Being a baseball parent can be rough, let me tell you.
The endless season, the stress and worry, the out-of-hand sports parents, the small town tournaments, the bad hotels,the can-never-please parents attacking coach husband, the countless hours washing and washing and washing uniforms, the multitude of practices, the driving, the hot sun, the heartbreaking losses, and the list goes on.
But every once in a while something happens.
A bright spot.
And I am not talking about wins or successes (although clearly, those are good, too).
No, this is an event infinitely more powerful.
When least expected, I get to see my husband do something like this: