Why I Swapped My Michael Kors for a Softball Bag

By Loren – Former D2 Shortstop, Softball Mom, Baseball Mom, and Carrier of All the Things

To all my fellow softball and baseball moms out there—Happy Mother’s Day.
Whether you're packing the snacks, driving to practice, coaching from the dugout, or yelling “RUN!” from behind the backstop—this one’s for you. You are seen. You are appreciated. And you are absolutely crushing it.

When I played D2 ball in Northern California, the only bag I carried was a beat-up softball backpack. It smelled like leather, liniment, and sunflower seeds. It held my glove, cleats, cracked batting gloves, maybe a rogue granola bar. Heavy? Sure. But it only carried me—my goals, my gear, and a whole lot of ambition.

Then life moved fast. I graduated, got a job, fell in love, got married. Somewhere in that grown-up blur, I traded in my softball backpack for a sleek little Michael Kors handbag. I loved that bag. It made me feel polished, pulled together—like someone who knew where her car keys were at all times.

But then came the kids. And the cleats. And the tournaments.
One plays baseball. The other plays softball. And suddenly, weekends became a whirlwind of lineup cards, hotel breakfast muffins, and "Mom, I forgot my glove!" emergencies.

So I traded that bag in too—for something way more important.

Now I carry a No Errors Big Leaguer Deluxe—and honestly? It was the most functional upgrade I’ve ever made. That bag doesn’t just hold gear or lipstick.

That bag holds purpose.

Let me back up and introduce the squad behind the scenes.

I’m Loren. I live just outside Atlanta with my husband, Ben, who coaches high school baseball and thinks GameChanger stats are a love language. We’ve been married 14 years, and about 11 of them have been spent sitting in fold-up chairs behind a chain-link fence.

We’ve got two kids:

• Caleb, our 14-year-old who plays travel ball like it’s a job interview. He’s either throwing gas or Googling how to throw more gas.

• Liv, our 12-year-old firecracker who once turned a routine single into a triple because “I felt fast today.”

We split coaching duties. Ben coaches Caleb’s team. I coach Liv’s. It’s like a sports soap opera with matching uniforms and a whole lot more Gatorade.

Then there’s Chipper—our rescue mutt, named after Chipper Jones (obviously). Part hound, part mystery, and elite plate discipline. Drop food? He’s faster than any kid on our 60-foot bases.

We’re a Gwinnett Stripers family. Braves lifers. And when the weekend hits, it’s game time—on the field, in the car, or elbow-deep in laundry trying to find a clean jersey with 20 minutes to spare.

It’s the kind of life only a sports mom could love—fueled by chaos, caffeine, and an unshakable commitment to showing up, no matter what. Like this weekend:

USA Softball in Columbus

A few weeks back, Liv’s team played in a USA Softball tournament in Columbus, Georgia. I coach her 12U team, the Georgia Heat, which means I juggle game plans and ponytail drama like it’s my full-time job.

Softball dugouts? Pure chaos. Glitter. Singing. Braiding. Snack trading. Half the team’s doing TikTok dances, the other half is screaming “BALL BALL BALL” on every pitch.

That weekend was classic Georgia—91 degrees, 80% humidity, and one of our girls discovered sunflower seeds for the first time. (“Do you chew them? Or spit them? Or, like... both??”) Liv crushed a double and did a cartwheel at second base just because “it felt right.” Fair enough.

But none of it runs without the mom brigade.

Heather showed up with a cooler so packed it might’ve had FEMA clearance. Missy saved the day when our hotel got overbooked and rebooked the whole team at the Fairfield Inn before sunrise. Tasha brought a Bluetooth speaker, blasted hype music, and gave a pregame speech that had half the girls crying and the other half doing high knees.

After the game, we hit Country’s Barbecue—12 players, 9 moms, 4 siblings, and one server who definitely earned hazard pay. Back at the hotel, the moms took over the parking lot with folding chairs, coolers, and that exhausted-but-happy vibe that only travel ball mamas know.

Perfect Game at LakePoint

The next weekend, it was Caleb’s turn at a Perfect Game tournament up at LakePoint. My husband was running the show as usual—but when his assistant had to leave for a funeral, he tapped me in.

So there I was. In the dugout. With the boys.

Baseball dugouts are different. Quieter. More intense. Smell like pine tar and seriousness. No dancing, no glitter, no choreographed cheers named after fruit snacks. At first, I thought, “Maybe I’ll just sit here and look supportive.”

But nope. The moment came fast.

One kid struck out and chucked his helmet. I gave him the mom glare, then the mom pat. Another kid couldn’t time a fastball—I offered a cue I use with Liv. Little by little, they loosened up. By the third inning, they were laughing again.

And once again, the baseball moms delivered.

Rachel showed up with a full Starbucks order at 6:15 a.m. like it was a mission from HQ. Dee, our livestream queen, made sure every grandma from Tampa to Toledo saw their grandkids hit. Kendra produced an emergency belt from her “magic mom bag” like she was pulling a rabbit from a hat.

We were staying at the Holiday Inn Express in Cartersville, where the front desk started saving muffins for “the baseball people.” After the game, we debriefed at Laredos Mexican Grill, where queso fixed everything from missed signs to bruised egos.

What Moms Really Carry

So yeah, the bag’s heavier now. It’s full of gear and grit and Goldfish crackers and grace. It’s stuffed with scraped knees, forgotten jerseys, sunscreen explosions, and heart-bursting moments that sneak up on you at second base or in the parking lot after a loss.

It’s not just a bag. It’s the load of love. And we carry it because we choose to.

This Mother’s Day, here’s to the moms who bring the juice—literally and figuratively. Who coach, comfort, cheer, console, and somehow still remember which kid likes what color Gatorade. You don’t get a stat line. But make no mistake—you’re the MVP.

This one’s for the moms who carry the weight and still show up smiling.
Tag a mom who carries it all—she’s probably reading this from the bleachers, coaching from the dugout, or digging through her bag for ChapStick and bug spray.

💼 Ready to carry the kind of bag that holds it all—with style and purpose?
👉 Design your own Big Leaguer Deluxe here.