“Nice shot Claire!” yelled the man sitting next to me.

I barely knew him, but he was a parent of another girl on the basketball team. The shot had actually bounced off the rim of the basketball hoop, but this random father was still yelling encouragement to Claire. She looked in our direction. I gave her a thumbs-up.

Sports are not my thing. I don’t know the first thing about whether my kid is off-sides or needs to go back and tag first base before running to second. I don’t watch sports and apart from a brief stint as a cheerleader, I don’t play them either. I tried desperately to get the kids into running, as that’s the one thing that I can do. But my kids want to play team sports, and so every season, I find myself signing them up for baseball, basketball, soccer or some other crazy activity that I can’t even begin to understand.

They like sports, Austin especially. In fact, Austin’s sports life has become somewhat consuming for me. He’s had a Saturday game basically every week since early September. I never went to these games before my husband, Shawn, died (that was his job) and I didn’t make many of them last spring. But this fall, I decided that I was going to try to go to ALL of them.

I missed a couple, because it’s just impossible to do everything sometimes, but I made it to a lot of them. And over the weeks this fall, I started talking to the other parents on the sidelines of his baseball games. At first, it felt a little bit awkward. Aside from a few people I knew well, the other parents were mostly people who knew me as the woman who’d lost her husband. I’m not saying they said anything like that to me (they have manners!) but I didn’t really know them otherwise. Maybe they didn’t think about my widowed status when they saw me, but here’s the key: I thought about it. And it made me feel awkward.

Still, I tried to chat with a few new people. It wasn’t always as bad as I had imagined and slowly, it became easier. Maybe that was because the games were TWO HOURS long. (I mean, what kind of sadist decided that second-graders should play two-hour long games in both scorching and freezing weather? Who knows!) But what I do know is this: if you are forced to watch second-grade baseball for two hours, you’ll start talking to everyone.

We all got to know each other, and I noticed that a number of the parents cheered just as loudly for Austin as they did for their own children. I loved that. We also got bored enough that we talked about life, and I found out that friendship can really come from sharing the mundane details of your life, week after week.

Friendship can also come because you need help. And I always did. This fall and winter, Saturdays became one big disaster—one kid needed to get to a birthday party and another kid needed to get to practice and the last kid also had a game at the same time that overlapped with both of the first two kids’ events. (That was just one Saturday I picked at random.) I wanted to be self-sufficient, and do everything on my own. But I could not. And if I refused to ask for help, the people who would suffer would be my kids. So I swallowed my pride and I asked for assistance. “Can you take Austin to practice/Claire to her game/Tommy to the party?”

Every. Weekend.

On repeat.

Forever.

Everyone I ask for help is always gracious, even though they know I’ll never be able to pay them back. For a long time, I felt guilty about all of this help.

But then I started to realize that these times—the ones that my kids spent with other families—were times when other adults in my community really got to know my kids. I had made friends with these other adults over the two-hour baseball games, but they gotten to know my kids when they were listening to them prattle on in the backseat or making sure that they’d remembered all their gear for the game.

Slowly, I started to realize something. My kids weren’t just mine anymore. They were everyone’s.

And that meant that when one of them was trying to hit the baseball or shoot a basket, there were a lot of people in the stands cheering for them just a little bit harder.

At the last girls’ basketball game I attended, I watched Claire sink a great shot. Everyone around me went nuts. “I actually jumped up and cheered for her!” one parent said to me later, laughing a bit at his excitement. After Claire’s game, I hurried to catch the end of Austin’s game, and arrived just in time to see them win. I went over to Austin. He was standing near his coach who said to me, “Did Austin tell you about what a great game he had?”

Austin was beaming. So was his coach. He ruffled Austin’s hair a bit, and reminded him to keep practicing.

“I made three shots!” Austin said.

“That’s great baby,” I said. “I’m sorry I missed them. I was at Claire’s game.”

“It’s OK,” he said, “everyone here cheered for me.”

Originally published on the author’s blog 

You may also like:

To My Friend’s Kids—I Love You Like You’re Mine

Thanks to You, Friend, For Cheering for My Kid When I Can’t Be There

Dear Kids, I’m Going to Miss Some of Your Games…but It’s Not Because I Don’t Want to Be There

 

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Marjorie Brimley

By day Marjorie Brimley is a high school teacher and mother of three. She spends her nights replaying the insane encounters that go along with being a recent widow and blogging about them at DCwidow.com. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.

Our Kids Need Us as Much as We Need Them

In: Kids, Motherhood
Little boy sitting on bench with dog nearby, color photo

During a moment of sadness last week, my lively and joyful toddler voluntarily sat with me on the couch, holding hands and snuggling for a good hour. This brought comfort and happiness to the situation. At that moment, I realized sometimes our kids need us, sometimes we need them, and sometimes we need each other at the same time. Kids need us. From the moment they enter the world, infants express their needs through tiny (or loud) cries. Toddlers need lots of cuddling as their brains try to comprehend black, white, and all the colors of the expanding world around...

