Minor Leaguer

Even though it's still 100+ scorching degrees outside here, fall baseball has made its much-anticipated arrival.  Our oldest son (G-man) is absolutely ecstatic that his new team has started practicing and will have their first game soon.  However, the heat has most of the poor boys dragging their legs (and everything else) by the end of each session.  For their sake (and mine, let's not forget), I'll be ecstatic when the temperature hovers back down around 65-75 degrees.

Yesterday evening, my husband was collecting gear and getting G-man ready to leave for practice, and B-man made it perfectly clear that he planned on attending.  Lately we try to distract him with other opportunities so that he stays home, because my husband is an assistant coach and can't keep his eye on an industrious 4-year-old while giving drill instructions to a group of second graders.  It's just impossible.

However, he was not to be swayed.  So the 2-man outing became a 3-man with the promise that B-man would sit in the dug-out, follow all instructions and not cause any problems.  He swore to all of this with the most serious countenance.  So convincing. 

I had only been home from work for an hour when they were due to leave, so practice nights make me a little sad and disappointed that I get even less time to spend with them on those two evenings a week.

As they were heading out the door, I turned to Wee-man, smiled and said, "Well little buddy, I guess it's just you and me tonight!"

He grabbed his pack-pack, slung it over his shoulder, looked me in the eye and said, "Bye, Mommy."

I have officially been demoted to the minor leagues.