This year the husband was recruited to coach J’s Tee-ball team. He agreed with great enthusiasm. The Guy In Charge, however, made the unilateral decision to move J from the Tee-ball team up a level to “coach pitch”.
I assume this change occurred because of my child’s pronounced aptitude – nay, prowess for the sport, but this change put the husband in the unenviable position of playing team pitcher as well as coach. My first thought was that a full grown man really ought to be able to, not only, pull his weight on a team full of first and second graders, but also to beat those little shits into the ground with a skill set full of coordination and motor skills that they will not acquire for years, and then take a victory lap around their tiny bases with his VIP trophy. I mean, these are little kids. Some of them still aren’t 100% on what a ball is.
The husband was not as psyched. He pointed out that although he, an adult, will be the team pitcher, so will all the other grown-up coaches and it’s probable that they will all be better at it than he is.
He had a valid point.
After two very educational, informative and short practices, the kids ran out of time were ready to take the field.
I dressed for the weather, which was supposed to be nice. In fact, I spent two hours digging around for my (extensive) collection of flip flops because during the great washer replacement of ’14 the husband moved them. He put them somewhere safe.
I never found them, but I did find two that sort of looked alike and called it close enough. At least I had both a right and a left. I’d have settled for less. I told all the other Moms they came from that store that sells mismatching socks (because I’m trendy). They did not appear to believe me.
I set up camping chairs for K and myself behind the batters box, where I could see J on the field as well as the bench. I don’t know why they even have a bench. J’s tiny ass might graze it once when he’s tired towards the end of the game, but otherwise he spends his bench time, along with the rest of the team, in orbit around the bench, climbing the fence, or over by the batting cage, where the three kids next up swing metal bats freely in an enclosed area.
It’s beginning to get cold.
J’s team is at home, so they’re out in the field first. Now that J plays Little League instead of Tee-Ball, a new position has been added to the line-up.
Catcher.
Catcher is, by far, the shittiest position in Little League. The poor wretched soul chosen as “catcher” is dressed in all the trappings of an adult catcher, but has neither the motor skills necessary to do the job nor a willingness to catch the ball. The padding and helmet are heavy, which, on the upside, reminds the doomed child to squat, but the catchers mask is too large for most of them to see or hear while it rests upon their tiny heads. So they sit there, completely mute, with their gloves stuck out in front of them and positively no idea what’s happening.
Consequently, Madison, the little girl playing catcher today, is beaten like a rented mule. Every pitch just kind of bonks off her little body and falls sadly to the ground, whereupon we all watch while she scrambles around, twisting the mask this way and that in a vain attempt to lay eyes on the elusive ball.
J is stationed deep out in right field, diligently picking his nose. I assume that’s why he is stationed deep out in right field.
During the second inning, it gets windy. By the time J’s team is up again, K and I are huddled together for warmth. I begin to regret seriously my choice of mismatched flip-flops.
A bug flies up my nose. It does not come out.
As with all of J’s games, immediately preceding the first (and therefore most important) time that my son has his turn at bat, K announces that she has to pee, can absolutely not wait until we get home, and we better go now… Or else. Our only option is The Port-a-Potty.
The Port-a-Potty.
A place so foul, so disgusting, so utterly loathsome that it could, and maybe has been, weaponized by the government. It’s covered top to bottom in gonorrhea, so K is understandably excited to smear her bare flesh all over it’s filthy surfaces. I wonder if the CDC knows about this place. There is no TP. There is no soap or hand sanitizer. There is no light, so I have to use one of my flip flops to hold the door (a “door” only in the very loosest sense of the word, it’s more like a thin plastic petri dish) open.
Her pants are down in a flash, and I catch her just before she climbs onto the repellant blue and brown hole head first. I spy something moving in a dark corner and pray for a swift and painless death.
I wonder, just for a moment, what I’d do if she fell in, but the thought is gone as quickly as it enters my mind. I’m a mother, I’ll do what I have to.
