Take Me Out of the Ballpark

What have you been up to this summer?  Vacation? Gardening? Family Reunions? Reading? Special educational excursions? Fun, wait-for-summer-time projects? 

Or watching hours upon hours of ball games?

I may be the only mother in town who bought her son white baseball pants.

But it turns out that white baseball pants don't hang on to the stains the way you think they would. It must be something about the artificial fibers.

GBaby has watched been present for a number of ball games.  For her, the ballpark is a great place to catch up on her list of summer best-sellers.  Also, a great opportunity to practice her Stroller-Escape Techniques.

The primary focus of Norah's softball experience this summer has been improving her batting, catching, and throwing skills.

No, not really.  The primary focus of everything when you are a nearly-seven year old girl is hanging out with your friends.  And taking crazy pictures.

She did swing a bat occasionally. And she swings very well.  Almost as well as she talks.  But not quite.

See that incredibly handsome kiddo in the black shirt?

Yup. That's my Sammers.  I bought him gray pants because I wasn't quite sure that the artificial fibers could stand up to the stains this kiddo can invent.  He's pretty nifty.  Not cool, because he's wearing a black shirt to baseball games in 105 degree heat.  But definitely nifty. 

Here's the part where I express my unending gratitude toward all my friends and their older children. 

Thank you for having older kids and bringing them to the ball park.

I do not know how I would have survived this baseball/softball season without your really nice kids and their sharp little gadgets.

I have the best friends and friends kids.  They match up to my kids just perfectly.

Because my kids are pretty much the best.

Even if I have to schlep them back and forth to the ballpark all the live-long summer. 

I'm not really sure what "schlep" means, but I love the way it sounds and the way it looks. Schlep. Schlep. Schlep...

Happy Birthday, Pirate



My children are out to prove me old. 

Example: Son #2 turned 8 just a few weeks ago.  Ack -  in six short months I'll celebrate a decade of motherhood.

Anyway.

Sambonio, Sambonini, Sammy, Samuel (he decided, suddenly, that mommy's baby names are too, well, babyish) has wanted a pirate cake since he was three-turning-four.  I've been willing to try, but he's always picked a different "theme" two weeks or so before the other birthdays.  This year we got it out of our system.  And boy, are we glad that we did.  It was a mess.  But a yummy mess, so who cares?

I have to quit trying to make awesome birthday cakes. I just can't seem to keep them from falling apart. And then, they're not awesome.  Do you see me in my pretty apron?



 Instead of buying more candy (there was a lot on that cake!) or dollar tree toys, I got each boy a can of silly string.  I hope the other mothers appreciated that it was junk that would get used up at our house and they wouldn't have to deal with it at home. I'm pretty sure the cats did not appreciate my thoughtfulness. But then, cats so rarely do.





After an epic 7 boys vs. adult tug-of-war, a 7 boys vs. cat silly-string fight, an enormous pizza and a very chocolaty movie, it was time to eat the cake!  But wait... it had collapsed even further.  Please note the entirely innocent expression of the guest in the background.  I am certain that he was the pirate that chased us into the storm, but it's all good.  Instead of a pirate ship, this was proclaimed to be the Swiss Family Robinson Cake. Thank goodness for quick-thinking older brothers.

I like to make a big deal about my kid's birthdays. Because, well, my kids are a pretty big deal.

Grown up names and all.

A Little Pumpkin Love

Little things make me happy.  Like the mini pumpkins we have in over abundance around here.

 This little pumpkin, however, did not have any friends. He was very lonely.

 Sometimes when we're lonely, we just have to look around.  There's probably another pumpkin out there who also needs a friend.

 See?

No wait a minute.
This is not that kind of blog.
Please. Get a mini-pumpkin room.

I'm sorry, folks. I had no idea pumpkins thought these kinds of thoughts.