Baseball season, Daddy’s that is, is coming to a close. They are in 2nd place going into the Playoffs and will have a maximum of two games….hip hip hooray!
I can’t wait to have our family Sundays back. Maybe we can go to Church. Maybe we will go to the mountains overnight. Maybe we will just hang out in the house and look at each other.
Either way, we get Daddy BACK!!!!
On the flip side of that, it means Fall is around the corner and Winter is on it’s toes. . . and I DREAD Winter.
I can’t help but think ahead to next baseball season. Reeve will be TWO and wanting to climb those scary metal bleachers. This year I was able to keep him off them 99% of the time. I hate watching new walkers try to climb up those things. Hell, I hate watching 8-year-olds climb on those things.
Next year it will be hard to keep him out of the dugout. It will be harder to keep him confined to the small space I block off with his stroller and my legs in front of the bleachers and he will want to run around down in the soccer field behind Home Plate where all the foul balls get hit…
But, you know what? As much as I complain about our Sundays being ruined by baseball, I don’t think I would have it any other way. Those 5-6 months of the year when we haul all of our snacks and toys and watch Daddy play then race home to beat the sleep are pretty great. We have a great Baseball/Family Team. We get to be outside. Reeve gets to learn about baseball….keep in mind I’m the one teaching him and I am still learning too. He gets to run the bases afterwards with Daddy and play in the dirt. We get to watch Daddy play and stay healthy and treat his body with such care to be the best (and most important…in my opinion) player on the team.
But…most importantly, we get to watch Daddy be a great example of a true sportsman. He’s so humble and such an amazing sport. He hates to lose, but never lets it get to him. He is respectful to the umpire, his teammates and opponents and to the families in the stands watching.
Bye Bye baseball….only 2 more games. Reeve will be sad, but I sure won’t miss telling him 20 times “DON’T PUT YOUR FINGERS ON THE FENCE.” I tell him he’s going to lose one and he laughs at me…
and then I twist his little finger and try to make him understand that things hurt…or I tell the umpire to yell at him in his sternest voice…and he laughs at me.