It's another Spring night which means another T-ball game for our family (Lord help us when they both play). Somehow in my dreams of parenthood I didn't envision the hours I would spend at a 5 year old's baseball game. I could have predicted soccer since my sisters and I all played but this child's aptitude seems to be with a smaller ball, a glove and a bat. I am not disappointed - only unprepared for life as a t-ball mom. I wasn't prepared for the oodles of parents who would sit behind me on the stands fretting over their own child's playing skills or plays unmade or balls missed. (Incidentally my child happens to be one of the better players but I never would have imagined stressing over his game - or yelling at him for it.) I wasn't prepared for the required parent participation - baking for the bake sale, contributing to the basket for the auction, bringing snacks that don't send kids into next week on a sugar rush, and photographing every child play every game for the slide show (not that I would have it any other way). I wasn't prepared for a 4 year old little girl who desperately wants to play next season. I wasn't prepared for how uncomfortable those darn bleachers are to sit on. I wasn't prepared to entertain said 4 year old while the game was going on. I wasn't prepared for a husband that would want to coach and therefore require us to be at every event. And I definitely wasn't prepared for loving every minute of it.