My kids laugh at me when I pitch to them. My husband really laughs. I don't coach because I know all the rules. I don't coach because I am an athletic mommy. I don't coach because I want an award for community involvement. I don't coach because I have nothing else to do with my free time. This season my husband and I really spent a lot of time (usually late at night too wired to sleep after a late ballgame) discussing why do we both coach. As a coach you hear and see a lot of ugly. This year has stretched me more to my limits. The physical demands of two kids playing has been exhausting. You spend 4 to8 hours a week with these people each week. You love on their children. Invest in their lives. Teach them how to swing a bat, run through a base, except defeat, win gracefully, have good sportsmanship, love them up when it isn't their night to shine and yet you are most of the time making some grown up mad. It seems whatever you do is never good enough. When you didn't send the runner. When you sent the runner. When you changed the line up. When you didn't change the line up. When you told Susie to stop picking flowers. When you told Susie to pay attention only 46 times and not 47 times. When you call time out too many times. When you are the "worst coach ever."
This season I can tell you I coached for 9.
I coached for 9 little girls that tune all that out and came to have fun.
I coached for 9 little girls that cheered for each other.
I coached for 9 little girls that gave hugs for free.
I coached for 9 little girls that aren't in the line up because their dream is to be a professional ball player.
I coached for 9 little girls who are learning to stand on their own two feet.
At a plate.
In front of a crowd.
And all that stands between them and a base is a moving yellow ball.
I coached for the 9 little girls that hit that ball.
I coached for the 9 little girls that stood on home plate and entered my heart.
I love you my Dirt Angels!