Stretch....

There have been many times in my life where I have had to stretch outside my comfort zone and do things I wouldn't normally do.  Throughout my life I have imagined what I should be doing and when I should be doing it.  I have pictured myself doing different things, while other things have never crossed my conscious mind.  Two instances come to mind.  The first was when I got called to teach in Relief Society.  I remember sitting in the bishop's office with the most dumbfounded look on my face.  Reed and I had talked before going in to see him, discussing the worst possible calling and whatnot.  We both decided gospel doctrine would be the worst and braced ourselves against it.  Relief Society teacher never even crossed the radar so you can imagine my shock when those words came out of the bishop's mouth.  All I could utter was "are you sure?" about two dozen times.  On the inside I was wondering if he was smoking crack, but you can't ask the bishop those kinds of questions.  It is a bit disrespectful.  But I pulled up the big girl pants and accepted, all of this with the urge to go and puke my guts out.  The first lesson was agonizing, and that is putting it lightly, but as I continued to teach it got easier and easier - depending on the lesson, of course.  All of this time I kept thinking that I would have imagined myself in jail before I would have imagined myself teaching Relief Society.  But the calling has ended and I digress.  

The second time I would like to talk about happened tonight.  Being the wife of "America's Hero"  has at times been a struggle.  Don't get me wrong I adore my husband and love that he loves his work.  He makes me proud everyday, but the job definitely has its drawbacks.  I have been left various places, the morgue being the worst, and been stood up numerous times.  I have been in the agonies of labor and been asked "If I get a house fire can I go?" or "What about an extrication?"  Heavy rescue goes without saying.  I have learned to adapt to his funky schedule and even learned to sleep without him.  There is one thing I have yet to adapt to and that is the title of "Baseball Coach."  In all of my life I never, ever, thought I would have that title, ever.  Perhaps it was the fact that I, myself, am not really athletic.  Size, drive, and coordination have generally been against me.  I'm not disabled by any means, but sports were just never my thing.  I did make the high school soccer team but decided against it when I found out I would have to run, which translates to sweat, and that is just so gross that I couldn't go through with it.  So, what I am saying is my experience with sports is rather limited.  I mean I have helped at practice, but never a game.  I asked my mom what she thought about it, my coaching, and she couldn't stop laughing long enough to answer.  So it is with that response running through my head that I pulled up to our baseball game tonight.  Reed was working and I was counting on his assistant coach to step in.  I counted wrong.  As his son arrived I asked him if his dad was here.  No, no he wasn't.  Apparently he was laid up with an ear infection.  That's fine.  What about Alex's dad?  No dice.  Tanner's dad?  At physical therapy.  Taylor's dad?  Oh yeah, that's Reed.  All I can think is "NOOOO!" And then I said it.  So the boys say, "Are you going to be the coach?"  "Sure," I respond.  They exchange loaded glances and then the sixteen year old neighbor of our pitcher volunteers to do it.  Their prospects brighten.  "No, thanks, we'll be fine," I say.  And they look wary.  Warm ups begin and no less than three boys ask, "Do you have the gear?"  "Yep."  "Hey, did you get the gear?"  "Yes."  "You got the catcher's gear, right?"  Am I a monkey?  Of course I brought the gear.  I brought balls, gloves, ice packs (and trust me we used 'em), catchers gear, scorebook, I had it all.  I had it all but a coach.  Things were looking grim.  "Do you have a phone book?" I get asked.  "Why do you need one?" Apparently they were going to find a coach.  These twelve year old boys had the same amount of faith in me that I did.  None.  Zero.  Zilch.  "We'll be fine," I say, and I meant it this time.  I am very good at deluding myself.  They didn't necessarily look convinced but they were warming up to the idea.  At least we got to play, right?  I look across the field at the other team and the coaches are looking a little shifty, clearly uncomfortable with a woman invading their sacred territory.  A girl playing, fine, but a girl coaching, that is a little much for them.  Finally, a dad shows up and I hand him the score book.  He says, "Well, did you do the lineup?"  Do I look like I know how to do a lineup?!?!  But I did the lineup, and left a kid out.  So then I redid the lineup.  Then Gabe comes and says, "My dad wants to know if you need help."  Apparently the fans saw what was about to ensue and they had just as much faith in me as the team did.  "Sure."  He is willing to help but says he doesn't know much about baseball.  "He'll fit right in," I think to myself.  And he did great as a third base coach.  And Jake's dad kept the book and stood on first, and also did great.  He said, "Tonight, we're just here to have fun," which roughly translated meant he didn't hold out much hope either.  So I sat in the dugout and assigned positions and cheered and made sure we were all cozy and applying the ice packs correctly to our various wounds while the dad's stood on base, which clearly made everyone more comfortable.  We went through three ice packs today which is one less than last game.  Baseball can be brutal.  I am going to have to start taking donations for medical equipment if this keeps up.  The game was a good one and after all of the awkwardness, hesitation, and stress we managed to end victorious.  We won 4-2.   I can't take any credit because my team, (oops, Reed's team) is fantastic and the dad's were great to help.  In the end, the boys didn't seem to mind my coaching, or lack thereof.  I didn't actually have to coach but I think having the dad's step in was the best coaching move ever.  Does that mean I was more of a manager then?!?!?  And last but not least, do you think Reed should buy me new pants or that new necklace I've been eyeballing?  I mean, coaching/managing isn't cheap.