The Wee One has started T-ball, so we are welcoming a new and exciting era of parenthood.
If you have never been to a T-Ball game, imagine trying to get twenty drunk hamsters to do tricks on a field, and you will have some idea of the chaos and confusion that goes on during one of these games.
So far we have been to one practice and one game. During these 2 hours we have seen tears, butt scratching, mass confusion, and booger picking. During the game, the coach’s kid was busy posing in the sun and watching his shadow on the ground below, while another kid walked directly through the field to the bleachers and asked his mom through the fence “Mom, why did you sign me up for this?” (This is the same kid who last week insisted he talk to his mother in the middle of practice because it was “an emergency.” After tromping through the mud across the field, he asked her “Can I get a sword? I really like them.”) Another outfielder laid down on the ground to stare up at the clouds while my child played with his hat, and another child played in the dirt.
At the game, NOT ONE child knew to run to first base after hitting the ball. My son ran toward the mound. Later he ran from first base to the infield, then to the outfield, just zig-zagging along until the OTHER TEAM’S coach pointed to second base.
No one really catches the balls–they just wait for balls to land and stop rolling. Then, two or three kids will stare at it until one brave child picks it up and throws it in any direction or no direction, as if it has thorns.
In a word, it is fantastic.
The night of the first game, Coop crawled in bed to give me a kiss goodnight. I told him how much I had enjoyed watching him play T-Ball and asked him to tell me his favorite part of the day.
“We had hot dogs and buns!”