With the weather as perfect as it was, we all headed outside; just to be in the Bistro and enjoy those first few breaths of "sprummer". I accomplished so much that I felt like Supermom and Wonderwife. Actually I was busting my hump so I could take Mother's Day off ; REALLY off and not feel guilty. Mission accomplished. After all, it's about me. ha ha.
So I sat and listened while the fire crackled to life and fought off the cool creeping in with the sunset. We had just a couple of extra kids left. They had played all day long and were just beginning to tire. We'd had a nice day. I love times like these.
The kickball came out. I shifted in my seat and studied the great event. I love kickball. When I was little, I stunk. I was the kid that missed, kicked it backwards, fell down and was out anyway. This game began horribly skewed: one against two. I watched for a while but decided the carnage was unnecessary. I stepped into the grass and took the outfield.
"Does this mean we have to go home?" my new teammate asked.
"Nope. Pitch. I'll get them out."
She stopped and stared. "Really?"
"Yep." I faced my children.
She grinned. "I GET YOUR MOOOOOOOM!" she hollered.
My kids froze. "NO WAY! That's not fair!"
I explained it was and the game was actually a little more balanced so suck it up and play ball.
"Let it ROLL!" Cheech yelled from the bistro. He was all propped up on the sofa; enjoying this. He knows me tooooooo well!
My daughter bunted and took off. My pitcher threw up her hands as if the ball was made of molten lava and ran away. I caught it mid air. THUCK!
"ONE~" I laughed.
My son was next. He glared at me. He unfortunately has inherited my competitive streak. I hunkered down and waggled my fingers. " Come on Big shot. Show me!" I gruffed and shifted my weight from side to side. He did. He charged that ball and let it rip; right over my head. I dashed after it. He'd have been safe with a double but he got greedy. I should have let him go. But I got ... carried away. And I beaned my son, knocking him to the ground. He hit the dirt with a windy "uhhhh HUH!" He got up with a snarl. It was as if we didn't know (or like) each other.
"TWO!" I yelled juggling the ball between hands.
"Don't worry Mom." he said stomping back to home. "You'll never get to three....it's a rule in our house."
Man my son is quick. We fake smiled at each other. Game on.
My husband (and most of the neighborhood) sensed the intensity. He came out and took the ball away. My teammate was doing somersaults and handstands. Girls. Geez!
"I'm pitchin!" he fired a look at me in warning. I relaxed. Game? What game? This is called family fun. I grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Point taken. Game OVER.
Then our team was up. I had no shoes on so barefootin it brought a sting to the game (aside from not being able to compete) and some FABULOUS bruises. PREEETTY girl.
We laughed and Keystone-Copped the game (fake throwing and dropping when we could) while the kids ran and screamed. My teammate had somehow lost sight of the baseline and was just running through the grass. My daughter was picking tall weeds from the back woods and making a crown. I believe she wanted this to be some sort of uniform. Slowly I noticed that with every inning change more kids showed up. And then there were parents in the bistro around the fire with their wine glasses cheering us on.
I lost six to five. I smiled when my son came in and hugged me.
"Thanks Mom. Thanks Daddy. You're cool."
It will probably be one of the last times I hear that. I'll file it away here and revisit. Times like these are good.
Hope you had some too this week. Thanks for stopping by. Come again.
