Sunday Comics

Delivered hot off the press and straight from the Moll Metro.

*During a lesson in Sunday school the teacher made a remark in reference to a scripture that said something about it being time to go. Isaac (18 months old) jumped up from busily playing on the floor and excitedly shouted ‘Go…GO…time to go’ grabbing his crayons and his dad’s hand as he headed for the door. (I find it reassuring that he was listening to the lesson at least.)

*After a long and busy day we were herding our boys into bed. I gathered up what pajamas I could find. Since I hadn’t had time to finish the laundry they didn’t all match. As we were helping them get dressed Edison exclaims, “but, my jammies don’t rhyme!”.

*On another occasion Isaac once again was coloring quietly next to me during a class at church. While two women sat down behind us. One kept leaning over to the other making comments. Yet again she leaned over with a funny remark when Isaac stood up and looked her in the eye and let out a loud “SSSSHHHHH” with slobber and all. She stopped mid-sentence, stunned. Everyone got a good chuckle out of that, including the well humored woman.

*During primary Everest was extended the invitation to give a short talk during the opening exercises. He readily agreed and practiced all week what he was going to say. Sunday came and it was his turn to get up and deliver his message. Being overwhelmed (even with dad right by his side) at standing in front of 100 or so kids he didn’t say much, nothing in fact. Later that evening his grandmother asked how his talk went and he reported enthusiastically, “Dad gave it all by himself!”. Obviously, very proud of his father.

*As we prepared for a last minute excursion Everest took charge and did his own packing. He ran upstairs with a large plastic shopping bag and soon returned with his entire drawer of underwear stuffed inside. Announcing that he was ready and headed out to the car. Saying something about just in case he needs them as he waved the bag of briefs high in the air. Now there is a well prepared young man with his priorities straight.

*Upon arriving at Cameron’s aunt’s house we toured her home admiring her recent remodeling and Christmas decorations. Everest particularly was fond of the large beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the living room. It was tall and heavily adorned with delicate and priceless keepsakes. We took a moment and pointed out all of the different things we saw on the tree. When at the end of our inventory of crystal, lace, delicate ribbon garland and other sparkling ornaments he exclaimed, “And deer poop!”. Huh? We all did a double take at the tree. Apparently the mauve clusters of grapes carefully placed throughout the tree’s branches were a perfect replica of deer poop. Everest is an expert on deer by the way.

Braggin' Rights

Ok, so it’s no secret testosterone is running rampant in our household. We have blue bedrooms filled with sports paraphernalia and rockets. A backyard filled with sports equipment right next to a giant mud hole filled with construction trucks just right for afternoon baths. A garage crammed with bikes, scooters and other items that increase the motion of being propelled through space in one form or another at great speeds. Not to mention cupid brings rubber snakes and toy lawn equipment.

So it’s no shock that we eat, breathe and sleep baseball around here. My three year old’s life is baseball. In fact all of their lives revolve around it. The all time favorite movie is The Rookie, runner up: Angels in the Outfield. They don’t just sit and watch The Rookie, they get up right next to the TV and mimic every move right down to the hand twitching and raised eyebrows. They have the moves the lingo, all of it down. They not only know how to throw a fast ball, a curve ball… they can recognize the pitch. My 18 month olds favorite phrase: “Hit da ball”. We can be anywhere and these guys will start up a game. Just the other day I was at the deli counter ordering some ham and there they were in baseball mode. Swinging the pretend bat over his shoulder, leans in with intense focus…taps the floor twice with the bat. While the catcher squats behind delivering the play with secret hand signals and the pitcher digging into the mound, winding up and then throwing the most perfect pitch ever thrown by man
and then he SWINGS! He runs, rounding the imaginary bases around the bread isle and slides into home for an amazing play all around! On lookers clapping and cheering as they witness this remarkable event.

I’ve had to give in and let them play in the house. That’s right baseball in the house. The winters are too cold and miserable to send them out in the bitter cold to play. So we compromised with soft, very soft balls and padded bats. (Good thing too, I’ve been nailed in the face too many times with a ball.) They had to work to earn their helmets and gloves. Man can they hit, catch and throw. They’ll be the only little leaguers not using a tee in T ball. In fact at this rate they’ll be the youngest rookies rather than the oldest. The way they connect with the ball on a consistent basis and not only that but, the force and power behind the hit is just remarkable. I’m in awe.

Now that the weather is warming up we’ve been outside and still have to use soft plastic balls as they frequently bounce off the windows of not only our home but the neighbors. I took them to a local park that has some ball fields. They were in heaven. The red dirt, the green grass the pitchers mound, hello, it doesn’t get much better than this. Then a high school team arrived to practice on one of the fields and they all stood there. Gazing through the chain link, watching them practice in their uniforms. Dreaming of the day they would be.

Cameron and I surprised them and took them to a college baseball game on Saturday. Their faces lit up and they marched in with their helmets on, looking like little bobble heads dragging their bats behind them in one hand and their glove in the other. We had front row seats right behind home plate and we were ready. Except they were a little bummed that they weren’t allowed down on the field, they wanted to play too. So in between each inning Cameron would take them to an open area behind the concession stand and they’d play ball. Running back to their seats each time with all of their personal stats: Mom, Mom, I hit the ball over the fence two times, and we had to go get it…..Mom, I caught the ball dad hit!…Mom…

It’s just fun, a whole lot of fun. I love my boys and their larger than life enthusiasm.

(and that’s just baseball, I haven’t mentioned golf or any of the others)