Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER tell anyone how great your day is going. Don't say it, don't write it, don't text it, don't even THINK it, because if you do, you are absolutely bound to get knocked upside the head so hard you'll fly sideways.
Learn from me, people. I did this very thing today and less than 20 minutes later the baby hit his brother on the temple with an aluminum baseball bat. It was an accident, of course, but it's the kind of accident that stops your heart for a few beats. Luckily, licensed medical professionals in white coats determined that he was fine (at least for now) and sent us on our merry way with instructions to watch for symptoms and wake him every couple of hours tonight. I decided it was ok to start breathing again, so we came home and had pizza.
About Me
- Soonerchick
- I have a Bachelor's in Psychology, a Master's in Human Relations, and a Ph.D. in telling people what to do. I raise children, dogs, cats, and hermit crabs and cultivate crabgrass and pretty weeds. I am teaching myself to cook, not because I love to cook but because I love to eat. I love to travel, read, and take pictures; I also like to write, so you'll get to read a lot about all the aforementioned subjects plus about anything else I happen to feel like sharing with you. I'll take all your questions and may even give some back with answers if you're lucky and I'm feeling helpful (or bored.)
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Spring and today's agenda
What do you do on a beautiful, blue-sky-with-no-clouds-and-60-degrees-day? Why, take your monkeys to a movie, of course.
It's unseasonably warm here, as it has been in most of the country this year. Our weatherman told us yesterday that we would have "May in March." Which sounds marvelous. But if we're having May in March, then what will we have in March? July? and if we have March in July, then we'll have August in June, which can only mean that in August we'll have Hell. I'm a fan of warm weather, don't get me wrong, but when the mercury tops triple digits for several days in a row, it's not so much fun at the pool anymore, and you end up at the library instead. Or the movies. Which is where we're going today on this lovely afternoon that we should be spending outside because I told my older two we'd go see The Lorax this weekend, and this is the last day of the weekend and I refuse to pay anything but matinee prices for the movies anymore. This afternoon's excursion will top out somewhere around $40.
Then I get to take them all to the sporting goods store to pick up a new glove, pants, socks, and shoes for the middle one, who starts baseball again this Saturday.
I'm just going to have to bitch about something here for a minute: his practices are on Fridays, from 6-8, and Saturdays, from 12-2. This is enough to make me want to pull him out of baseball entirely. Not only are they making us give up our Friday nights, but then they take it one step further and destroy any hope of doing ANYTHING AT ALL on Saturday by scheduling practice in the exact middle of the day. Thus, because he is only seven and I can't just drop him off and pick him up, my two favorite days of the week are now completely screwed for the next two months. Supposedly, the coaches didn't choose these practice times, they were assigned them, which I admit is believable, given the extreme incompetency of our kids' league out here. (The coupons for free fast food that were handed out with the candy-bar fundraiser stock expired months ago, for one example. Bit of an obstacle there when said coupons were supposed to be used as a selling point to move the chocolate.) But frankly, there could not possibly be any worse time to have practices. At. All. I am seriously going to file a complaint with the league, and probably piss off a lot of people, but you know me. If you're going to destroy my Friday night availability to go out for dinner or to Barnes and Noble or even just play on Pinterest while my kids watch the newest Clone Wars episode, then you better damn well leave my Saturdays free. I HATE this league, but since we live out in hillbilly country, it takes too much time and fuel to drive to another town two or three times a week for practices and games. Besides, he's seven; it's not like he even cares how good the league is. He just wants to PLAY. The kid is a natural athlete, in the true sense of the word: he just loves to be outside, with some type of ball in hand. I'm not going to deny him that, even if it means putting up with the ABSOLUTE WORST kids' league I have ever encountered. But I am exceedingly mad about it. My older son even elected not to play this year, because last year the league officials thought it would be hilarious to put all the naturally gifted boys on the same team and farm the rest of them out among the other six, which is unfair enough, but for some reason, they set the schedule such that my son's team had to play the gifted team FOUR times. And predictably, lost all of them. They also got rained out six times and ended up playing two triple-headers. Nine-year-olds can't play triple-headers. They get dehydrated and exhausted and stop caring. The last straw was when he swung with every bit of force in his body and got an incredible hit that would have been an out-of-the-park home run (it had that much force behind it) had not some kid in the outfield from the gifted team (who was confirmed to be two years older, by the way) reached waaaaaaaaay up and caught it before my son had even had a chance to reach first base. That was it. He was done. With the entire sport. I can't say I blame him. Everything about last season was totally and completely unfair to his entire team. His coach was ok, but the league destroyed any hope of any of the kids enjoying the season at all. When they handed out trophies to all the kids at the end of the season, he almost gave his back. He didn't want it. I convinced him to keep it, but let him put it up where at least he wouldn't have to look at it. It meant less than nothing to him.
His little brother, on the other hand, was seemingly oblivious to the (even worse) atrocities visited upon his own team last year, including the fact that they were not even allowed to play on a real field as they were told they would, but instead relegated to an empty expanse of grass and given cheap lightweight foam bases and a four-foot-tall chain-link three-paneled portable backstop to use for games. Every single parent had a fit. The league president did nothing but shrug his shoulders and say "that's all I can do." He ended up quitting, no doubt from the onslaught of parental fury, but I can't say the new guy is much better so far. But amidst all this mayhem, my son's only complaint was that they wouldn't let him run the bases. He could hit the ball strong and hard, and run like the wind, and they always made him stop at first base, because "it would be unfair to the other kids if he was allowed to get home run after home run." Lest you fall out of your chair at the outrageousness of this policy, let me assure you that they applied it to ALL the kids in his level, which was coach-pitch. And now you probably have not only fallen out of your chair but also thrown your laptop or tablet against the wall at such ludicrousness. As did we. But there was nothing we could do about it, and since his coach felt his pain, he was allowed to play catcher, which he loved, and which made up for it somewhat. This year I've confirmed that, in machine-pitch, he will be allowed to play by regular rules and rack up as many home runs as he can hit.
