I love July for the same reason I hate July: It’s all-star baseball month for my sons, ages just-turned-nine and just-about-to-turn-eleven.
Don’t get me wrong – I love to watch my kids play ball more than just about anything else. And all-star baseball is the best baseball to watch – faster, more exciting and more competitive than regular-season baseball, with fewer fielding errors and none of those guaranteed outs when you reach rock bottom in the batting order.
But having two kids in five tournaments in three weeks becomes a bit wearying. We might as well just pitch a tent at the ball field, because when my husband and I aren’t at work, that’s where we live. Except that I’d need a tent with a washer and dryer to support my habit of staying up half the night making sure the all-star uniforms are clean and presentable for the next day’s game. If my tent also had a stove, I could buy some real food during my emergency Gatorade runs to the Giant Eagle, so we could eat something that didn’t come from McDonald’s or a ball field concession stand for a change.
My older son’s team just finished their first tournament with a second-place trophy Wednesday night. Last evening was blessedly baseball-free – a chance to catch up on laundry and grass-cutting and eat a home-cooked meal, albeit at ten o’clock at night. Both boys’ teams have games tonight, tomorrow and Sunday, so I expect to work on my baseball-fan tan (all on the front and none on the back) and develop bleacher dents in my butt. Depending on how their teams fare over the weekend, they may have a semifinal Monday or Tuesday evening and a championship game Wednesday.
Still, I wouldn’t trade all-star season for a cruise in the Bahamas. So I’ll leave you with a photo that’s a good representation of my life during July. I came home from work one evening about two weeks ago to find my hanging basket in this condition. When I asked what in heaven’s name had happened (as if the baseball still nestled inside the potting soil with little root tendrils dangling around it wasn’t clue enough), my firstborn said, “It was an accident, Mom.”
Yeah, I guess, ’cause who’d have ever thought you could put a perfect hole in a plastic pot with a baseball? Meanwhile, I still haven’t found time to repot the poor plant – I’ve been too busy at the baseball field.
But my kid’s got a heck of an arm, don’t you think?
Yeah, I guess, ’cause who’d have ever thought you could put a perfect hole in a plastic pot with a baseball? Meanwhile, I still haven’t found time to repot the poor plant – I’ve been too busy at the baseball field.
But my kid’s got a heck of an arm, don’t you think?
4 comments:
"’cause who’d have ever thought you could put a perfect hole in a plastic pot with a baseball?"
I'd never have guessed! :-)
Enjoy, it won't last much longer.
Lisa, I think you should leave the hanging basket as it is. It definitely says "a baseball family lives here."
And I strongly suspect it's one-of-a-kind and will long remain that way. I don't suppose you could create that little work of art if you TRIED.
Love the photo! Definitely keep the basket as is. It's a great reminder of the days that fly by way too fast.
Lisa, I live next to a ballfield and during the season I find an average of 3 baseballs in my garden per week. They thunk into the side of my house and luckily I've never had one hit a window.
I feel for the kids this year with all the rain - I see them playing make up games as late as 10PM. Luckily, they're young, and out of school!
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