Baseball Is Back, Baby
Friday night started with dinner.
Dad was cooking.
That usually goes pretty well.
Usually.
Sausage penne.
Marinara.
Salad.
Garlic bread.
Lemon pies.
Everything was moving along nicely until, somewhere between setting the sauce to simmer and actually eating it, the heat found its way back to high.
I'm not entirely sure whether I said something wrong or whether one of my helpful sous-chefs made an adjustment.
Either way...
I burned it.
A little.
Thankfully, most of it survived.
Everyone still loved it.
It will absolutely be back on the menu.
Perhaps with slightly less charring next time.
Saturday morning brought our next lesson on the Apostles' Creed.
And I think we've officially found our rhythm.
The packet worked.
The conversation was great.
The kids asked questions.
We talked through things together.
Exactly what I hoped these lessons would become.
Then came something I've been waiting for.
Baseball.
David started getting ready.
Glove.
Cleats.
Gear.
Water.
And one realization:
Those baseball shoes are getting tight.
He says he can make them work this season.
We'll see.
That boy simply refuses to stop growing.
I have absolutely no idea where he gets that.
Then we got to the field.
Fifteen kids.
One team.
A quick parent meeting.
And two hours of practice ahead.
Then I heard it.
The first pop of a baseball hitting a glove.
The crack of a bat.
The chatter across the field.
Coaches calling instructions.
Kids hustling from one drill to another.
Oh yes.
Baseball is back, baby.
And David looked good.
We didn't accomplish nearly as much baseball work this summer as we'd planned, but I can already see improvement.
During some drills, he got time at first base.
The coach also spotted something almost immediately.
There's more power hiding in David's throw.
A lot more.
He showed me a simple drill we can work on together at home to start unlocking it.
Perfect.
Dad homework accepted.
The only thing that apparently didn't get the memo about fall baseball was the weather.
It was hot.
Really hot.
Eventually, the field's water stopped working, so I grabbed the rest of the family and made a quick gas-station run for bottles of water.
Lesson learned.
From now on:
Cooler.
Ice.
Water.
Lots of it.
Spring baseball gradually gets hotter.
Fall baseball apparently begins by waiting for North Carolina to remember what the word "fall" means.
Sunday morning, despite a full Saturday, we made it to church on time.
I'm counting that as another victory.
Unfortunately, sometime after church, my body decided it had contributed enough to the weekend.
I started feeling rough.
By Sunday afternoon, I was definitely sick.
This morning?
Still sick.
The boys are already at school.
Zoey is waking up and getting ready to start her week.
Asher rode with Mama to drop the boys off because Dad was having a difficult time convincing himself that leaving the bed was a reasonable idea.
His school day will start when they get home.
Mine needs to start too.
Eventually.
There are meetings today.
Things to accomplish.
Classes to review.
Progress that needs to keep moving.
I'm going to give it a shot and see what my body thinks about that plan.
It may veto the motion.
Another Monday.
Another week.
But this morning, I'm holding onto the sounds from Saturday.
Glove.
Bat.
Chatter.
Laughter.
Baseball is back.
That's enough to make this sick Dad smile.
Not every good weekend needs something profound attached to it. Sometimes dinner gets burned and everyone eats it anyway. Sometimes a lesson with your kids turns into exactly the conversation you hoped it would. Sometimes your son steps onto a baseball field and you realize he's grown again, both in his shoes and in his game. Then sometimes Monday arrives and your body tells you very clearly that it would prefer you return to bed. I'll listen as long as I can. But for now, I'm grateful for a good weekend, another week ahead, and the sound of baseball again.
Much love.
Stay safe.
Wash your damn hands.
Seriously.
Wash your damn hands.
And I will see you, next time.
