The Heartbreak is Over

Baseball is a sport that will break your heart.

And for this season, it's done breaking mine.

We officially ended our almost 5 month season of baseball this past weekend, finishing off with four games, two for each boy. For the past four months and change, we've had four practices per week and 2-4 games per weekend. We've had front row seats for the tears and frustration of strike outs. We've prayed for the ball to land in the mitt and we've shaken our hands at heaven when it didn't. We've looked for that damn orange sock at the very last minute and we've repeated the "Take Care Of Your Stuff" lecture so often that the opening line just might be Tallulah's first sentence. We've schlepped the snacks and walked the parade route. We've witnessed some stellar adult behavior; we've witnessed some truly cringe-worthy adult behavior. We've cheered at the hits, the walks, the catches, the almost catches, the runs, the wins...we've encouraged till our encouragers are plain wore out.

We walked away with one 1st place champion and one 2nd place champion and 4 (yes, four) trophies, one for participating and one for placing in the playoffs, times two boys. I'm pretty sure I also left with a small shred of energy as well, but I can't quite find it at the moment. It's probably underneath the pile of baseball gear in my front hallway.

My boys LOVE baseball, and isn't it funny that because they do, all of the above is completely worth it?

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