t-ball: week #4 (regular saturday game)

WASH OUT!

we knew the rain was coming, and we were all just hoping that it would hold off for the game. shortly after this was taken, we felt just a few raindrops and the thunder started. the game was called, with a make-up scheduled for thursday at 6:30. as we were all just barely off the field, it started POURING. it was sort of fun, tromping through the rain. but let me tell you, an extra 40lbs on one hip really kills your speed...

t-ball: week #4 (thursday make-up game)

the siblings' grandfather looked awfully familiar to me since the first game, but i hadn’t been able to place him. during the week, i realized he was a very regular customer at a bakery/café place i used to work here in town. mystery solved. things like that drive me bonkers until i figure them out.

the makeup game for the first game rainout was scheduled to start at 5:45. on the way, i had heard about a nasty traffic accident blocking the way from downtown. 6:00 rolls around, no coach or anything. someone said he called and he was stuck in traffic. one of the team mothers (we’d just made a crack to our friend who came to watch shortstack about how this woman is ALWAYS on the phone…) called the rec center and informed them we had no coach. they suggested the dads take over for the day—which is fine, but you can’t have much t-ball action with no bats or balls. oh, and a tee might be helpful, too. the guy finally saunters out with the equipment, and all the parents are sitting over at the side of the field hoping someone else will take charge. one authoritative lady (i think she either works at the center or is close to people who do…) finally manages to get the kids running the bases. as soon as they get started, coach al pulls up. train wreck averted. it was really beginning to look like one of those nasty accidents the red cross warns you about in their cpr training classes—the ones where everybody just sits around watching in horror, but nobody actually takes any action or calls for help.

it was our turn to bring snacks this week. for some reason, this was no issue from either the receiving or giving side with soccer. everybody brought relatively healthy snacks & drinks for the kids. well, all of the snacks thus far for t-ball had been potato chips and cakes of sugar disguised as a ‘granola’ bars and Capri sun type drinks (at least those are just sugar laden and not filled with hydrogenated garbage…), and i’m honestly surprised that nobody has brought those half-sized cans of coca-cola. i usually don’t freak out about much food, especially in such small amounts, but potato chips are on my very short list of things i REALLY don’t like to feed my child. i also think we as adults should take some responsibility and show the kids some better options and be good role models with our eating habits. i realize it’s hard to find relatively healthy (at least not mini heart attack inducing…) prepackaged kids snack foods, and i certainly don’t want to be deemed the granola weirdo type mom by the team. i try to strike some balance with my usual choice of snacks being 100% juice boxes and goldfish crackers or graham cracker type things. this time, i opted for the apple & eve juice bottles since they were a little bit larger than the boxes. shortstack chose a simple 'sweet & salty' trail mix with raisins, peanuts, sunflower kernels, and m&ms over pretzels. after a rough couple of days ‘riding the tide’ i was practically devastated when three or four kids brought back their trail mix, and the coach didn’t want any (he actually said the words ‘trail mix’ reminded him of the food he feeds his dogs…). now the coach hardly ever eats the snacks, and he’s just generally a smart-ass anyways (just like the rest of the men in my life…) i can even understand his word association issue. and even the kids’ returns can be explained—most who brought the mix back were siblings, so it’s entirely possible that their parents made them return it. one kid saw what it was and just didn’t want it. i can live with that. and it’s also entirely possible that at least one of the kids was allergic to nuts. but as explainable as it is, given the day, i was still fighting that lump in my throat. over SNACKS people. i’m so pathetic. but i know if i had brought something junkier, it wouldn’t have happened. oh well. you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink, right? and i’m ok with being labeled the ‘food freak’ of the bunch. the benefits of having an extremely healthy child with a bright mind far outweigh any labels i might be given. i think i hid my disappointed and riled-up feelings from shortstack well enough, but i have really got to get myself together. if he sees me getting upset about the stupid things other people do, then he’ll start letting the stupid things affect him, too. i don’t want to transfer all of my people issues to him. for anybody who has a clue and who cares, having a child is the biggest character-building, self-improvement adventure anyone could ever embark upon—there’s no way to avoid making changes to EVERY aspect of yourself, or any time to think/agonize about it, you have to respond on the fly.

