I found myself watching Finn’s baseball game solo for the first three innings last night. Bill was with Drew and Porter at soccer practice.
This year I’ve been running about ten minutes late to every game, and that is no big deal unless your son is the starting pitcher. I’ve had no reason to believe Finn would ever fall into that category, but he did tonight and I was damn glad I was there to witness it, as he hasn’t pitched a lot in the past.
Bill and the duo arrived around the fourth inning. Bill wanted to know Finn’s stats, and telling him that he had done well so far wasn’t going to satisfy him. He wants to hear ESPNy words like, “He hit a stand up double to right field, stole third, and came home on Bert’s single.”
Finn hasn’t pitched enough for me to have my pitch-patter perfected yet, so I said, “He struck out Jay and Justin, he walked Peter, someone balked, he made a nice toss to get Lewis out at first, and he hit Bainbridge in the fanny on a 3-2 count.” I thought that was a fabulous report, but later I saw Bill up in the press box looking at Finn’s stats in the book. Maybe he thought I made up the part about Finn nailing the batter in the ass.
Although I had fed everyone before we hit the fields, twinsanity were hungry and restless. I’ve taken a stand against ball park food this season, and against junk food in particular.
We were sitting at the other team’s bleachers where I’d been chatting (baseball games are the core of my social life here in the Tiny Kingdom) and no one heard Drew ask me if he could get some Skittles at the concession stand. Everyone, however, heard me tell him that NO, he could ask me every night from now until the end of the world if he could get Skittles and I would always say no. Then they watched his face crumple and the tears fall down his cheeks and I won the award for Best Ballpark Mom Ever, right on the spot.
Enough with the paparazzi. I got a game to play.
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