I left word with my youngest son’s baseball coach today that I would be happy to be “Team Mom”. In doing so I have verified that I am completely insane.

I am not a team mom. I am just an old mom, plain kidded out. I have taught school for 30 years, children with learning and behavior disorders, no less. And I have four children still living in my house - three of them teenagers. And, I have spent
every weekend, for more years than I care to remember, either doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom, wandering around the grocery store, or arguing with some child about their need to practice something or turn off the computer or finish their homework...or...I’ve spent them at a ball game.

I have a normal IQ and plenty of interests that don’t involve children. And, I don’t need to be Team Mom to redeem myself. I am not the kind of mother who revels in these things.

And, to be honest, after past experiences, I can’t IMAGINE myself attempting to take charge of any kid events with the degree of decorum that seems to be necessary for these other women who orchestrate them for a living.

With style, yes. I can be Team Mom with style. My style. With the simplest, most unconvoluted “you’ll just have to make due with mustard, guys, we’re out of catsup” attitude. And, NO, you can’t have seconds on snacks, gentlemen, you haven’t even eaten the first one...and, pick up this field after yourself NOW or I will come out there and you’ll live to regret it ... attitude. Of course, I can be Team Mom like that.

And with a guarantee that I’ll drop the name-covered cake right in somebody’s lap, like I did at the last team party, or I’ll back my truck into the bleachers after the final game...been there.

Why would I offer to be “Team Mom”?

I love my son. It’s just that simple. As I watch the last vestiges of babyhood leave his slightly freckled face, I know that soon he’ll be pulling out of my embraces instead of running into them. I accept that the delight he will feel seeing me in charge at his games, in front of all his friends, is of greatest importance. Trying to organize a snack schedule is far more valuable than anything I was dreaming of doing in those peaceful moments while he was busy working out. I know the times he wants to
include me in his life are soon to be memories folded away into my mental cedar chest.

And so, I’ll be Team Mom. I’ll offer to give it my best effort, provide fodder for gossip for all the perfect mothers who do these things like CEOs. And it will be just fine.

My son will be there.