Well, no. There were no fists involved. However, you can take your pick from any of the following:
beating
thrashing
pounding
Our team just didn't show up tonight. I mean, the little bodies were out there, but they weren't *there* there. It was like watching the inmates from the asylum enjoy an evening at the park. Weird.
I got a cute picture of one of the kids smearing the white chalk onto his face, like warpaint. Once he saw me with the camera, though, he launched into a Charlie Chaplain dance that I didn't have the heart to encourage. (Although I may talk to his mother about encouraging him in the arts. He's pretty good.)
John got his first taste of utter, total, bitter disappointment. That's a nasty pill to swallow, but for being six, he handled it well. He'll probably read this one day and think I'm not quite right in the head, but it really was harder on us to see it happen, to know it was coming, and not be able to do anything about it - than it was for him to be standing there, making circles in the dirt and have it hit him out of nowhere that "it's not happening, kids". I think this is the first time this season, aside from that one pre-season-tournamenty-thing that our little guys took a thorough beating. Every other game has been at least close. Or at least not... this bad.
I'd like to wax philosophical. Probably to make myself feel better. But every time I try, Zorak shoots me a look. Then he starts thinking about a beer commercial he saw today, and he laughs. He laughs the kind of laugh I'd probably trade a kidney to get out of him. And, well, it's hard to be philosophical and deep when I can't help but think, "ok, beer surgeon"...
So that's it. That's all I've got tonight. Tomorrow, we'll bake bread. We'll power wash more dirty stuff. (Ack, another random thought. They're pinging around in my head with abandon.) Love on my kiddos.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
9 comments:
I know exactly what you mean. It does break your heart and make you wonder if the kids even realize there's a game going on around them. We have also had 2 games like that and they only thing you can remember is that they are only little kids. Just wait until you get into the older leagues and the parents are yelling at the kids instead of only yelling at the coaches and umps. I can't wait to see the picture of the little boy with his "war paint". You gotta love them.
Davey's got one of those laughs, too, and I love to hear it. It's impossible to not laugh along with him, even if he is laughing at a particularly good fart.
Awwwwwwww and ROFL@the beer commercial laugh! I so know that feeling!
Well, neither of my kids were "there" when they were in the outfield, so I think your guys are doing great to only have this happen once! (Technically, mine were there, and they Were doing stuff, it just wasn't related to baseball.) Both of mine were in "pre-Little League" leagues where the winners weren't even announced, so, although you Could keep score, and we Did know if we were playing relatively well or poorly, there wasn't an emphasis on winning. I know that isn't "real life," but it seemed good to us, with two kids playing ball for the first time ever.
Enjoy that power spraying!!
I'm so sorry.
Up north it was an excellent ball night. Our John made a big out, the girls were whacking balls and their defense was awesome, too. You never quite know, though, when the 'Huh what, ball?' night is going to hit, though...
(((John)))
Awww....we've had games like that too. Even the pro's do. And now you know why I carry a little flask with me. I've found that I don't need the flask if my kids playing are over 14. But 14 and under? Yeah. It's the little secret of all good baseball mom's. LOL
Oh man, those games are tough! Especially for the moms, LOL. So is the season over now? One less thing to keep track of on your calendar? I'm glad John is being a trooper about the loss--important life lessons and all that, but it still stinks!
Oh, Melissa! I wish I had your email address -- I have an idea! Why don't you write a how-to/etiquette manual for baseball moms? Seriously. I'll help as much as I can, but I need it myself.
I need a ruling on things like:
Is it ever appropriate to use one's flask to whack an idiot parent-spectator?
In which inning may one begin sipping? (There's a fine line between parent and just random lush, after all.)
Also, I'd like to know how to approach the Smoking By The Dugout Full of Eight Year Olds Moron - is the Gatorade bucket over the head and "Oh, I'm SOO sorry, but I thought you were on FIRE" method over-the-top?
Duct tape over the Cussing Mother's mouth: Yes or no?
And what, exactly, does one DO about abandoned younger children? The dirty, eternally barefoot, never attended younger siblings who throw dirt, eat other people's concession stand food and try to stowaway in my minivan? I've never *seen* them with a parent, yet they're at every game. Do they live there? Should I alert someone?
So many questions. Please consider it.
The dirty, eternally barefoot, never attended younger siblings who throw dirt, eat other people's concession stand food and try to stowaway in my minivan?
OMG! We have TWO of those. One of them has NO problem unzipping my diaper bag to rummage for food, toys, money. Whatever. The other one just reaches into the boys' popcorn bags or such. I'm pretty sure she licks sno-cones if you're not careful.
Yes, I've found there's a *lot* Melissa didn't warn me about. ;-)
Dy
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