I'm listening to a baseball game from my library. The kids in the neighborhood are here and are, as my mother used to say,"blowin off the stink". As usual, there is a lot of shouting which causes me to turn and look. As I watch, I realize they have made up their own rules. By my best guess, there are no less than seven bases.
Let's examine the bases while we're at it. First base is our swing set. Fine. Second is reached by running underneath the club house (attached to said swing set) and jumping through the tire swing. Third is the garden fence. Have I mentioned that we are moving in a straight line? Yep. Okay, now we've traveled about 100 yards so far. Fourth is down the length of the garden fence (no small task...but that's another blog) where you bang a left, run over or through the dog poo and onto the mound (It is a bunker for our sand pit and golf shots when not occupied by a legion of Tonka trucks or miscellaneous plastic toy gardening tools ). Through the sand we travel to the first of two cherry trees which equal five and six. We bang another left and head for the manhole cover and back to home which is the bat that you left when you embarked on this incredible journey. Whoa Baby! Pack a sandwhich and take some flares before you head out! I think an inning is achieved after fourth base is tagged. It must be a time zone issue. I swear!
I giggle as my son gives the "Babe Ruth" point and cocks his wrists. The rest of the neighborhood comes in close and begins their taunting. Ben is not known to be a powerhouse OR a good sport (when it comes to teasing). Sissy is pitching. Winston, our dog, is the cheerleader as well as the first, second and third baseman. My daughter winds up and fires one off. Ben swings, misses and falls down. Maddie laughs and calls a strike from the garden; not to mention the others who are pointing and goading him. Now Boo is mad. He sets up again and yells "That all you got?! Gimme somethin good." So his sister beans him in the arm.
"Not so HARD" he pouts with proud tears in his eyes and gives her his "look". It appears just before he jumps her like a rabid Spider monkey. I can hear his teeth grinding from inside the house. "Come closer Maddie, so I can hit it." He says. I get up and head for the door. This is going to go wrong. I can feel it.....
In the three and a half seconds it takes me to get to the back door to play umpire I hear this CRACK and a scream that separates the nerves from my spinal cord, backed up by a second screech for good measure. I rip open the back door just in time to see the neighborhood kids scurrying off yelling "I didn't do it!" and "It wasn't me!"
There at the edge of the porch is Boo with the bat and Maddie rocking back and forth on the ground. They are both in tears and Winston is frantic. I dash out, feeling panic and fear sizzling in my veins.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You were too close" He's sobbing.
"You HIT me" she's screeching through angry snot and tears.
Winston is barking and attacks my pant leg. "Stop it!" I yell at him but the kids think I'm mad at them so they start wailing. "What happened?" I shout in exasperation. This is a mistake because now everyone is talking and that includes the neighborhood kids who didn't really leave but merely got out of arms reach. Ten kids are talking and gesturing. I'm drowning in: "He hit her" "She hit him first" "Can I use your bathroom?" or " I'm thirsty". Plus crying. Don't forget the crying. My brain itches and I still can't see where Maddie's hurt. She is hyperventilating while Ben pleads his case. Winston is chewing the ball and growling. I touch my daughter's leg which seems to be the focus of all the gesturing and slow motion re-enactments going on around me. She wails and smacks me away. Not good. The kids all zoom in for a look at the carnage. I swish them away like gnats and realize I am almost in tears.
"Let me see Honey. Show me." I beg.
She's red cheeked and her voice hitches "It huh-huh-ERTS Mommy! Ma-ah l-eg HURTS!"
Ben screams "You were too CLOSE Maddie! I--t was an a-a-a-accident" This is followed by hiccups and sobs. Winston burps and finds something to roll in , managing to get my feet tangled up in his leash in the process.
But Supermom arrives in the nick of time. I hear myself begin to bark at the spectators "You! Go get ice from the freezer. You go get me the phone. You take the dog....What the ? Give me my shoe. BEN! Help your sister. " For all the things I've said, this is the most valuable. He suddenly tunes in. He's holding her hand. He's telling her she's all right. I think I hear him tell her a joke. She smiles. I roll up the dreaded pant leg and begin to check her out. I see an ugly black bruise forming above her knee.
Three of the kids have returned; with no ice, no phone but juice boxes plus a bag of cookies. Winston is trailing behind, snorting happily. Before I know it, there is a picnic. While snacking, everyone is replaying the incident in the grass....including Maddie. She is making the bionic sound (vuut-duut-duut-duuut!) and flopping about dramatically. Ben is throwing the ball in the air and swinging. Suddenly, there's THUCK as the ball rockets to the end of the yard. Before I can blink, the game is on again. Everyone dashes to their positions while Ben runs the gauntlet for home. The shortstop is chasing him but I can see he has no intention of tagging Boo out. He's going to get it...a home run. I eat a cookie and suck a juice box dry in one gulp as my son slides into "home plate" Maddie runs to him and hugs him tightly. "YOU DID IT!" she hollers and he hugs her back. "Yeah, I did. You're the greatest pitcher EVER Maddie."
Ahhhh yes, America's favorite past-time. Have a cookie. I'll call 911.
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