Back in January, I mentioned that I was signing my kids up for Little League Baseball, and how excited I was. Oh, I'm still excited, but I wanted to make sure I could adequately capture how our season has been so far before sitting down to write about it.

At the first sign-up cattle call at a junior high gymnasium, I discovered that my oldest daughter would have to play in the more advanced "minor" league, while my son would have to play in the less competitive "rookie" league, and if I wanted my youngest to play t-ball, well, there was a whole 'nother schedule for that, too.

I quickly took a glance at my six-year-old daughter, who was laying face down on the smooth gym floor and "swimming" along the surface, perhaps sneaking in a lick or two as she scooted. I decided that she can wait a year or two, if she really wants to play. I suggested this course of action to her, and she barked like a seal. I made the right call.

Next up in the Little League process was tryouts for my daughter. Hoo-boy. When I asked her if I could write about the experience, she said sure - as long as I didn't use the words "try" or "effort" in my description. Tryouts were a disaster. To begin with, she was the only girl on the first day, and she was in a foul mood. Putting her into an awkward situation like that just amplified the mood, and when it was her turn to field some grounders, catch some pop-flies and then hit some balls, she shot her patented looks that could kill at me and her dad, and refused to try.

The coaches, mistaking her wooden posture for nerves or special needs of some sort, hit the ball right at her, and applauded and shouted encouragement while she made her half-assed attempts, and it was KILLING ME to sit there and watch her act that way. By the time we left, I was totally embarrassed, but instead of making a big deal out of it, we drove to the park and drilled her on fielding drills until her arms fell off. I don't think that was an overreaction.

The following weekend, she had to try out again. After sitting her down and explaining exactly why she was not going to drop out, and why she was going to try her very hardest at the tryouts and possibly why I would not be sitting silently in the bleachers but might march out onto the blacktop and get all up in her grill if she didn't do her best, because OMG all these coaches are volunteers and we paid a lot of money to register and she is wasting time and it will just be fun if she tries and OMG and also AAARGH. She finally made the connection. Her will is strong, but mine is stronger. Plus THIS WAS HER IDEA. I just followed it through.

The tryouts, while still not stellar, at least showed that she wasn't a hopeless case. And all the kids get picked. I'm betting mine got picked on the heels of someone drawing a very, very short straw, but whatever.

A few weeks passed, and both kids were assigned to teams. We went to meetings, bought pants and (the horror!) a jock-strap for my son, and have amassed a stockpile of bats, balls, gloves and hats. Almost every evening, we're at someone's practice... and the games are starting in just over a week. I can't wait.

Neither of my kids shows any spectacular talent, despite their excellent bloodlines. (Haaaaa!) That said, seeing my daughter lope around the bases, shake off what promises to be a spectacular bruise, march up to bat with her pink helmet and her pink batting gloves and her pink cleats clashing wildly with her red uniform, well, it does my heart good. She's the only girl on her team, and the boys seem to accept her as one of the team with no grumbling. Well, actually, there are a couple of boys that are a bit snarky, but my girl doesn't seem to react to any of their comments. "You hit like a girl" doesn't have any weight behind it when you are *gasp* a girl.

My son, at 8, is on a team full of daydreamers, and I'm glad to see that for every three kids paying attention, there is one laying in the grass, or drawing in the dirt. His team is non-competitive, so they will be keeping score, but there will be no official season record. My daughter's team though - they are taking it serious.

This prompts my husband and I to discuss how it was when we were LIttle Leaguers. Yeah, it was all kid-pitch when we played. None of these namby pamby tees or machine pitches.

Everyone slid into bases.
Everyone stole bases (or tried.) Leading off was perfectly acceptable.
There was no mercy rule that I was aware of, because we always lost by 900.

Now they ease kids into that stuff. And as a mother, I'm glad. But as a former (crappy) player, I am totally enjoying the "In My Day" anecdotes.