If I can get through the next two months without shredding someone at the league, it will be a miracle.
It's unseasonably warm here, as it has been in most of the country this year. Our weatherman told us yesterday that we would have "May in March." Which sounds marvelous. But if we're having May in March, then what will we have in March? July? and if we have March in July, then we'll have August in June, which can only mean that in August we'll have Hell. I'm a fan of warm weather, don't get me wrong, but when the mercury tops triple digits for several days in a row, it's not so much fun at the pool anymore, and you end up at the library instead. Or the movies. Which is where we're going today on this lovely afternoon that we should be spending outside because I told my older two we'd go see The Lorax this weekend, and this is the last day of the weekend and I refuse to pay anything but matinee prices for the movies anymore. This afternoon's excursion will top out somewhere around $40.
Then I get to take them all to the sporting goods store to pick up a new glove, pants, socks, and shoes for the middle one, who starts baseball again this Saturday.
I'm just going to have to bitch about something here for a minute: his practices are on Fridays, from 6-8, and Saturdays, from 12-2. This is enough to make me want to pull him out of baseball entirely. Not only are they making us give up our Friday nights, but then they take it one step further and destroy any hope of doing ANYTHING AT ALL on Saturday by scheduling practice in the exact middle of the day. Thus, because he is only seven and I can't just drop him off and pick him up, my two favorite days of the week are now completely screwed for the next two months. Supposedly, the coaches didn't choose these practice times, they were assigned them, which I admit is believable, given the extreme incompetency of our kids' league out here. (The coupons for free fast food that were handed out with the candy-bar fundraiser stock expired months ago, for one example. Bit of an obstacle there when said coupons were supposed to be used as a selling point to move the chocolate.) But frankly, there could not possibly be any worse time to have practices. At. All. I am seriously going to file a complaint with the league, and probably piss off a lot of people, but you know me. If you're going to destroy my Friday night availability to go out for dinner or to Barnes and Noble or even just play on Pinterest while my kids watch the newest Clone Wars episode, then you better damn well leave my Saturdays free. I HATE this league, but since we live out in hillbilly country, it takes too much time and fuel to drive to another town two or three times a week for practices and games. Besides, he's seven; it's not like he even cares how good the league is. He just wants to PLAY. The kid is a natural athlete, in the true sense of the word: he just loves to be outside, with some type of ball in hand. I'm not going to deny him that, even if it means putting up with the ABSOLUTE WORST kids' league I have ever encountered. But I am exceedingly mad about it. My older son even elected not to play this year, because last year the league officials thought it would be hilarious to put all the naturally gifted boys on the same team and farm the rest of them out among the other six, which is unfair enough, but for some reason, they set the schedule such that my son's team had to play the gifted team FOUR times. And predictably, lost all of them. They also got rained out six times and ended up playing two triple-headers. Nine-year-olds can't play triple-headers. They get dehydrated and exhausted and stop caring. The last straw was when he swung with every bit of force in his body and got an incredible hit that would have been an out-of-the-park home run (it had that much force behind it) had not some kid in the outfield from the gifted team (who was confirmed to be two years older, by the way) reached waaaaaaaaay up and caught it before my son had even had a chance to reach first base. That was it. He was done. With the entire sport. I can't say I blame him. Everything about last season was totally and completely unfair to his entire team. His coach was ok, but the league destroyed any hope of any of the kids enjoying the season at all. When they handed out trophies to all the kids at the end of the season, he almost gave his back. He didn't want it. I convinced him to keep it, but let him put it up where at least he wouldn't have to look at it. It meant less than nothing to him.
His little brother, on the other hand, was seemingly oblivious to the (even worse) atrocities visited upon his own team last year, including the fact that they were not even allowed to play on a real field as they were told they would, but instead relegated to an empty expanse of grass and given cheap lightweight foam bases and a four-foot-tall chain-link three-paneled portable backstop to use for games. Every single parent had a fit. The league president did nothing but shrug his shoulders and say "that's all I can do." He ended up quitting, no doubt from the onslaught of parental fury, but I can't say the new guy is much better so far. But amidst all this mayhem, my son's only complaint was that they wouldn't let him run the bases. He could hit the ball strong and hard, and run like the wind, and they always made him stop at first base, because "it would be unfair to the other kids if he was allowed to get home run after home run." Lest you fall out of your chair at the outrageousness of this policy, let me assure you that they applied it to ALL the kids in his level, which was coach-pitch. And now you probably have not only fallen out of your chair but also thrown your laptop or tablet against the wall at such ludicrousness. As did we. But there was nothing we could do about it, and since his coach felt his pain, he was allowed to play catcher, which he loved, and which made up for it somewhat. This year I've confirmed that, in machine-pitch, he will be allowed to play by regular rules and rack up as many home runs as he can hit.
If I can get through the next two months without shredding someone at the league, it will be a miracle.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)