I’ve got another one to take care of me in my old age. She’s on her own.
I lift her onto the pot. Immediately she touches everything moist within her reach and tries to stick her hands in her mouth.
I snort the bug further up my nose. Whatever, it’s the least of my problems now.
Hopefully, the dirt and sand K has ground into her hands from running around the playground before the game will somehow decontaminate whatever nightmare port a potty disease is waiting to infect us all.
In situations like these I find it’s best to make up your own science.
K and I get back to the camp chairs and J’s team is up at bat again. The husband is pitching. K marvels at how many bugs are flying around my head. The husband throws a super shitty pitch.
My jaw drops. Everything moves in slow motion.
The ball is headed directly for the cranium of Sydney, the smallest of all the small children on J’s team. The husband is gesturing wildly and yelling:
“Mmmooooovvve” (in that really deep slow-mo voice)
The child stares back at him blankly, wondering; I’m sure, just what in all hell these new antics could be.
I have just enough time to wonder whether the team is required to sign a legal waiver before the baseball collides with her cheek. Spit flies from her tiny mouth as her head twists slowly towards me from the force of impact. The other team’s catcher sits there with his glove out, completely unaware of the goings-on.
The husband takes off running (in slo-mo, of course – Chariots of Fire should have been playing in the background) for the batters box. The parents (except me because I’m a horrible person- I’d have a box of popcorn on my lap if I’d thought to bring it) turn away in horror, and Sydney just stands there for a moment looking shocked. Then, she lets out a scream so shrill that only dogs can hear, because we most certainly can not. All hands on deck.
They do sign waivers, don’t they?
Sydney is benched and iced. At least we don’t have to worry about keeping the ice cold. It’s so cold we could have just sat her down in the wind. The official ruling is “accidental boo-boo” and the game goes on. No reconstructive surgery, no foul.
J’s team is in the field again. The batters on the opposing team are continually hitting pop fly’s. All of our little fielders have the best of intentions – they get under the ball, they call it. They wait for it with their little gloves open… And then… when the ball gets to be 20… 10 feet away, they cringe, cover their heads with their gloves and run away. It’s like a really cold Monty Python skit.
On the whole, this strategy seems to be prolonging our game. I start to think about burning my flip flops for warmth.
Finally, we make it to the bottom of the sixth. My ass is frozen to the camp chair, and I’ve done away with my flip flops in favor of extra baseball gloves on my frostbitten feet. The little fat kid (Oh come on– all teams have one) is up to bat. The husband throws the pitch. Everything seems okay; I see no bloodshed in our immediate future. The little fat kid gets ready to swing but checks it instead.
It’s a one in a million shot.
The ball hit the bat and careens directly into little fat kid’s eye.
Little fat kid drops to his fat little knees and starts to cry.
We are so getting sued.
In case you needed another reason, this is why all the other Moms hate me:
When the ball hit the little fat kid in the eye, I snort laughed. I couldn’t stop it – it was snort laughed out into the atmosphere before I had time to mask my amusement. I understand that I’m a terrible person, I live with it, but I do my best to try and conceal it from all the other moms (most of whom are snort-laughing on the inside).
Little fat kid should have a nice shiner by morning and, mercifully, the next kid struck out and ended the game. It was a miserable loss for my son’s team (not that we keep score). Little fat kid was soon placated by what was already looking to be a glorious battle scar and the after game snack; little chocolate donuts and “juice” (which may or may not contain actual juice) pouches.
What I learned today is that little chocolate donuts cover a multitude of sins. All the children were happy. Madison, pummeled by the ball for the whole game was smiling and chasing her teammates despite her bruised and broken little body. Sydney, even with tears and the ice pack frozen solid to her tiny face, was smiling as she received her little chocolate donuts. J ate his snack and then pushed the car home (with us inside) and slept very well. Even K got a package, and happily crunched away on the dirt, sand, and diphtheria deposited upon her little chocolate donuts by her revolting port-a-potty hands (before I could get over to her and take them away. Tears. Lots of tears).
