I wasn't sure if she would like it.
She is three after all.
She is sweet and stubborn and shy and friendly all at the same time. Would she like it? Would she let go of my hand once we arrived and join her team? Would she learn as she went? Would she remember what she practiced with her Daddy? Would she have fun?
Yes. The answer to all of the above, is yes.
My girl loved her first day of teeball.
We quickly dressed into her new uniform when we arrived at the field, and without a moment of hesitation, she joined her coaches and her teammates, where she immediately learned the correct direction to run the bases. She ran hard but in her own precious, dainty way, smiling all the while.
And while there were certainly moments when that "threenager" 'tude surfaced...
...she had a ball.
And had quite the cheering section.
Go #3! Go Knights!
He's been practicing with his daddy for months.
Hitting small, pitched ping pong balls to help prepare him for the bigger baseballs that would be pitched his way once the season began.
Learning how to step into his throw in order to fire straight, accurate, well-fielded balls.
It paid off.
He was two for two in his first coach's pitch game.
He threw three long, straight, perfectly grounded balls from his shortstop position to first base.
He ran hard. He played hard. He had a blast with his teammates and friends.
He was so proud of his loud cheering section, waving excitedly to his fans upon making it to second, and then third, base and giving an enthusiastic thumbs up to us each of the two times he scored.
He high-fived the opposing team at the end of the game before joining his own to celebrate a job well done.
He was amazing. And I was so proud of my baseball-loving boy.
Go #6! Go Riverdogs!
The dugout hangouts. The chain-link fence viewing. The smell of freshly cut grass. The arms-around-the-shoulders moments. The sound of the bat connecting with the ball. The twinkle in the eyes after reaching home plate. The "Keep your eye on the ball" encouragement and the "Great hit, buddy!" cheers. The hands-on-the-knees fielding stance. The post-game snacks. The red-mud stained pants. The smiles, the joy, the innocence. Well. I'm pretty sure it's what childhood is made of.