Tee Ball Pride

If you are anything like me, you question your choices as a parent frequently. Am I being too hard? Am I being too lenient? Do I feed them too much junk food? Do they know how much I love them? These are all questions I ask myself almost daily. And then you have those moments, those few and far between moments where God, Allah, Buddha, Jesus, John McClane…okay so he isn’t a God (or is he?) or whomever is in charge of life…casts a light on how good you are actually doing. Last night, at Boy 1’s tee ball game, each kid on his team had an issue. Whether it was they couldn’t sit still, yelling, misbehaving, not paying attention…each of those children had some issue. Not my kid. There he sat…criss-cross applesauce, on the bench, hands in his lap…attentive to the game and minded his coach. My kid? My kid. Now, this does not always happen. Actually it happens such a small amount of the time the odds are comparable to hitting the Powerball jackpot. But last night a wave of pride flooded over me and I felt someone, something give me a pat on the back and say “Atta Mom” and it was awesome.