Baseball Season

You know that we Morningstars have a passion, nay - an obsession, with organized sports. Any given Sunday or other day of the week when sporting events are televised we're glued to the sportsy station, cheering on our team(s) and eating appropriately themed snack foods... ok... I can carry the charade no further. So we're not really sports people, but for the last few years we've roused ourselves from our sports-phobia and enjoyed six magical weeks of t-ball. This year we took it up a notch.

As you can see from the clipboard and pensive pose, Steve is no longer merely Dad - he is now Coach Steve. Heh heh heh, I giggle a little on the inside just writing that. He's actually really great at it and the kids love him, and t-ball is right up his alley since there are really no rules or points involved and you've achieved stellar coaching success if your first baseman can throw the ball halfway to home. Unsurprisingly, he's the only coach I saw today wearing Birkenstocks.

Despite having a raging case of strep throat, Ben had a pretty good time at his first t-ball game of 2009 (we Morningstars won't let a little infectious disease keep us from the sport we love! Ok, that's not true, we didn't know he had strep till we finally went to instacare this evening and Ben and I got antibiotics. Groan. I'm so sick of being sick!). He whacked the ball with gusto and kept the grass firmly attached to the field by sitting on it during all of his time in the outfield. We are also proud to note that unlike his teammates who were chasing after the ball in large clumps of be-sneakered feet and tiny baseball mitts, Ben never once fought his teammates for control of the ball or even rose to attempt to retrieve it when it rolled near him. Way to share the spotlight, buddy.

Sam's first coach-pitch game came right after Ben's t-ball game. It's kind of a pain that they're not on the same team, but Sam is really enjoying the heated competition of coach-pitch. My heart swelled with pride today when, after warm-up time, Sam's coach called, "Ok, kids, over to the dugout!" and I heard my son's voice above the crowd asking, "What's a dugout?" We should probably get Sam some sort of "Kid's Guide to Baseball" book so he can brush up on his vocabulary... I'm not sure that Calvin and Hobbes is providing enough educational value on the baseball front. That's ok, I had an equally embarrassing moment when I asked another parent if it mattered which side of the bleachers we sat on. Apparently one's simply supposed to know these things.