Why Do I Always Miss My Son's Best Baseball Moves?

OK, this is the third year that my 7 year old has been playing baseball and it never fails; as soon as he makes a great play, or finally hits the ball, I'm blabbing away to another parent and miss it. I've tried every solution I can think of, including trying to enlist the cooperation of the parents I tend to blab to. "Hey, I'm totally listening to you, but I'm not looking at you because I don't want to miss X's time at bat." They sympathize "of course, did I show you this new gadget on my phone?" And then I look at the phone, and "Crack!"--I miss my son's best hit of the game.

I should let you know that I'm not the sport parent type. The only sport I understand is soccer because I played it in middle and high school and college. I don't take the boys outside to "do sports." We take walks, we bike ride (sometimes), but mostly I sit outside with a stack of papers to grade while they fight with each other over their skateboards, scooters, or why my 7 year old can't catch a football throw from my 12 year old that intentionally knocks him flat on his ass. But my youngest loves baseball, and, since his brother was awkward at sports for so many years, I supported the interest. What could be wrong with sitting outside a couple days a week, enjoying the weather and getting some grading done? I knew I wasn't like those other parents, who stay engaged, use the correct terminology for actual plays, and know the difference between a catcher's mitt and a regular one. But I'd be there, not like my parents who never showed up for a single college soccer game.

And yet, am I really there? Despite my best intentions to be "not like the others," the other parents are actually fairly decent people and, gasp, I might have a thing or two in common with them. Also, there is a reason that my older son has nicknamed me "Blabby McBlabbypants:" I'll pretty much find something to say to just about anybody. Even when my kid is at bat. Or when he plays first base and finally catches the ball. So I'm working on it. I place my chair facing a direction in which I can't help but look directly into the action. I practice not looking where I'm talking (which just confuses the cat, with whom I practice this technique). I vow to the Fates I will *not* start a conversation when X is on deck or in the hole (see, I've learned something about baseball!). And I cheer for those other kids, whose plays I usually don't miss, so that hopefully those parents will cheer for my kid, just in case I slip in my resolve to see every single one of his moments of baseball prowess. And then, exactly what I was afraid of happening happens: the parents start acting like a team, making note of each other's children's good plays, supporting each other and our kids, all that icky stuff I was afraid of and hoped to avoid by bringing that stack of papers and pretending I was a baseball mom island. Bottom line is, if I live on my island, I miss plays because I'm grading; if I engage with the parents, I miss plays because I don't know how not to chat. Just another way in which I help my son have enough material for therapy someday.