Dangle the Carrot

A lesson on being a dugout mom

Bethany took a gander at the family calendar to see how the weekend was shaping up. “Shart,” she thought to herself, “I’m dugout mom Saturday.”

Forever the feminist (when it works for her mood), she corrects the term to “dugout parent” when reminding her spouse of their weekend duties. However, she also is keenly aware of their differing strengths. Multitasking a batting line up while surrounded by 13 littles between the ages of 4 and 6 is a job for her. Besides, if their family name gets drawn out of the hat for concession stand duty, she can’t wait to put her crunchy granola hubs on the mozzarella stick fryer station for his turn at the plate.

Bethany is no stranger to the role of dugout mom. She quickly learned from her native voyage:

BRING. BRIBERY.

Hear her out.

You have a limited amount of time with this group of stranger children. You’re not looking to win over their hearts for the school year, or even for the length of a sleepover. You are looking to survive a 1.5 hour tee-ball game without little Adelynn’s parent marching over because you missed her spot in the line up. Organization and listening are key.

What for the bribery, though?

Starbursts are too sticky. Gum is too dangerous. Hello, choking. Major liability. Plus, if you go with a brand like Big League Chew, it’s too suggestive of dirtier future habits.

Enter: TIC TACS. The perfect tee-ball carrot.

Oh, TIC TACS. The throwback mint compelling enough to send our father skidding into the jiffy to purchase a pack while our mother was laboring in the car, post water-break, with her third child.

Why TIC TACS, one might ask?

1. They’re tiny in a relatively large pack— a little goes a long way.

2. They dissolve quickly before a kid is on deck.

3. No stick, no mess.

4. You can shake them to grab attention easily.

5. They’re from the ‘80s, man.* They have a killer flip-lid that just isn’t made anymore.

(*We have no idea if they’re “from the ‘80s,” but we are, and we grew up on them.)

Bethany and her family swung into the local jiffy, grabbed what they thought were plenty of TIC TACs, and headed to the ball field while practicing the classic line by Cameron Frye from the 1986 film, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”:

“Hey batta-batta-batta-batta-batta, swing batta. Hey batta-batta-batta-batta-batta, swing batta. He can’t hit, he can’t hit, he can’t hit, he can’t hit, he can’t hit, SA-WING BATTA!”

Kara entered Saturday’s game from a very different place. Fresh off a full morning of miserably attempting to potty train a two-year-old, she welcomed watching her nephew play some ball more so than usual. It would be the perfect escape opportunity: dump the toddler off with his father and hit the fields with the older kid.

When Kara and her daughter rolled up ten minutes late per usual, they quickly immersed themselves in the game. Well, Kara did. Within minutes, her daughter was begging to go to the dugout to hang with her auntie and cousin. “Fine,” Kara told her, “but you have to be helpful or you’re done.”

As her daughter assumed a spot in the already-crowded dugout, Kara resumed watching her nephew and his team. These tee-ball games are always a hoot: overly competitive coaches and parents; under-enthusiastic players; and grandparents who actually believe that their grandchild is the next Cal Ripken, Jr. because he magically happened to scoop a grounder. Free entertainment abound.

As the game wore on, Kara realized: there was something far more entertaining happening in the dugout. She quickly excused herself from the bleachers and headed over to check out the scene from the safety of behind the back dugout fence.

When she got there, she found a sister who was barking out commands while simultaneously pacing and drinking coffee.

“Mason: grab your hat. Sit down here, son.” “Buster. you’re in the hole. You need your bat. No, this one. Alright, good choices. Here’s a TIC TAC.”

Bethany had recruited 3 “helpers” at that point: her eldest son, her niece, and the coach’s daughter. She continued to explain to them to “RATION THE TACS,” as they were disappearing at an alarming rate. One must continue to dangle the carrot. Otherwise, the only option that remains is yelling.

Usually, three innings are played, and that’s the ballgame, folks. However, on this fine Saturday morning, the coaches took liberty and agreed to play a fourth inning. With our team being up by a few runs, one grandparent said of this strategy:

“This really depends on where the other team is in their line up. If they are at the bottom, the sportsmanship will pay off.”

The problem from Bethany’s perspective: the TIC TAC team had not allowed for this. ONLY. THREE. TACS. LEFT.

This is an honest blog and we will not sugarcoat the outcome. Things got a little hairy. Disarray occurred. Two of the “helpers” were seen playing merry-go-round via a dugout pole. The ball players were reminded of post-game snacks for the “listeners” as a last resort. “Keep dangling the carrot,” the helpers were redirected. Bethany learned the importance of taking inventory as the game progressed and the wisdom of always having more TIC TACS available than one thinks they need.

While Bethany did not receive an award for her dugout mom participation, one coach was overheard congratulating her for getting through it without incident. Plus, the sportsmanship payed off with a win. All in all, it was a great day at the fields.

If you find yourself in the dugout parent role, dangle the carrot and bring the bundle. You will survive and the kids will thrive. Perhaps notify the remaining parents who are assigned dugout duty of the precedent you have set, as this could be an easy way to avoid a few enemies in the coming weeks.

We want to hear from you! What tactics have you implemented to force encourage good behavior?

**As an added bonus for those who listen to this post, we’ve included audio of a real-time, post-game interview of Bethany from the dugout!!**