the game itself was great. the disinterested sibling duo’s antics are getting OLD—the duo has begun spreading their seeds of distraction throughout the team. even #7, the veteran of the team has been infected, and of course shortstack has fallen victim to the sister. coach al kept as watchful an eye as he could and separated players when he had to. i wonder if these kids will want to play next season, or if their parents will make them play? i think they like the idea of playing, but just can’t pay attention to what’s going on—which isn’t really good for all of the other players who are genuinely trying to learn. fm went over to the bench in hopes of getting shortstack some pointers at how to stay focused during the game (i was hoping for a ‘girls are POISON’ version for four-year-olds…). i was curious when i saw the disinterested duo’s judging scowl in fm & shortstack’s direction down the bench and i was just bubbling with curiosity when fm headed back my way. it turns out shortstack told him, ‘go away—you’re not even supposed to BE over here…’ hehehe. shortstack was getting antsy about not having made a play in the game. he kept saying, ‘i want to catch, coach al. i want to catch!’ if only he realized he missed the perfect play right to him my goofing around with that girl… the last batter hit, and shortstack ran across the field and made the play. that one moment was all it took to make his game!

t-ball: week #3

in case anybody was wondering, shortstack is now the proud owner of a pair of white, elastic waisted t-ball britches. they were somehow still on sale at dick's. saving money while conforming to the unexciting uniform standards is awesome. any pant blandness is totally trumped by how ADORABLE they are. and besides, he's still got those rockin' cleats. i did somehow manage to talk shortstack into wearing a plain white pair of underwear instead of his new power ranger ones 'for four-year olds' that grammie mistook for spider-man. [i guess that's what happens when you rode t-rex uphill barefoot in the snow twenty miles to school and back each day...] don't we all wish we could get away with thinking the size on our clothes was our age?

shortstack seems to be really enjoying himself with the whole t-ball thing. we’re not noticing nearly as much frustration as we did with soccer. not sure if it’s the age difference, him learning how to handle his emotions better, or him really liking t-ball. most likely all of the above. he does get visibly disappointed when he isn’t in on a play, but he literally shrugs it off and gets back to his spot and declares his readiness with one ‘i’m ready!’ after another. when his team is on defense, he’s eager to make a play—he will run completely across the field to try to get the ball if he notices it roll past another player. or he’ll run up to the player who got the ball and ask them to let him throw it to the ‘pitcher’ (the kid standing in the circle around the rubber). whenever this happens, i imagine the other player telling shortstack a more colorful version of, ‘i made this play. i’m throwing it to the pitcher as soon as you get out of my way.’ shortstack takes it like a man and makes his way back to his spot in the field.

the funky monkey [AKA the hubs/daddy, hereto known as fm] was loitering behind the bench and witnessed some ultra cool parental validation. [background: shortstack has a small, rather unique birthmark that we mistook as a bruise when he was four weeks old. i can’t tell you how many times someone has said that my son had peanut butter or a smudge of something on his hand. because of where it is, it won’t ever be possible to remove it. fm and i have had countless conversations about keeping it the non-issue it really is and how we all should react to kid’s questions and the cruelty that inevitably sets in.] fm heard one of shortstack’s teammates ask him what was on his hand. shortstack responded, ‘it’s my birthmark’ in a tone that an adult would use say, ‘it’s my birthmark—what’d you think it was, dumbass…’ and that was the end of that. now we all know it’s not always going to be that easy and he’s probably not old enough for it to be any sort of issue yet, but it feels good knowing that he could answer someone’s question about something like that with confidence and not think anything about it. also, one of the players on his team (of course the only one on the team who’s glove looks almost exactly like shortstack’s) couldn’t find his glove and thought shortstack had it. rather than starting something with the kid when he tried to take his glove, shortstack said something like, ‘excuse me, that’s not your glove’ and the proceeded to help his teammate find his own glove.

