Picket Fence Post

I’m on a hamster wheel. And I can’t seem to get off of it.

I usually block out — probably for self-preservational purposes — how absolutely loony the springtime can get when you have three kids who play sports. I was deluded into thinking that I actually had a handle on things, at least between January and early March, when the only real holidays are Valentine’s Day and the start of the spring training. You don’t have to send cards to anyone, make special meals or buy gifts to celebrate the fact that baseball’s back.

Then spring officially arrived. And all hell broke loose.

On Sunday, the Spouse and I had to sit down with spreadsheets, calendars, four bottles of Advil and a bottle of Merlot in order to figure out the next few weeks, schedule-wise. (We’re still scraping the ceiling following my head explosion.) Take this week’s nuttiness:

The Eldest Boy had baseball practice on Monday for close to two hours. The Girl’s usual Monday soccer practice — which starts a half-hour before her twin brother’s baseball practice — was cancelled yesterday. I wept with joy, seeing as though I’d already spent part of the day in a sporting goods store buying the Eldest Boy new baseball pants (he said his old ones look like Capri pants on him), looking for a mouth guard for the Girl and baseball socks for the Youngest Boy and, for the first time, purchasing an athletic supporter. (For the Eldest Boy, not me.)

Today, the Girl had a soccer game several towns away, although we were lucky enough to arrange for the coach to drive her to her game. (The Spouse will pick her up on his way home from work.) However, attending this re-scheduled soccer game — it was originally slated for this Saturday – meant that the Girl had to miss her weekly gymnastics class, during which the two boys and I usually sit in the mini-van as I read or do work while the boys “wrestle” (beat on) each other.

On Wednesday, the Youngest Boy has baseball practice. The Spouse is his coach. The practice ends at 7 p.m. On a school night. The Youngest Boy is 6. That’s first grade. I complained about this too-late practice to the coach, but he passed the buck to others, saying this was the time slot his team was assigned. Coward.

On Thursday, I have to drop off the Girl at soccer practice at 4:30 at one field, then bring the Eldest Boy to his baseball practice at a different field an hour later. Then I get to repeat the process again when practice is over.

The Eldest Boy has ANOTHER practice on Friday until 5:30. (For those of you counting at home, that’s three baseball practices in one week. The Eldest Boy is 9.) Oh, and the Spouse is planning on volunteering to assistant coach this team, that is when he’s not attending night meetings for work.

On Saturday, we’re hosting Passover at our house for 13 people. The Youngest Boy and the Spouse have a baseball practice scheduled, but I pitched a fit and said they couldn’t go (because I’m not going to make this dinner all by myself). The Spouse is supposed to ask an assistant coach to take over. The next time I speak with the Spouse for more than five seconds — maybe by Friday — I’ll check to see if he’s found someone to cover for him.

Finally, on Sunday, after church (where, thankfully, neither the Spouse nor I are slated to teach in our respective children’s classrooms this weekend), the Eldest Boy has ANOTHER baseball practice.

This doesn’t take into account my work, the Spouse’s work (which included two night meetings this week), and the fact that we need to clean our house before relatives visit. Oh, and we have to file our income taxes so we don’t get carted off to jail. And our twin third graders’ science projects are looming in the horizon.

Keep in mind, we have allowed our children to play one seasonal sport each, excluding the Girl’s once-a-week gymnastics classes which run during the school year. There are plenty of other families in our town whose children play multiple sports. In the same season. Some also have Cub Scouts and Brownies. And piano lessons. Our schedule, if you can believe it, is fairly tame by comparison. I hear grief about it from my Eldest Son who doesn’t understand why we don’t let him play baseball and soccer in the spring, mean parents that we are.

I just love the spring. Not.

But at least there’s baseball.

And daffodils.