On to the first away game!
quiall said:
That was hilarious!! And that snort laugh was just to dislodge the bug. I’m just
say’n . . .
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naptimethoughts said:
OMG, that is the perfect cover story! WHY do you never think of these things at the TIME…
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Belladonna Took said:
Funniest thing I’ve read in a while! What IS it about Americans and impossible sports costumes???
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naptimethoughts said:
Thank you! And we Americans are good for making things difficult. The idea is sound, protection from the hard ball headed directly at the child at God knows what speed, but we need to work on getting some equipment that FITS the children. Or just wrap them in bubble wrap and call them good to go. Either way they won’t be able to see or hear, at least the bubble wrap is nice and light.
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ParentingIsFunny said:
First of all, where have you been? I was seriously wondering if you had somehow unsubscribed because I’d offended you in some way–if that were possible: the offending or the unsubscribing–whichever. Secondly, good to see you again! And third, awesome story. You’re always good for a laugh. And, I’m too chicken to put my kids in sports at all, so more power to you!
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naptimethoughts said:
Yeah, I’ve sort of been on hiatus. Real world crap has seriously gotten in the way of my blog life. I hate when that happens, but I would never unsubscribe to you! You rock! I’ve just been totally out of it.
NO sports for your kids? I’ll admit, I’m picky. He plays baseball and soccer, and because of his body type, he’ll probably want to run track when he gets older, but no football or any other sort of cranium bashing sport. I have to let him do something though, otherwise, I’d have to watch him all the time, and nobody needs that sort of time suck.
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ParentingIsFunny said:
I hate when life gets in the way of my virtual life. 🙂 I think my kids aren’t doing sports because a) they’re girls and they’d rather play princess dress up, and b) I never played sports so it just doesn’t come natural for me to put them in sports. I hope they don’t grow up needing therapy due to a deprived childhood.
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naptimethoughts said:
No, I think girls are different. If J weren’t playing some kind of sport he’d end up with Tourette’s or something, but I think K would be okay. Girls are easier at his age. Don’t worry about not playing sports leading to the couch — I’m sure you’ll have screwed the pooch a million different ways before they’re old enough to blame you for stuff. I catch myself doing irreparable damage all the time. Can’t help it. It’s part of parenting. You let them watch TV, you didn’t let them watch TV. You made them eat healthy, you gave them too many sweets, eventually it’s all going to be your fault no matter what you do, so have some fun before they hate you.
love,
Little Miss Sunshine
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Spoken Like A True Nut said:
I totally would’ve snort laughed out loud too.
Terrible people, unite!
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naptimethoughts said:
Thank you. Thank you for being honest about your snort laugh. Little fat kids having not-serious accidents is FUNNY. Honestly, I’d have snort laughed at anybody in that situation, but little fat kids are extra funny. They just are. He might as well have slipped on a banana peel.
We may be terrible people, but stifling your snort laughs will take years off your life. We’ll be snort laughing when all those polite folks are loooong gone.
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Paul said:
Very funny NTT. Ha! miniature chocolate donuts – the answer to many of he world’s problems. We should air drop millions of them on the Middle East hot spots – no way fighting could continue at least until all the donuts were eaten and likely well after. Or, as the prescription often reads: repeat as needed.
Great story – i wasn’t surprised when a contrary cat such as yourself laughed at the poor little injured player. May your feline fur be ridden with fleas. ha!
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Paul said:
Oh, great pictures of your relatives in the “Free Little League Pics” photo. Hilarious.
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naptimethoughts said:
You got me, the kitties are my Mom and Dad. I got my Mom’s fur.
Nice to see you, Paul!
Thank you, and I agree – little chocolate donuts should be served at every meeting between the powers that be, everywhere in the World, whenever they occur. There ought to be a lovely crystal bowl in the middle of the table containing enough little chocolate donuts to keep everyone all carbed up for weeks. We’d get so much more accomplished with hostess in the room.
