s always so proud when he crosses home plate now (which he touches without (loud?) encouragement from us). He also runs a little faster now. Hustling is not in his vocabulary unless he is playing Mr. Incredible in the back yard.

In the end, we’ll just continue to do what we do: encourage BigBrother to have fun, look at the ball and listen to his coaches. We’re really excited that, except for that one time when he told his coach that he’d just “wait right here” on the sidelines when it was their turn on the field, we (as his parents) haven’t had to actively push him onto the field or really do much of anything. (We had to stand on one end of the court in basketball because he was unsure of how or why he should listen to coaches who were, in essence, strangers.) Despite the not-yet-mentioned issues, we’re really enjoying watching him play his games… simply because he’s enjoying playing his games. I think he’ll be devastated when the season is over.

Looks like we’ll be playing t-ball in the yard all summer. Anybody up for a game?