Yes, the official first baseball practice of what I am sure is a long upcoming commitment to baseball/sports/team parenting. B-boy was so adorable, wearing his mitt, running and catching and throwing and hitting (the ball, that is...). Very excited, he fit right into the mischief of youthful play.
I was late, though.
The joys of working full time outside of the house while attempting (?) to be a full time mother as well. Would have been on time, except I remembered the wrong location for the practice. So, after searching Park #1 for the teeball team, we began a somewhat anxious walk back to the car. At that point, B-boy says to me, "Mom, if we're late, really late to our practice, will we have to go to jail?"
Um, no. Poor young boy of color. Already afraid of the police at age four.
Back to the practice.
Crash was soooooo jealous of his big brother. Well, maybe not JUST jealous. You could see that he was dying to play ball with his big brother. In fact, we had a ball and about 90% of the practice, Crash spent crying to "Bwing baw a Jo-jo (tears). Eddie bwing baw a Jo-jo (more tears). " Hey kid, there's no crying in baseball!!!
And then the type A, OCD, control freak mom popped out. Time to get the tshirts for the kids. Numbers 1-13. In numerical order from smallest size to biggest size. Hmmmm...I am so OCD. I cannot have an odd number. I don't know what it is, but, I'm sorry odd numbers, I hate you. I dread odd numbers with a passion. I heart even numbers...and even further, my favorite number is eight. I know. I am insane. Certifiable, even, right? So, I stalked out my spot next to the box of t-shirts by handing out the pants, and then, I snagged #8. Woohoo!!!! Yay!!! It makes me so happy. Thank god, too, because I don't know if I could have cheered for B-boy if he was wearing an odd numbered shirt.
~A wild baseball thing