Keep Reading

Your Kids Don’t Need More Things, They Need More You

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mother and young girl smiling together at home

He reached for my hand and then looked up. His sweet smile and lingering gaze flooded my weary heart with much-needed peace. “Thank you for taking me to the library, Mommy! It’s like we’re on a date! I like it when it’s just the two of us.” We entered the library, hand in hand, and headed toward the LEGO table. As I began gathering books nearby, I was surprised to feel my son’s arms around me. He gave me a quick squeeze and a kiss with an “I love you, Mommy” before returning to his LEGO—three separate times. My typically...

Keep Reading

This Time In the Passenger Seat is Precious

In: Kids, Motherhood, Teen
Teen driver with parent in passenger seat

When you’re parenting preteens and teens, it sometimes feels like you are an unpaid Uber driver. It can be a thankless job. During busy seasons, I spend 80 percent of my evenings driving, parking, dropping off, picking up, sitting in traffic, running errands, waiting in drive-thru lines. I say things like buckle your seat belt, turn that music down a little bit, take your trash inside, stop yelling—we are in the car, keep your hands to yourself, don’t make me turn this car around, get your feet off the back of the seat, this car is not a trash can,...

Keep Reading

So God Made My Daughter a Wrestler

In: Kids, Motherhood
Young female wrestler wearing mouth guard and wrestling singlet

God made my girl a wrestler. Gosh, those are words I would never have thought I would say or be so insanely proud to share with you. But I am. I know with 100 percent certainty and overwhelming pride that God made my girl a wrestler. But it’s been a journey. Probably one that started in the spring of 2010 when I was pregnant with my first baby and having the 20-week anatomy ultrasound. I remember hearing the word “girl” and squealing. I was over the moon excited—all I could think about were hair bows and cute outfits. And so...

Keep Reading

A Big Family Can Mean Big Feelings

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Family with many kids holding hands on beach

I’m a mother of six. Some are biological, and some are adopted. I homeschool most of them. I’m a “trauma momma” with my own mental health struggles. My husband and I together are raising children who have their own mental illnesses and special needs. Not all of them, but many of them. I battle thoughts of anxiety and OCD daily. I exercise, eat decently, take meds and supplements, yet I still have to go to battle. The new year has started slow and steady. Our younger kids who are going to public school are doing great in their classes and...

Keep Reading

You May Be a Big Brother, but You’ll Always Be My Baby

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother with young son, color photo

It seems like yesterday we were bringing you home from the hospital. Back then, we were new parents, clueless but full of love—a love that words can hardly explain. I can vividly recall holding you in my arms, rocking you in the cutest nursery, and singing sweet lullabies, just like yesterday. I can picture those times when you were teeny-tiny, doing tummy time, and how proud I was of you for lifting your head. And oh, the happiness on your face when “Baby Shark” played over and over—that song always made you smile! We made sure to capture your growth...

Keep Reading

“It Looks and Tastes Like Candy.” Mom Shares Warning about THC Gummies All Parents Need to Hear

In: Kids, Living, Teen
Hand holding bottle of THC gummies

What Aimee Larsen first thought was a stomach bug turned out to be something much more terrifying for her young son. Her 9-year-old woke up one day last week seeming “lethargic, barely able to stand or speak,” his mom shared in a Facebook post. At first, she assumed he had a virus, but something about his behavior just didn’t seem right. She called an ambulance and asked her older sons if their brother might have gotten into something, like cough syrup or another over-the-counter medicine. Their answer? “Yeah, THC gummies.” THC gummies are an edible form of cannabis that contain...

Keep Reading

Dear Daughter as You Grow into Yourself

In: Kids, Motherhood, Tween
Girl in hat and dress-up clothes, color photo

My daughter, I watched you stand in front of the mirror, turning your body left and right. Your skirt was too big and your top on backward. Your bright blue eyeshadow reached your eyebrows and bold red blush went up to your ears. You didn’t care. I watched you marvel at your body, feeling completely at ease in your skin. You turned and admired yourself with pride. You don’t see imperfections. You don’t see things you are lacking. You see goodness. You see strength. RELATED: Daughter, When You Look in the Mirror, This is What I Hope You See I’m...

Keep Reading

My Child with Special Needs Made His Own Way in His Own Time

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother holding child's hand walking across street

I want to tell you the story of a little boy who came to live with me when he was three years old. Some of you may find this story familiar in your own life. Your little boy or girl may have grown inside you and shares your DNA or maybe they came into your life much older than three. This little boy, this special child, my precious gift has special needs. Just five short years ago, he was a bit mean and angry, he said few understandable words, and there was a lot about this world he didn’t understand. Unless...

Keep Reading

Organized Sports Aren’t Everything

In: Kids, Motherhood
Young girl with Alpaca, color photo

Today I watched my little girl walk an alpaca. His name is Captain. Captain is her favorite. He’s my favorite too. I met his owner on Instagram of all places. She thought I was in college; I thought she was a middle-aged woman. Turns out, she is in high school, and I am a middle-aged woman. This random meeting led to a blessing. We call it “llama lessons.” We take llama lessons every other week. It’s an hour away on the cutest hobby farm. Our “teacher” is Flora, who boards her llamas at the alpaca farm. She wants to teach...

Keep Reading