This is the picture that Jack will have on his "baseball cards" that come with the photo package that every loving mother must order when their little guy becomes a baseball star. While the "professional" picture was being taken, Chris took this picture. I don't know if the former included Jack's entire body, but Chris was careful to crop his shot. The reason for the careful crop is that your not very sports minded BloomingtonGirl had gotten the wrong size T-shirt for Jack (I must have ordered the small in a fog!) and the wrong size baseball pants (XL...hey, it was the only pair left and how was I supposed to know I had to get to the store before the hundreds of other baseball moms?)
The result of my inferior sport-related mothering was that Jack's uniform consisted of a much too short top that was not long enough to tuck into his giant pants. I was trying to help him do the tuck-in before the picture (the coach told the kids to tuck in their shirts) and in my nervous attempts, I pulled his pants up way too high. The poor kid looked like a misfit. And, I felt like a misfit.
But, all ended well. Jack got two hits and actually got someone out when he was playing short stop. This might sound incredibly impressive but the only thing impressive about the players at that age is how unbelievably cute they are. The thing I love best about Jack is that if he makes it to home plate, he stands there on the base as if it is first, second or third. He has to be told to go to the dugout. He isn't too different from the other players.
The players on his team and the first team they played, anyway.
But the second team they played? The Wee Willies? (That is really their name.) The Wee Willies are actually pretty good and most of the kids know what they are supposed to be doing. Not all of them do it with skill, but they get the game. What is interesting is that The Wee Willies are coached entirely by women. These women have clearly played ball all of their lives and as a bonus, can multi-task like only mothers can. So, they are able to observe what many players are doing at once and almost immediately give each player some guidance. And do you want to know one thing I noticed about this team that seems to be markedly different from their male coached counterparts? They are much more verbal. The kids have little cheers they do for one another and they chatter in the field, "Hey Battah, Battah!" A woman's touch, to be sure. You go girls!
They creamed our little team, but nobody was the wiser because I don't think that they even keep score at this level. But the parents sure could figure it out and I think that it actually pissed a few of them off. I have no right to get pissed off when my kid might miss a ball thrown to him while playing first base because he is too busy wiggling his loose tooth...
In other news, I did NOT win the auction for the wall installation. ("Leap Year") For two reasons. The first and foremost was that someone outbid me immediately before the sheets were collected. And thank goodness, too, because the second reason was that the auction, though it was described as a "set of tiles", was only for the single displayed tile. The single tile was the number 2. And who wants to put number 2 on one's wall? Not me. If I had to have just one tile, I would at least want the Lucky Seven.
In other news, I was very sick with a stomach flu on Monday afternoon and was so wiped out by it that I actually slept for most of the day on Tuesday. It was a drag but I kept telling myself that a great thing about being sick (besides detoxing and losing a couple of pounds) is that when you feel better, you feel almost joyous. And, today, when I started feeling really right again, that is exactly how I felt. Joyous.
Well, off to bed to read Running With Scissors by August Burroughs. I don't know yet if I like it. I like his writing style so far, but the book is controversial because the family he lived with when he was growing up say that he is a big fat liar and they are suing him. Hard to know what is true about anything unless you see it with your very own eyes. On the other hand, I might still enjoy the book even if it is memoir based on a pretty selective or self serving memory. I am sure that when I write my memoir (don't hold your breath, by the way), there might be those who will think that I am a big fat liar. No, make that a wonderfully slender liar, because if I ever wrote a book successful enough to be read by those I might lie about, I would certainly make sure I was svelte for the book tour and my interview on Oprah.
Bye for now, Loyal Ones.