Last night ended Mr. D's baseball season--he helps coach Happyland High School's varsity team. While he was watching their playoff dreams die, I sat in the dugout at Mr. B's game with a good view of the scoreboard. I'd watched only one inning and the mood was tense. HHS played a good team and they've been in a slump for two weeks. How tough not to shake it off.
While Mr. D's team struggled (valiantly), I kept the book and managed Mr. B's cadet league team. Mr. B pitched for his first time ever and I think he did pretty well. His team won their game, 8-3, and I have to say I really like being in his team's dugout. It's a great group of kids, all very nice, respectful, good sports, good teammates. They try hard and have fun. They ask a million questions ("When do I bat next?" "When will I get to pitch?" "How many outs do we have?" "What's the score?" "How long is this bat?") and only one kid seems to not want to be there.
Sadly, Mr. B is a great hitter, but he's having a tough time at the plate this year. Coincidentally he's been referred to an optometrist. So, this afternoon we're heading to an eye doctor to determine if Mr. B needs glasses, which would probably help his fielding and hitting if that's the case. Stay tuned. Frankly, of all three of my boys, Mr. B's the most responsible and least destructive so the least likely to lose or break his glasses if he requires them. (Clarification: he's been the least destructive since toddlerhood. He kind of had an obsession with water and caused extensive damage at our house for a number of years. I've saved the bills for posterity--seriously, they're in his baby book. Mr. B compulsively clogged toilets by flushing things down them, once he plugged a sink and let it run, flooding our basement and another time ran a garden hose into our living room and turned the water on full blast. All this happened before he turned 5. Since turning 5 he's channeled his passion for all things water-related to swimming and reading books about ocean life and sharks.)
After Mr. B's game, he and I hauled ass across the field, gear thumping against our backs as we hustled to watch Mr. G's soccer game. I love watching my kids play--they give 100% effort and seem to enjoy themselves. Mr. G's a fast runner and likes competition. I drove the Momvan home with two winners in my back seat.
Thank goodness we live in a small town where everything takes place in one park area--we're running ragged a few nights each week between soccer and baseball games and practices. And as if all that fun at the park wasn't enough, Team Testosterone closed out the night playing Cherry Bomb Kickball in our driveway until I made them go to bed. Everywhere I step there is a baseball, a basketball, a soccer ball, a kick ball, a beach ball, a wiffle ball, even the occasional golf ball.
Spill it, reader. Does anyone at your house play ball?