Marching Along

Sorry for the lack of descent blog posts lately. What can I say? It’s not that I haven’t had any content, I’ve just been too busy with it all. I’ve been meaning to share our t-ball opening day with you all week, but I just haven’t found the time and honestly, I’m wiped out. The past couple of weeks have been somewhat of a blur ever since the kids went back to school after their April break. First of all, I went to part-time. I  must say I LOVE being home a couple of days a week, but the paycheck seriously sucks. Instead of catching up on blog posts with my extra time I’ve been getting spring cleaning and yard work done, spending some quality time with Finn, and training for this weekend’s 5k.

Last Saturday the two younger guys marched in the Little League Opening Day Parade!! Super cute…and super LOUD! So glad I didn’t polish off that bottle of wine the night before or else my head really would have been split into pieces.

t-ball parade

t-ball boys

Then it was time for their first game. Deacon played last year, but this was Finn’s first time. It was adorable and they both did fantastic. Deacon of course gave the thumbs-up while rounding the bases, and Finnegan crushed the ball pretty well for a tiny 4-year old.

swing batter

So I’ll try to keep up and plan ahead.

A Letter To The Ice Cream Man:

Dear Mr. Ice Cream Man.

Why must you park your truck with all its precious goodies; popsicles, frozen lemonade, novelties shaped like Spiderman, RIGHT in front of the T-ball field in the MIDDLE of their game? It makes no sense. Of all the fields to park in front of you chose the field with 4 and 5 year olds. To me, you’re not wonderful you’re just a jack-ass. All these little kids are trying to learn the game of baseball at an age that concentration on one task is a miracle. You sit there in your white truck taunting those poor children. Mid-fielders jumping up and down, pointing. Batters with their faces pressed up to the fence. It’s just unfair and cruel. If a parent buys a spectating sibling a treat while they watch the game…the sibling on the field plops their butt in the dirty crying. Better yet, the mom like me trying to contain the three-year old from running into the parking lot as he throws a full-blown temper tantrum because he doesn’t understand that he has to wait till the end of the game. Park at one of the other fields. The fields where the older kids already know the game and have grown out of the “tantrum” phase. You’re mean.

Regards,

One pissed off mom