Then I heard more pitter-patter... What in the world??? Another early bird??? I turned to see who the culprit could be and was met with a little pair of legs carrying a large pile of clothing. Held to the gill were baseball pants, shirts, socks, belts and hats. I suppressed a smile as the J-man dropped the load down in front of me--the load of new uniforms that he had received at baseball practice the night before. As it had been too late for him to try them on when he'd gotten home, we had promised him he could try them on this morning. It reminded me of the time he came into our room at 3:00 in the morning before his first t-ball game, dressed and ready to go. Guess I should be glad that he hadn't gotten up any earlier this morning.
His eyes shone with the anticipation of trying on all his gear as I stared at the mound of uniforms and wondered where the days had gone when one uniform was more than enough? Where were the days when rec leagues were more than enough and competitive leagues hadn't gobbled up the simple life? I would have never thought we would have had a seven-year-old on such a team, yet it was inevitable, I suppose in a boy-filled baseball-crazed home. Inevitable for a seven-year-old that had spent all last year tagging along at his ten-year-old's brother's competitive games. Inevitable, that eventually you have to make the switch and play the game by the newly-acquired rules.
I had to admit, it was hard not to get caught up in my little man's excitement. For the next hour, my proud seven-year-old tried on every one of his three uniforms for me, not once, but TWICE. He told me a total of ten times about the scrimmage and games that were coming up, what time they were at and where they were going to be. He had myself and the O vote for our favorite uniform. We discussed #32 and how he wasn't that crazy about it but that it was Uncle Trent's favorite player on the Red's so it couldn't be all that bad. We discussed ankle pants vs. knee pants.
Other discussions took place in my head. Stress mounted as my mind was pelted with questions like, 'What if he shows up to a game wearing the wrong uniform? What if we can't find his blue shirt on blue uniform day? What if the washer eats one of those brightly colored socks? What if my extremely absent minded seven-year-old leaves one of those hats clear across town at the McDonald's playland?'
Then the what ifs were squashed with the realization that my born-organized husband had taken care of such details like a well oiled machine during last year's baseball season for my ten-year-old. He could handle it.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Meanwhile, the O stood on the sidelines--all starry-eyed--filled with great awe and admiration. I could understand O's infatuation. I too, was mesmerized by my no-bigger-than-a-minute seven-year-old. Sure, three uniforms still seemed a bit much to this practical-minded mom, yet I couldn't help being completely impressed and in love with my little guy's newly acquired threads.
The pitter patter of baseball season...a little boy in pinstriped pants with hat engulfing...a heart swelling and overflowing with the pride of being a part of a team...smiling from ear to ear. Beginning with the pitter patter of little feet and ending with the pitter patter of a mama's heart taking it all in.
So much more than a Kodak moment...but for now it'll have to suffice...
and in a month I'll let you know how our laundry bill is holding up.