Love my boys. Love em to death and I will gladly make mud pies and participate in worm eating contests but I’m just not the sporty type of dad.
I love sports don’t get me wrong. I’m one of the biggest Michigan Wolverines football fans you’ll ever meet (Go Blue) but I’m more of a spectator than anything else.
So when my baby bear begged me to go out and play baseball with him this afternoon, I reluctantly dragged myself up off the couch and out to the front yard to throw the ball around.
He quickly grabbed his ball, his cap, his jersey, his helmet, the bat, the glove, the kitchen sink and water bottle while I stood out in the front yard in my ballerina flats and hoop earrings waiting for him to come out with nothing more than a ball and bat.
When he finally came out completely prepared for the World Series, he set everything on the ground and exclaimed: Oh! oops, I forgot the get the basements.
The What? I asked.
“The BASE-MENTS” he slowly pronounces as if to say “Duh old lady”
You mean, the bases darling?
Yeah. The basements.
Desperately trying to hold back the giggles, I went over and gave him a big hug and said, “You just made my day little guy!”
We ran around the “Basements” a few times then headed in for dinner.