For the sake of those of you who sometimes write to tell me what a perfect mother I am (don’t get me wrong, keep ‘em coming!) I thought I would share the following:
Unlike his older brothers, Raphael hates baseball. Especially when games run past his bedtime, the temperatures dip below 40, and his mother will not allow him to toddle onto the field in the middle of play. You know it’s bad when your baby screams loud and long enough so that you feel compelled to get up and walk away from an outdoor event where everyone else is screaming and clapping anyway. Here are some highlights from last evening:
1. What I know I should have been saying to the baby as I cradled his stiffened, screeching, arching body in my arms and paced along the edge of the woods:
Poor wittle baby, we’ll be going home soon…
What I actually said to the baby as I cradled his stiffened, screeching, arching body in my arms and paced along the edge of the woods:
You see those woods? I bet there are wolves in those woods. You wanna spend the rest of the game in there?
2. What the mom sitting next me at the game gave her kids for snacks:
Roasted Peanuts, in the shell
What I gave my kids for snacks at the game:
Nutter Butters, by the handful
3. What Ambrose said as we were leaving his game:
My coach says he scheduled an extra practice for tomorrow afternoon.
What I said as we were leaving his game:
Yeah? Well, forget it!