I used to think that mothers were put on this earth, solely, to embarrass their kids. My mom contributed to many flustering moments during my soccer games. At the beginning of the match, she would scream my name at the top of her lungs as I trotted out onto the field. She made loud unruly comments about the referee calls and the opposing team’s plays (please don’t ask me what was said, because I cannot repeat them). Lastly, at the end of the game, my mother would recite to me all of the people she talked to in the stands about my athletic accolades and forced me to wave up at them. Yes, Sally definitely had the touch of “mom crazy” in her. Ugh.
I, now, have a seven-year-old son.
Nathanael had been doing the imaginative-sport-play thing since he was a toddler, but this year has been different. It all started, this spring, when he expressed interest in baseball. My husband was all about it, while I was like – meh. Sorry to all you Boston Red Sox fans out there, but ‘America’s Pastime’ is not really my bag. As many of you know by now I’m more a soccer-type of gal…until my son launched his first long ball during a baseball game.
Now, I’m not talking about a little kid long ball, I’m talking about an adult-sized projectile sailing across the field, in the air, that the coach and people in the stands were commenting on, while it met it’s mark kind-of-long-ball. My eyes became as big as saucers and I lost it. I stood up and screamed my son’s name. From that point forward I knew, I had caught my own kind of “mom crazy”. Soccer season was next and my behavior got worse. Anytime Nathanael had the ball I would clap feverishly and yell out to him. I also projected snippy remarks at the calls made against my son’s team and wonky position rules that the coach was making the kids do (smh). I proudly talked about my child and his lightning-speed moves as he snaked around on the field, to anyone that would listen to me. Good God, I became…my mother?!
My most recent “mom crazy” happened just several weeks ago. I had signed Nathanael up for a HMF (Hartford Marathon Foundation) Fit Kids’ race. Just before the fun run started, I got to see their well organized race course. Us spectators had a great view of the whole one mile loop made of Walnut Hill park and closed off streets. The kids race was also led by a police escort! The race began and my mommy nerves quickly kicked in. Would he get scared? Would Nathanael get tired and want to drop out of the race all together? Would he come looking for me?! I could see the first place runner blazing in at about the halfway mark and then another runner close behind…
Is that..? No, it can’t be…
They rounded the corner of the final stretch and sure enough in second place was Nathanael! My son! I screamed and ran across the street desperately trying to get my phone on video mode. I totally scared the crap out of the first place runner coming in. I channeled my inner Sally by yelling and jumping up and down, telling Nathanael that he’s doing so good and how amazing he is. People looked at me like I was nuts, but I didn’t care. I unleashed all of my “mom crazy” at that moment. I was so proud of my son for trying something new and putting 150% of himself into that race.
Nathanael ran to the finish line, collected his medal and went right into playing with his friends, afterward. Later that evening, I showed him the video I took. We both listened to my “mom crazy” and I grimaced at myself. Simply put, I was my mom in that clip. How embarrassed is Nathanael going to be of me?
After the video was done Nathanael looked up at me and said, “Mommy, when I heard you yelling for me, I wanted to keep running.” Wow. Mom, I totally get it now. I will keep up my “mom crazy” and all it’s glory, for my son.
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