Just call me "Mommy"

This coming August I will have been employed by my school for four years. I was hired the March before I graduated in '08. In my interview, I remember my boss asking me if I was willing at all to coach any sports when I worked there. Blindly (thinking coaching had to be a breeze since I love playing sports) I said "yes". Little did I know I would be the Junior Varsity coach (5th-8th grade girls) for three years in a row of both volleyball and softball. At first, I accepted my fate with sheer delight and eager anticipation. The first year was the honeymoon period. There were some tears, some emotions, I jumped up and down like an idiot the TWO times my little volleyball team had a victory and I grinned like a proud parent when my softball team actually made an out. The second year was just like the terrible "twos." Parents were mad because I would push too hard for their child to do better. Some parents were mad because their kid did not play as much as another kid. It was the hardest year ever. I vowed I was done, I would never do it again. But, I suppose like any mother changes her mind once her baby gets out of a difficult stage, once spring came around again...I longed for the sound of softballs in mitts and the metal clang of the softball bat. So, I took the plunge and coached one more time. Year three is something akin to being a mother of three. One kid is a teen who has attitude galore and you wonder how this could be your child. Another one is about 8 and thinks they know EVERYTHING about life. The baby of this family is only two and still is not potty trained. That is my life. Just today, during our first game of the season, I had one girl crying because of something another girl said. I had one girl who lost her mitt at the field two weeks ago and just now expected me to find it. I had two girls who came without shoes (and then left their shoes at the field after the game). AND, once the game was over, I had two backpacks and (of course) countless other artifacts of girlhood strewn around the dugout. I looked at my assistant coach and sighed. "Just call me Mommy Withee."