that afternoon on the bench is a prime example of why fm and i like to step back sometimes and let shortstack try to deal with different situations on his own and not micromanage every interaction and activity. little ones are so uncorrupted—i hope our little shortstack can hang onto his true nature. it makes me cry just thinking about him loosing it. i’m just glad that fm happened to be right there to witness those moments. it is amazing to see things that prove he’s got a heart of gold—to say it warms my cockles does nothing to describe that feeling. it’s more like a warm fuzzy nuclear meltdown in my heart.

like mother, like son

t-ball: week #2

PICTURES!!! real baseball pants weren’t a requirement for t-ball. that being said, had it sunk in that it was going to be picture day and most of the kids on the team were going to have white baseball pants (as if i could possibly know that…), i probably would have made a stop by dick’s to pick a pair up. but i definitely would not have chosen the bright red pants. actually, shortstack may have chosen them—but i’m still responsible because i was the one who set out the pants for him to choose from.

it turns out the grandfather of the disinterested brother/sister teammates has the same relatively unusual name as shortstack. he totally dug the red pants and complemented shortstack’s selection of dapper red and silver pain in the ass for me to put on cleats. but damn, they look SHARP. ah, the sacrifices we make to indulge our child’s fashion sense. [note to grampa: don’t be getting any bright ideas—i think we’ll be putting our feet down when it comes to silky flowered shirts…] the siblings’ grandfather suggested that shortstack be in charge of the uniforms next time. i couldn't agree more.

t-ball (AKA world's hardest to photograph sport): week #1

shortstack is #8. click on the picture to see the entire series from the beginning.

does it get any more adorable than this? yes, soccer was pretty darn cute, and very entertaining. but let’s face it, baseball is the national sport. not to mention all of the team bonding experiences happening while sitting on the bench waiting to bat—as opposed to soccer, where the kids sitting out ditch their own parents to chill with their twin teammates’ mom & dad. both sports are equally difficult to photograph—pictures from every game look the same, and you can never get close enough. both sports require uniforms, of course—thank goodness the same cleats are good for both at this point. those little baseball pants are just too much. but add in those shin guards with the LOOOOONG soccer socks, and i think the uniform category is a tossup. even though both sports are played for fun without really keeping score or following the rules of the more grown-up versions, the differences in the games themselves are amazing. keep in mind that the kids have to be three to play soccer here, and four for t-ball.

with soccer, the kids can fake it by just running around. they can do an even better job of faking if they apply shortstack’s proven method of choosing a teammate to chase after the entire game. it’s a great strategy, provided that the chosen teammate isn’t on the sideline collapsing in a tantrum because he doesn’t want to play or in the backfield canoodling with the coach’s daughter (do i really have to tell you which one of those two was shortstack?) IF the team is lucky enough to have an awesome, patient, and attentive coach, he is definitely going to guide the team members along a little bit--especially the one in the backfield canoodling with his daughter. unfortunately, not all the teams were as lucky as the tigers last fall. almost any doofus can run around in the grass corralling kids. it’s sad that i have to qualify that statement with an ‘almost,’ but one less than qualified coach couldn’t even do that—his wife was yelling at him about where the kids were and what was going on from the sidelines. that’s a topic for another discussion…

