Season Opener

Before t-ball started, we were given a list of items to buy, which included baseball pants.  "Seriously?" I griped, "Can't they just play in sweats they already own?"  Ok, now I see that wearing baseball pants increases the cuteness factor about a zillion percent, so I'm ok with our (really Grammy's) $7 investment in the season.  Also, I'm not going to waste time stain-treating those suckers, because I think they are made out of Teflon.

So, the season opener...tiny children wandered the field looking for second base...or dandelions...or rocks, while a half dozen coaches and parent volunteers try to herd them to the appropriate spot.  (Making dandelion chains and praying the ball wouldn't come near me was my main memory from my own t-ball m.o.)  The Nugget, however, watches the ball intensely and wants to be where the action is, which bodes much better for his athletic future.

His favorite is going to bat though, of course.

He was sure he'd hit a home run and rounded all the bases but the t-ball rule is that each child goes to first base and stops.

While I cannot remember my own team sports days without my stomach turning several flops of panic, I do have very (mostly) pleasant memories of being a sports sister tagalong.  My brother J is a very accomplished athlete, the kind of kid who could pick up any sport in the blink of an eye with raw talent and coordination, while his peers turned green with envy.  He was especially gifted and interested in soccer as a kid, so much so that the league bumped him up a couple grade levels and he ended up playing with my classmates instead of his own.  So I remember my mom packing up the minivan with folding lawn chairs, Oatmeal Creme Pies, baggies of quartered oranges, and a big cooler of water.  I'd grab my walkman and a Babysitter's Club book, and we'd be off to the fields.  We'd spend hours sitting on wet grass cheering for #9, I'd make dandelion chains for my little sister (see, my failed t-ball experience was good for something), and the highlight would be taking a wrinkled dollar bill to the old white barn on the hill that doubled as a concession stand.  We'd trade our cash for a stale donut that would leave powdered sugar drifts on our shirts on the way back.  

Now Spork and Tater are creating their own memories of picnics by the baseball diamonds, running through the grass, drawing in the gravel with sticks, and peering at big brother through the twisted metal of chain link fences.

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A side benefit of choosing How It's Made for his screen time is that the Nugget is preparing for the SAT.  A recent off-hand comment:  "The sand is very soft and malleable."

Things I never thought I'd say to my kid:

"Please don't bite the tree."