Season of Lasts

I have never been the baseball mom that worries about cleaning white pants. I figured that only someone not in charge of a player’s laundry decided that pants should be white, and it was my silent protest against the patriarchy not to care. During baseball season, we wash uniforms almost daily - in the evening, sometimes very late, after games - and I just never saw value in trying to get the dirt out. We simply threw the pants in the washer and they came out like they came out. They were just going to get dirty the next time he wore them anyway. 

As I was folding one of the many loads of laundry this week, I noticed a hole in one pair, which made me notice the color. This pair had seen some dirt! It made me smile, remembering a time he dove for a great catch or beat the play sliding into second. And then it brought a tear to my eye.

I would not have to replace these pants. It’s the last baseball season.

As winter turned to spring in our house, we entered our “season of lasts.” For my daughter it was the last spring musical – the last high school production. It was the last time she performed at Ailey Studios - the last NYC trip to see her. Soon we will watch the last dance recital. For my son, it was the last season opener for any sport, the last home opener for baseball. Soon we will participate in his last senior night.

Last prom.

Last youth day at church.

Last high school party.

Last day of K-12 school.

It’s been a whirlwind of TwinLife for nearly 18 years. My kids have experimented, accomplished, failed, lived, and generally developed into amazing humans. They have left it all on the field, on the stage, in the school, and in the community. They give freely and deeply of themselves in all that they do, and it has been a joy to watch them grow.

It’s the last lines of a chapter that we are writing now. A new chapter is opening, and it will be just as exciting, but knowing the end of this one is coming tugs a little at my heart. And that is why I found myself tearing up as I folded stained, torn baseball pants. It’s just another reminder that we are in our season of lasts.