so let’s think about t-ball. is the difference here because the kids have to be a year older to play? or is it the nature of the game itself? either way, i am endlessly fascinated. there’s nowhere for the kids to hide, and no way to make it look like they were doing what they should’ve been doing when they weren’t. sure, they can stand out second base and build lovely sand castles and just generally goof around and not pay attention. but you can rest assured coach al is going to call them on it. not just any clueless parent can be a t-ball coach, either. without a truckload of patience and a well developed sense of humor, one may as well not even bother. coach al manages to throw out some painless but great zingers that manage to get the kids on task and help them do what it is they need to be doing and still make most of the parents (at least the ones without corncobs up their asses…) crack up. the kids learn what they need to be doing, but they are also picking up on the fact that not everything has to be so freaking serious all the time and that you can really have fun while staying engaged and paying attention. another interesting point is that there is only one coach for both teams playing in the ‘game,’ and he’s the same coach coaching the other two teams in the league THAT SAME MORNING! there is absolutely no way any sane person could handle it if the kids weren’t such great listeners with amazing self control and interest in what they are there for (for the most part…). i think this is where the age difference between beginning soccer nuts and t-ballers really comes into play.

more cuteness to come next week...

the world is your oyster...

throughout childhood we are told over and over again about all of the wonderful things we can acheive if we just stick with it, keep trying, and work hard, etc. 'dream big, keep dreaming, go after your goals.' we are expected to be all we can be, yet remain within the comfort zone of confines and boundaries dictated by what those around us deem acceptable. there are some of us who spend a significant portion of their youth trying to accomplish everything under the sun trying to please others (and hopefully themselves in the process...)--all the while dreaming of and wishing for times when they are free and are truly the boss of themselves.

so here i am, finally master of my own life. large and in charge. i already have the awesome family i was fairly sure i'd never have. but what's next? i have a husband who supports every dream i could possibly have or want to persue--not because he feels like he has to or because that's his 'job,' but because he really does believe in me. (that might have just a little something to do with why i married him, no?) the only thing holding me back is ME. there's nothing/no one else to blame for not moving forward, only myself. and that's pretty damn scary.

he's a pisser...

scene: a carb-loaded dinner of grilled chicken fajitas, mexican rice, and refried beans for dinner, eating outside, enjoying the awesome weather and the beginning sunset

me: mmmmm. this yummy. thanks for all of your great help making it!

shortstack [rubbing his chest & tummy]: mmmm. my tummy feels the same way. i am getting full. [leans back, pats belly] pretty soon my tummy will be as BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG as *insert name of family friend with big beer belly here* 's

i don't remember if i said anything to him or not. but i do know that i gave up trying not to laugh, and i did grab the camera...but like most other moments like this, the funny stuff was over by the time the camera came out.

anybody have one of those memory erasers from men in black???

so shortstack and i were out running a few errands today. traffic had slowed in my lane, closest to the sidewalk. naturally, i look over to see what the fuss is about. i see this twig of an older woman walking on the sidewalk, talking to the person not-so-politely back up traffic. (is there ever a way to politely back up traffic? hmm...) let me clarify--realistically, i'm talking half the size of the tiniest person i know, stretched to my height. when i say twig, i'm not talking about a puny little stick. i mean one of those itty-bitty skinny, super-bendy twitches you look for when someone needs a good ass-whoopin'--you know, the kind that makes that 'whhhhoooooooosshh' sound as it slices through the air on its way to making long red welts on an unsuspecting ass. but i digress--back to the human twig.

my brain is having a hard time processing the EEEWWW factor of the entire scene--thus the summary presentation (imagine little yellow post-its with big black numbers all over this image, CSI style):

1. the outfit--skin tight black legging type pants, a short vest over a black shirt (being skinny alone does NOT entitle one to the right to wear those in public...)
   
2. the combination of the outfit and her age
   
3. the way she literally stopped traffic with that get-up
4. the flirty goodbye/hair-toss at the BMW who wanted to chat and STOPPED TRAFFIC to do so
   
5. the hot pink, glittery, scripty 'Juicy Clam' emblazoned on above mentioned black shirt
   

NO MORE PROCRASTINATING!!!

starting tomorrow...

no, seriously...laziness and procrastination are ruining me, and i've been sitting by idly, letting it happen. NO MORE.

Happy the Betta Fish