For those that truly know
me, you know that I always put Elijah first in my life. I pride myself on being the kind of parent that
I want to be. I do not strive for
greatness, but just to be a good parent for Elijah. Sacrifices are never easy. Elijah is fortunate enough to have 2 parents
that never ask him to sacrifice much. If
Elijah wants to do something, we try and make it happen. This is what has led us to play all three
sports: baseball, basketball and football.
After all, he’s only going to be a child for so long. Tonight was a particularly rough night in our
household. We had a wonderful church
service, where Jason and I were invited to assist in the youth and it was a
blast! We visited with our church family
for an hour afterwards. After we
returned home, we looked at our schedule to plan our Memorial Day weekend. It was at this time that I decided to write
Elijah’s baseball schedule on the calendar, along with our Foster PRIDE
classes. Both of these events only last through the month of May, but I had
never considered that they would conflict with each other. I never dreamed that with only one child, our
lives would become hectic and someone would have to sacrifice. After everything
was laid out on the calendar, I noticed I would only be able to attend four of
Elijah’s games. Four? What?
I shook my head. This
can’t be right.
I was right. With Jason’s work schedule, he could only
attend one. I swallowed hard. Something was about to give. I’m not the kind of parent that drops my
child off at the sporting event and meets up with them afterwards to hear all
the details. I’m always in the stands, cheering him on.
The choice was
obvious. Our Foster PRIDE classes are a
one-time event that will forever alter our future. We will be opening our homes to children that
have been ripped from theirs. We will
have high hopes of adopting at least two of these children. Jason and I discussed it in detail before
Elijah appeared in the dining room, asking for a drink. I looked at my
son. Five years, he has been a part of
this team. Five years, he’s looked forward to baseball. Five years, he has
never had to sacrifice this sport, or any sport, for that matter.
I asked Elijah how he
would feel about quitting baseball this year, this ONE year. He began with his
usual, “what do you mean?” How did you get to this point, mom? When did you
think it would become okay to ask me this? His big, brown eyes stared at me in
confusion. I brushed over the details quickly, and tried to make baseball seem
minor this year, to soften the blow that I wasn’t actually asking him. He took
a sip of milk and nodded that he could do that. He put his glass up, kissed my
cheek and went back to bed. It can’t be that easy to ask your child to give up
something that they had been involved with for so long? I went to Elijah’s bed,
crawled into it and hugged him. I explained
in detail what was happening, how I didn’t want to ask him to do this and I
sniffled. The thought of letting down my
child broke my heart.
“Don’t be sad, mom.
Baseball is always there. It’s no big deal.” He touched the beams of the top
bunk above his head. “You only have this one time to get a new kid in this
house. You have to go to those classes. Besides, there’s no crying in baseball.” He
knew there was no other option and I wasn’t going to be an absentee
parent. But I was wondering if I was
being selfish, if we were being
selfish. We have prayed about this, planned for this, had our heart set on this
for so long, talked to Elijah for hours about this but was he truly prepared?
In a word: yes.
My son handled the news
magnificently. He basically, shrugged
and went on. He knew it wasn’t a big deal. In that moment, I realized I was
being selfish as a parent. I was more concerned how I felt about my parenting skills
then how Elijah actually felt. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to admit that you
have too much on your plate. It’s okay to sit out a season. We are doing what’s
in the best interest of our family, and baseball isn’t going anywhere. Once again, I was reminded that our trials and tribulations do not define us, how we react to them does. I felt silly as I went to bed. If facing a baseball disappointment is my only trial today, then I am blessed. And I am ~ very blessd. Thank you, God, for all the blessings, and I apologize for not always seeing them.
As of today, for the
first time in five seasons, Elijah is no longer a Mud Dog.
