One of my husband’s loves (other than me, of course) is baseball. He is a baseball coach, a baseball player, and a baseball spectator (via TV). He even decorated our son’s room in a baseball theme (even though I was going for a dragon/castle theme). This spring my husband signed our daughter Madeleine (age 6) up for softball and our son Ephraim (age 4) up for T-ball. I was, quite frankly, annoyed. My arguments, along with my husband’s responses, are as follows:

They have their whole lives to play sports – why start so early?

Because they have to start early if they want to develop the skills needed for middle school and high school sports.

You’re still coaching, which means I’ll have to drag both kids by myself to practices 2-3 times a week!

It won’t be that bad.

I don’t like baseball. Or softball.

Did I really marry you?

Did you hear my southern-tired-working-mom whine? And what about my husband’s impatient you’re-insulting-the-love-of-my-life tone?

As it turns out, he is right. It hasn’t been that bad. I’ve had a pretty good time cheering Madeleine on. She’s made new friends and gotten excited about softball. Ephraim has been able to enjoy getting filthy at the ballpark playground twice a week. Steven has had a ball (pun intended) throwing, catching, and batting with the kids in the backyard. We’ve even become pretty good friends with another family on my daughter’s team.

So, her season is done, and my little boy started T-ball practice yesterday. At dinner last night he looked at me with his smiling face and said, “I have a team, Mom!”

Okay. So maybe I like baseball. A little.