No, really...I am. Today, the boys and I met Angela and her boys for some baseball practice. I'm pretty sure the kid who was getting private lessons in the batting cage next to us absolutely hated us. Why? Because my kids (namely B) are not quiet. Ever. Everything they do is loud. Always.
We got there first, so the boys set up shop in one of the batting cages, and I set up shop, I mean my chair, in the sun so I wouldn't get cold. When Angela and her boys got there, they all started playing/practicing in the batting cages while Angela and I marveled at our sheer awesomeness. Who says you need to be good at baseball to make your kids practice?
Living proof...right here.
Well, until N hit B in the chest with his glove because B threw a ball at him when he wasn't paying attention. Or something. The true version of that story will never be known. After making "baskets" with the baseballs into their bucket "home," we set up the rubber bases (brought to us by an extremely generous Aunt Katie & Uncle David) and the boys started playing a mini-game of baseball. Angela and I took turns stopping balls from rolling into the parking lot and/or into the gutter.
Poor B...he's still pretty new at this whole "baseball" thing, so he was not having a lot of success with batting or catching. Grounders? All day long...but anything else made him frustrated and whiny. Oh, was the child whiny. Angela's oldest boy was super good with B, shouting encouragement and taking him back into the batting cages so they could practice alone while N flopped, bleeding on the sidewalk.
Oh, that. The older boys were jumping over the bucket of balls as they "shot" them into said bucket, and N caught the back of his knee on the bucket and tore some skin off. It looked a lot worse that it really was, but when I told him to "apply pressure," he didn't seem to realize that you have to apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding, and the pressure might hurt a little bit. Luckily, Angela had a band aid that she claimed was 17 years old, and after the bleeding stopped, the "mature" band aid was a really helpful tool.
Our afternoon ended with some hilarity. Angela was taking pictures, and she might've gotten video. I was playing catch with the younger boys. I use that term, "playing catch," rather loosely because I'm known to be like a lot of 7 year-olds and duck from time to time.
B's all about batting; he'd rather bat than catch anyday. He asked if he could just bat for both teams, and I swear...it took all I had in me to not burst out laughing. I might've snorted and disguised it as a cough, which actually ended up being a cough because I choked. I'm classy. I know. And modest. Anyway, B wanted to bat, so I decided I'd pitch and his pal decided he would catch. The older boys saw us, so they ran over to butt in, I mean play. I refused to relinquish my pitching position. I just traded gloves with whomever was up to bat, and eventually, I turned all hardcore and started playing without a glove.
Yeah, I'm totally that much of a badass. We all had fun; there was a lot of laughing, and a lot of, "Just a word of warning...if you hit me with the ball when you're batting, I'm going to have an issue." There was also a lot of ducking on the pitcher's part, and head covering when the bat and ball connected.
What? I'm human. And I'm playing without a glove or anything. Plus, my headband kept falling off. My head's too small. It was so much fun, much needed exercise, and I'm pretty sure if anyone had been recording us, we would've ended up on somebody's blooper reel for sure.
On the way home, N told me that Angela was "mom"ing him, and I laughed and said, "Look, kid...Angela has every right to "mom" you. I "mom" her kids when we go to the park sometimes. It's what friends do, and she probably does it better than I do." He said, "No, I wasn't complaining...she's nicer than you are." Yes, well...thank you. And thank you, Angela, for nice "mom"ing my kids. Apparently, they need it every now and then!
Next time we get together, I told Angela we need to bring extra gloves (and band aids and maybe vodka, hmmm...) so we can play too...'cause she was freezing as a spectator, while the rest of us were sweaty and out of breath.
Or maybe that was just me...after I sped through my squats tonight, that is.
Aubs
(Side note: The belly itcher part? I got a mosquito bite next to my belly button this afternoon. They seem to be year round around here...the Mayflies show up earlier and earlier. I just wanted to be clear. Pitcher. Belly itcher. I like to be thorough.)
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