May 17

There are many things I love about motherhood. Even though it's a blessing to be able to comfort someone else, dealing with heartache isn't one of those things. And that was my job this evening after Isaac's team lost a playoff game in the bottom of the 8th inning. (And yep, that's a really, really, really long little league game. No ties in the playoffs.)

Most of the boys came off the field in tears, including my own. He was a mix of angry and sad as we took the long, long walk to the car. While Brady got in and waited, he and I sat on the curb and talked a little. I reminded him that it's just a game and that it's supposed to be fun and that they still have at least one game left. I reminded him that they're easily the most-improved team in the division. (And I'll fight you if you disagree with me on that one because they are bar-none most-improved. From day one of the season to now... it's insanity.) And I reminded him that I'm proud of all of them for playing as hard as they played and not giving up.

And then I drove home, sent the boys inside, and sat in the car trying to decompress for half an hour. And even another hour later, I'm still trying to decompress.

It's nice to win. I think, on some level, that even people who say they don't care about winning actually secretly want to win. So of course it hurts to lose, especially when you pour all of your effort into achieving a goal. So where, exactly, is the blessing in this? It was definitely hard to pinpoint it while I was sitting in my car and banging my head against the steering wheel. And it's still hard now. But when I go to bed tonight, I'll fall asleep knowing I sat on that curb and did the best I could do to try to make my very disappointed kid feel better. And hopefully, it was enough.