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naptimethoughts said:
Or entenmanns, Little Debbie… Whatever.
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lrconsiderer said:
Nothing like a diphtheria-soaked baked good. But it’s okay because if she gets sick you can just go and chuck her back in the portapotty and her vomit might clean it up a little.
I felt like I was WITH YOU THERE (cold feet and all!) and WOW am I glad I got to live this one vicariously 😉
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naptimethoughts said:
Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed my cold feet. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, she is sick. She’s been out of sorts all morning and just now I picked her up and she feels like a hot water bottle. What does one do for diphtheria, anyway? God I hope she doesn’t puke. I hate puke.
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lrconsiderer said:
Errrrrgh I hate puke, too. Keep her fluids up and give her calpol. Poor love 😦
In emergency, let her have a ‘sea bath’ and that’s a bit of fun, as well. I hope she doesn’t puke.
Hang on in there, mama!
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naptimethoughts said:
Yeah, I gave her some stomach medicine, but I’m afraid she’s going to need something for her fever too… That’s a direct route to puke. Maybe I can strap a trash bag onto her head like a horse’s feed bag and just change it out every few hours. I’m sure that won’t screw her up at all. Good blog fodder for her later in life, though.
“My Mom sucked so much…”
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snoozing on the sofa said:
I bet the last kid struck out on purpose. He probably stood 10 feet back from the plate and swung at the air three times so he grab his donut and get home in one piece. It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you manage to not get wounded.
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naptimethoughts said:
I dunno, Little Fat Kid was pretty popular after his bruised eye started swelling up. A veritable war hero. I think it’s more likely that the husband threw the ball a thousand feet away from the kid, and the kid swung anyway. Every single one of them thinks they’ll hit a home run every time they bat, so they just swing at whatever comes their way. No matter what they tell the husband before the game.
They do get awfully tired by the end of the game, however. Oh wait, no, that’s me.
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EmilyMaine said:
Haha that was too hilarious. ALL of it. I love how you never fail to make me laugh. X
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naptimethoughts said:
Thanks Emily. A good laugh is always a welcome thing, for me anyhow.
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Meg C. DeBoe said:
Lol!
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naptimethoughts said:
Glad you liked it, Meg!
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elainecanham said:
Well, I had absolutely no idea what that was about, but I loved every minute of it. I got the potty (been there), flaking nail varnish (i have that, from last June) and the urge to laugh when something embarrassing happens to someone else’s child. Welcome back NTT, it’s been awfully boring without you.
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naptimethoughts said:
Your boys are out there playing rugby! J will play rugby over my dead and cold body. I don’t know if I’m back, but I’m giving it the old college try. Real life so gets in the way of my much more fun blogging life.
Do you really need to know what my posts are about?
I’m not sure I know what my posts are about.
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elainecanham said:
Yes, and if you told me what it was about, you’d have to kill me…
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naptimethoughts said:
Not necessarily, I’ll tell you privately and you can start rumors on the internet, like that gold/blue dress thing.
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A.PROMPTreply said:
This is the funniest post I’ve read in such a long time. It’s like a little snowball rolling downhill, picking up speed, and gaining comedic momentum as it goes. I smiled and then I grinned, and then I chuckled, and then I laughed and then I had no breath left in me and it just kept on coming! Wonderful post and thank God you’re back to keep us all in stitches!
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naptimethoughts said:
Thanks! There’s nothing funnier than groups of little kids trying to get something accomplished.
Hopefully, I’m back for a while, I think it depends on Real Life. Stupid Real Life is always sucking away my blog time. And then there are my kids who think that I should “spend time with them” and “feed them” and “dress them” and all those dumb things. God, they’re so needy.
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A.PROMPTreply said:
God! How dare they? Do they not know that we here on WP are deprived in the face of their needs? Selfish critters you seem to be producing over there, NTT. 🙂
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naptimethoughts said:
I know, I know. I’ll have to do something about them. They’re behaving like children.
