Laying the Foundation
Jeez, being a mother is hardwork! You think it's so hard when they're an infant (it is) because you're running on lack of sleep and adjusting to horomones and how psychotically you love your children. Then you think it's hard when they're toddlers (it is) because you're setting the foundation for the limits and rules within your family. You think it's hard when they're pre-schoolers (it is) because you're teaching them how to act appropriately in society and sometimes realizing, you yourself aren't exactly a model to follow. And then when they're kids, you think it's hard (it is) because you're teaching life lessons and how do you know how much to push them or ease up?
I feel like we've done a pretty decent job laying foundations with Andrew. He's fairly well behaved, mannerful, polite, respectful, and even tempered. But, we're in the middle of one of those monumental moments.
He's moved from t-ball to machine pitch. He went from being on the All Star t-ball team, where his team played awesome in a state tournament and he was a honest asset to the team to . . . can't freaking hit the ball off the machine to save his life. I've been out there with he and Doug 2 times while Andrew practiced hitting off the machine. Holy cow. What an emotionally charged experience. And yes, this is related to baseball, but this is about so much more than baseball. This is the life lesson when he learns that Doug and I don't quit. We don't abide by quitters. It's not okay to quit because it's too hard. He's stood at the plate, crying, pouting, yelling, huffing, and puffing. And Doug and I are trying to talk rationally (and completely irrationally- but for the most part rationally) about how we know it's frustrating, but he's got to keep trying. He can't give up. If he doesn't try, he'll never get it. I honestly think, if I looked at Andrew today and said, "Hey buddy, I know this is frustrating, why don't you take a season off and then you'll be older, better, and wiser, and then try again in the spring." he would. This is the moment when I could let him learn to quit because something is too hard, or . . . I make him "man up" and learn coping methods for frustration and to keep trying.
He told me today, "I just want to quit, but this will be the only sport I quit, I won't quit the next one." I told him, "No. You're not allowed to quit because it's too hard- yet. If we get to the end of fall ball and you still can't hit off the machine, then you can quit, but at least you tried. You haven't tried yet." Well, not to mortify you with the horrors of today's meager attempt at practicing to hit off the machine (but I can assure you, it didn't go well. We all melted down- at the same time.), he's sitting in time out. I made sure he understood he's sitting in time out because he gave up. Then I made him write me a list of things that went wrong today, and that would go better tomorrow. He killed me. Broke my heart in 47 ways. On his list of things that went wrong he said, "I gave up on myself."
So I told Doug, I don't think we're the ones to teach him to hit off the machine. It's ok. We don't have to be the ones who teach him everything. I couldn't teach him to write or tie his shoes either. I felt rage when I tried. It's more important that we teach him to back up, chill out, try differently, than to keep beating our head into the wall. So the foundation that we laid today . . . well there was probably a negative one in the heat of the moment, but I hope now that it's all over, I hope I taught him not to quit, and he may give up on himself, but Daddy and I never will, we'll just back up, chill out, and try it another way.
I feel like we've done a pretty decent job laying foundations with Andrew. He's fairly well behaved, mannerful, polite, respectful, and even tempered. But, we're in the middle of one of those monumental moments.
He's moved from t-ball to machine pitch. He went from being on the All Star t-ball team, where his team played awesome in a state tournament and he was a honest asset to the team to . . . can't freaking hit the ball off the machine to save his life. I've been out there with he and Doug 2 times while Andrew practiced hitting off the machine. Holy cow. What an emotionally charged experience. And yes, this is related to baseball, but this is about so much more than baseball. This is the life lesson when he learns that Doug and I don't quit. We don't abide by quitters. It's not okay to quit because it's too hard. He's stood at the plate, crying, pouting, yelling, huffing, and puffing. And Doug and I are trying to talk rationally (and completely irrationally- but for the most part rationally) about how we know it's frustrating, but he's got to keep trying. He can't give up. If he doesn't try, he'll never get it. I honestly think, if I looked at Andrew today and said, "Hey buddy, I know this is frustrating, why don't you take a season off and then you'll be older, better, and wiser, and then try again in the spring." he would. This is the moment when I could let him learn to quit because something is too hard, or . . . I make him "man up" and learn coping methods for frustration and to keep trying.
He told me today, "I just want to quit, but this will be the only sport I quit, I won't quit the next one." I told him, "No. You're not allowed to quit because it's too hard- yet. If we get to the end of fall ball and you still can't hit off the machine, then you can quit, but at least you tried. You haven't tried yet." Well, not to mortify you with the horrors of today's meager attempt at practicing to hit off the machine (but I can assure you, it didn't go well. We all melted down- at the same time.), he's sitting in time out. I made sure he understood he's sitting in time out because he gave up. Then I made him write me a list of things that went wrong today, and that would go better tomorrow. He killed me. Broke my heart in 47 ways. On his list of things that went wrong he said, "I gave up on myself."
So I told Doug, I don't think we're the ones to teach him to hit off the machine. It's ok. We don't have to be the ones who teach him everything. I couldn't teach him to write or tie his shoes either. I felt rage when I tried. It's more important that we teach him to back up, chill out, try differently, than to keep beating our head into the wall. So the foundation that we laid today . . . well there was probably a negative one in the heat of the moment, but I hope now that it's all over, I hope I taught him not to quit, and he may give up on himself, but Daddy and I never will, we'll just back up, chill out, and try it another way.
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