Benjamin is sitting with his toes tucked under my butt while he chews on his fingers, captivated by the mental crack known as "Wow Wow Wubbzy." What a fucking annoying show. While I'm glad the girl from "Gimme A Break" has a job, the repetition and screaming and stupid songs just make me want to drive a spike through my head.

Actually, that's kind of already happening, as a combination of stress and tooth-grinding has me in day two of one of my marathon stress headaches. If two of my precious stash of Canadian Codeine didn't kill this yesterday, it wasn't gonna get gone, so I'm resigned to suffering for another day or two until my neck and jawbone unclench for a while.

The day started somewhat unpleasantly, since three of us (DH, Benj and I) managed to get maybe six hours of sleep between us last night, so there was beacoup crankiness and snappishness this morning. I blew off Jacob's soccer practice, since it would have been followed less than an hour later by a baseball game. Jake's been struggling with Fall Baseball; he's now playing with a lot of older kids, many of whom play travel baseball and kick some serious ass on the field. Additionally, they started "kid pitch," so the stress is even higher -- no more coaches pitching directly to the bat. This is baseball, baby!

The team to which Jake was assigned is, as mentioned, pretty strong and contains exactly zero kids Jacob knows, so he came in a little shy anyway... and was he ever destroyed by the fact that not only is he one of the best on the team, but he struggles so much the other kids alternate ignoring him with snarking about his abiilities. One of his coaches is very supportive (and in fact, told me his son went through a very similar patch when starting this level of play), but the other one struck me as, well, not liking my kid all that much. Which doesn't help anything. Doesn't everyone love my kids? Geez, I do! You should, too!

So the last several Saturdays have been pretty dramatic, where I spent a lot of time wringing my hands and whispering prayers for the Divine One, or the ghost of Babe Ruth, to step in and give my kid a break. He didn't even swing his bat up at the plate until last week -- he got hit a few times by wild pitches and simply stopped digging in. To add insult to injury, all kids pitch now -- and at least two or three third-graders have to pitch at every game. DH and I were against Jake pitching this young, since it's so hard on the arm and shoulder, and so easy to cause injuries. But there was obviously coaching involved and fairly stringent rules on not letting kids get worn out, so we had to capitulate.

And boy, was Jake ever excited. He's been talking about wanting to pitch for months, and assuming he was going to be a great pitcher. In a way, I admire his confidence -- how amazing to go into something new feeling that certain about yourself? At the same time, I have to say so many things have come so naturally to him that it would almost make sense if he was a natural pitcher. And yet.... the first time Jake went up to pitch, it nearly brought me to tears. It's not like they give the third-grade kids a break and let them pitch from closer to home... no, they have to pitch from the mound just like the bigger kids. And it's FAR! And it's HARD! And Jake was so flustered and nervous and excited that half the time, he couldn't catch the return throw from home plate.

Every time he'd miss a throw or drop the ball, apparently the kids behind him (on his team, too!) would make fun of him. The coaches must have heard some of this and gave the team a stern talking-to about not making comments on anyone's performance, but what did they care? Jake actually did strike a player out his first inning as a pitcher, but that might have been because the batter was so terrified of being beaned by a wild pitch that he wouldn't get near enough to swing.

So anyway, the last several games have been tough. And then, today... holy crap, it came together. It didn't start out all that well. I wasn't in the best mood anyway, and then Danny's friend didn't come to play with him (strep). And then I was the only mom there in a bunch of guys. The dads are apparently, not allowed to talk to me because I'm missing my virtual penis. So I was a little cranky, muttering in my head about how stupid guys are in general and how annoying these guys were specifically, including the coach who yelled at me for calling encouragement to Jacob last week when he was about to speak.  

There was my kid... skinny, string-beany Jake in a plain navy t-shirt (because we couldn't find his team shirt) and faded navy baseball cap covered in glitter (due to a Benjamin incident last week involving the glitter glue I'd gotten for Danny's school project, which also involved the dining room floor and a large portion of the cat), sitting apart from the rest of the team. There was my kid... in the outfield, not always in ready position because it's not like anyone would let him near the ball anyway.

And there was my kid, pitching... and throwing the ball over the plate. There was my kid, striking someone out! And throwing the ball so that it could be hit! And, oh, the SMILE on his face -- it was like he was restored, reborn. It was full-on Jacob, happy as a pig in shit, pitching the ball for real, with energy and growing confidence. The parents around me began cheering him on. The coaches both turned to me and gave me the thumbs-up, grinning. Then I heard the umpire, call "this kid's pitching his heart out!"

"I have GOT to buy that man a beer," I said, with such enormous glee. The moms next to me laughed. And then, it really happened -- Jacob pitched, the batter hit the ball right to the mound, and Jake snatched it and winged it to first base... to make the third out. Oh, my G-D. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes, seriously. He didn't walk so much as fly back to the dugout, but got stopped on the way by the umpire, who took him aside to speak some words of encouragement and shake his hand, then ruffle his cap on his head.

Both coaches caught Jake as he came back to the bench to congratulate him, and then the magic words were spoken: "Whaddaya think, Jacob? Want to pitch again next inning?"

"YEAH!!!" yelled Jake, and I hid my giggles. Nobody pitches two innings at this level -- I doubt it's even really allowed -- but this was such high praise. And it came from the coach I didn't think liked him at all, so that really redeemed a lot (at least to me, if not to Jacob). Jacob came to me for high-fives and hugs, and I stepped away to call DH and leave him a thrilled message about Jake's progress, and then returned to the bench. Only to watch Jacob go up to bat and make his first hit... and make it safely to first base.

"Oh, he will be SO much easier to live with now," I breathed, and the moms next to me cracked up.

