Monday, March 26, 2012

Softball Hangover

Today I woke up with one helluva softball hangover.

I wish I could tell you that "softball" is newest shooter being served in all the downtown bars and the college kids love it!  What?  You haven't even heard of it?  Awwww.  Well, bless your heart.

But, nope.  When I say "softball", I actually mean softball, as in, the sport.  But don't let the name fool you.  I've had Jose Cuervo that did less damage.

We spent all weekend at the ballpark for Bailey's tournament.  I ate so many hot dogs that I qualified for the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest.  So if you need me on July 4th, I'll be in New York giving that Joey Chestnut a run for his money!

In addition to the lips and buttholes food group, I also ate more than my recommended daily allowance of cotton candy.  They sell that stuff for a dollar at the ballpark.  ONE DOLLAR.  I just slapped a twenty on the counter and said, "Keep 'em comin, y'all!"

I also made the mistake of wearing big sunglasses all weekend.  Do you know what happens when you mix big sunglasses, lilly white skin, and harmful UV rays?  Ahem.  If it may please the court, I would like to present Exhibit A:

Imagine a bright red face with STARK WHITE circles where those fake Chanels used to be.

I'm working on a good story, though - like, "Why has your esthetician not talked to you about this amazing new skin care treatment?  It's GREAT for fine lines and wrinkles around the eyes.  Angelina Jolie does it! Girl, after this, I'm going to look almost as young as I tell people I am."


I make it sound like I'm complaining, but I'm really not.  I actually love the ballpark.  I get to enjoy some fresh air and fun without thinking about bills, work, conquering Mt. Washmore or blogging.  The other moms and I cheer on our kids, yell at the umpires, and even squeeze in a little girl talk between innings.  It's sort of like a Girl's Night Out except that I don't have to wear uncomfortable shoes or Spanx.

And you know what makes spending time at the ballpark even better?  WINNING (said like Charlie Sheen).  Bay's team won five out of six games.  They took home 1st PLACE in their age group.

Awards presentation 

And I don't mean to brag here, but.... okay, I'm bragging.  SO SUE ME.  Bailey pitched a no-hitter!  WHASSUP, Y'ALL.  She was bringin' the heat!

Seconds before hearing the umpire shout, "STRIIIIIIIKE!"

My daughter is so talented.  Too bad I can't say the same thing about her mother.

I have zero athletic ability.  Less than zero, actually.  I can't catch or throw or run very fast, and come to find out, those are pretty important skills if you want to be an athlete.  WHO KNEW.

I was a cheerleader, though, and not too shabby if I may bragblog some more.  Of course, I'm naturally VERY LOUD and that does help.

I make hearing aids obsolete. 

So when Bailey was three-years-old, I did what you are supposed to do: I enrolled her in a ballet class.  Then when she was four, she started gymnastics, and by five, she was cheerleading.  AM I A GREAT MOM OR WHAT?

But Bailey was terrible.  Poor thing.  She had broken wrists on her high V's and she couldn't keep an 8-count to save her life.

This is what Bailey's Hell looks like.

And I thought, 'Maybe I wasn't that good when I was young, either.  You know - maybe you have to grow into your cheer abilities a little bit.'

I never even considered that she might want to play *GULP* competitive sports?

But when Bailey was six-years-old, she asked if she could play softball.  WELL, WON'T THAT BE ADORABLE.  We'll buy the cutest pink glove and you'll look precious in that uniform!  The photos will be perfect.

My sweet baby waiting to get her first softball trophy.

But guess what?  She was great!  She could catch, throw AND run.

Apparently this sort of thing skips a generation.

So, lesson learned, parents.  Our kids are completely different people who might want to do completely different things.  It's important to ask our kids what they want to do.  Every person should be allowed to chase their dreams... even if that dream comes with dirt-covered clothes, bruised knees and a tube of eye black.

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