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peakperspective said:
Oh, god, there are no words to describe your blissful adventures in parenting other than, “I feel for you. I really, truly feel for you. And I’m sorry I’m laughing at your awful experiences. Sortof.”
There. those are the only words I can come up with.
Everything else that comes out is strictly sharp intakes of breath and howling peels of shrieking glee.
It was worthy.
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naptimethoughts said:
Snort-worthy?
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cheergerm said:
OMG Naptime…snort-worthy is one of my fave sayings and this is totes in that category. I have been known to snort when laughing. All of us who snort should stand united. You make sport interesting and that is a big deal.
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naptimethoughts said:
Snort laughers unite. I agree. Thank you, I too am usually bored by sports, but children and organized sports make for such interesting chaos. It’s like herding cats. The blog writes itself.
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Kate @ Did That Just Happen? said:
I’m dying, I have contracted diphtheria via this post and it is killing me now. Or I could be on the verge of peeing my pants because this is by far the most accurate retelling of a Little League Game I’ve ever read!!! oh my goodness!!
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naptimethoughts said:
I didn’t know diphtheria was communicable via satellite. I’m so sorry– You didn’t even get to rub yourself on a port-a-potty.
Thank you for the accuracy points. I never thought I would have so much fun watching him in sports. For the record, I find professional sports boring. I’ve been to precisely one pro baseball game in my life — but J’s games are always fun. Perhaps if professional athletes started wandering around in the outfield, picking their noses and having tantrums their popularity would increase.
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John Coleman said:
Enjoyed this–especially you snorting when the one kid’s foul tip hits him in the eye. Once when I was pitching to Micah he foul tipped the damn ball into his mouth. When he stood up there was blood aplenty, and his front tooth was dangling from a tendon. A moment not to be forgotten. Peace, John
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naptimethoughts said:
Was it at least a baby tooth? Ugh, I hate teeth. J’s chases me around wiggling his loose teeth just to torture me. Poor Micah – that must have sucked, although, I probably would have snort-laughed in his general direction as well. Nothing personal, but funny is funny, even if teeth are involved.
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Outlier Babe said:
Most enjoyed, as did others, the porta-potty and snort-laugh, but as well the section on Madison. You did a great job of illustrating how she is overwhelmed by her ill-fitting equipment–like a cartoon turtle in a shell two sizes too big.
Thanks for the escape.
🙂
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naptimethoughts said:
Anytime, and thank you. I never thought about it, but yes, a turtle in a shell two sizes too big is exactly what they look like. I think they bought all their equipment in size medium and hope it fits more kids than it doesn’t fit. And that the parents don’t sue.
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pieterk515 said:
I did a lot more than snort-laughed whilst reading this, hilarious….by the way, where have you been!!
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naptimethoughts said:
On hiatus… Sort of. My real life got in the way of blogging. Don’t you hate it when that happens?
Thanks Pieter. I’ve been trying to make it over to Ah Dad and catch up, but as soon as I got back to the blog – both kids got strep throat. I’ve been nurse mommy this week, busy trying to keep typhoid J and K from infecting any more kids (or grown ups for that matter).
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Stalwart Sam said:
Alright, I admit, the first section didn’t impress me while that first photo threw me. By the time of the second photo, I was back to neutral. By the third photo, I was snickering. Fourth photo, I’m trying to not to laugh out loud since I’m at work. Fifth photo, I’m trying not to guffaw. Sixth photo, I’m trying not to fall out of my chair.
Hilarious! I’m glad you invited me.
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naptimethoughts said:
Glad you made it Sam. I agree totally, the first part of the post was not my best work, but I’m glad you hung on till the end. I haven’t been around much lately and Naptimethoughts has suffered. I hope to be back soon – much more frequently.
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bzirkone said:
Bullshit. The whole thing is funny.
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naptimethoughts said:
Ha! Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
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