Jake did go up to pitch the next inning, but things didn't go quite as well this time, and after the bases got loaded (only one of which was from a walk), the coach held a conference at the mound and swapped Jake for fourth-grade Joey, who promptly pulled two outs to end the inning.

Luckily, Jacob didn't see any of that as a negative (as I'd feared he might). His arm and shoulder were pretty tired, and he was so thrilled about the game in general and his performance in particular that very little was going to burst his bubble. My mom-friend Jeanie said I'd have to tie balloon weights to his shoes to get him in the car; the thrill of the day was written all over him.

And wonder of wonders, did those teammates of his actually step up and behave like humans. It wasn't quite like in the movies where suddenly the formerly neglected kid becomes the captain of the team; but I looked at the bench in the next lineup and Jacob was sitting between his teammates, talking about gum and Pokemon and whether the glitter on his baseball cap was lucky. And then another kid on the team begged to swap hats with Jacob, and the head coach suggested that he make all of the team glitter their hats this week.

I waited for exhaustion to kick in or the adrenaline to crash into a meltdown today, but Jacob stayed bouyed by his wonderful game throughout the day, having almost no conflicts with Danny and letting DH and Benjamin (and even me for a while) take a nap.

And while I made dinner and actually cleaned in the kitchen tonight, I reflected on how happy my child's happiness makes me. My own accomplishments are littered with the various voices clamoring taunts in my head, but my kids' successes so overwhelm negativity that it's almost freeing. I hope as we enter whatever rough phase comes ahead (because we all know parenting is totally cyclical), I can keep that image of Jacob in my head, finding me sitting in the bleachers while he practically did cartwheels on the pitcher's mound, with that incredible smile lighting up the whole field.

Hi there. It's been a while, shall we catch up? No, you talk. I always talk about ME. What's new with you?

Actually, fuck that, because I can't hear you. Right now, I've got my fingers in my ears and I'm humming "LA LA LA" while you talk.

Uh, I think I missed my meds yesterday. Sorry.

So anyway, life is total chaos so I guess that's a good time to blow off my responsibilities and start blogging again, right? I'm sure things will all be fine, as they usually end up that way, and I'm just in my usual I-hate-fall funk. But for now....

....everyone is sick. I had the flu last week, with the rolling around in bed in pajamas, robe, and blankets, while I sweated and shook and moaned about how cold it is. The sympathy level in my household was low because DH was coming down with a wicked cold, Danny was coughing until you could practically see his lungs bursting out of his chest, and Benjamin wanted milk NOW, bitch! I got better, meaning the fever went down, but the glands around my neck remain swollen and I am weak as a kitten. DH got through his cold okay, except for very startling occasional coughs that make me worry he's going to break a rib. Danny went back to school after several days off and came home with a large stack of homework. And Benjamin came down with an ear infection, though thankfully Benjamin's version of an ear infection means occasional crying broken up by lots of mellow snuggling in Big Bed while he radiates heat like a campfire. He's also less destructive (not by much, but I'm sure there's a percentage there), so who can blame me for being relieved, just a wee bit?

...Oh, that Danny. In between Dannyisms that make give me conniptions (driving in the rain: "Oh, G-d, why do you have to pee on us?"), we spend up to an hour each weekday helping Danny with his homework. Those goofy little sheets Jacob used to fly through in seconds take Danny SO long. Between wiggling, some whining, getting up to see where Jacob is in Lego Star Wars, and having to write the Word Wall Words over again, we cringe and cramp while we silently and mostly internally cry over how FUCKING HARD it is for him. It could be so much worse (just keep thinking that), because heaven knows he has comprehension and no mental retardation, which could be so much more heartbreaking. But he looks so strong! He's so bright and funny! And he tries to write and it's just PAINFUL.

...and what the fuck is wrong with me that I have to take so much on? I'm PTA co-president this year, which should mean just lots more emails, but nobody warned me we're supposed to meet once a week. Which I find just horribly hard to fit in with Jacob's ridiculous schedule, work implosions, various medical situations, and being really really tired all the time. Doesn't help that the other two co-prexies are basically stay-at-home moms with tons more moola than I have, so it's not like they have to worry about who's going to watch the rugrats while we hold weekday cabinet meetings. But they won't meet at night, which would certainly make my life easier. Next year, I'll be the senior president, and guess when we'll meet? At night. Or on weekends, at night. Over wine. NEXT item!

... work, don't get me started. Just follow me around with a tape recorder while I bitch and moan about my boss being there half time but complaining about my lack of face time,while he adds more and more responsibilities onto my plate. My students think I'm a superhero, which is great, but they don't directly pay my salary. We are so poorly staffed right now that our accreditiing body is actually sanctioning us, but my boss refuses to hire more people. "We can just look into getting some adjunct faculty." But we need more outcomes now. When did a word like "Outcomes" come into vogue? What a stupid fucking word. Agh. Oh, and as my hero Tina Fey says, Blerg.

... I say this fairly often: "What's with the creepy bloody nightmares?" Dead bodies hacked up and put into the wall and under the carpet? Creepy scary guys coming after me! Injections, spiders, Republicans, snakes, knives, explosions, drownings; they're all there in my dreams for someone ELSE to enjoy. I actually dreamed I was fighting off some woman I thought of as Holland Taylor but who looked very different (shape shifter) and woke myself up by literally kicking her in the head.... though I actually kicked the windowsill and nearly broke my big toe again. Thank goodness I was sleeping on my right side at the time; otherwise I'd have drop-kicked a cat right into DH's face. WAKE UP!

There, I've run out of steam. Aren't you relieved? I actually feel a little better -- I can feel a marginal amount of neck tension seeping off of mine and onto yours, so thanks for that.