Five + One = Six

I'm learning.  Slowly, it seems, but I'm learning.  I chose to not make a comment the other day when every fiber of my being wanted to!  We'd been working on little man's 100th day of school t-shirt project; we'd discussed what he wanted to decorate his t-shirt with, and we made the trip into town to Michael's to get the things.


His decorations?  Balls.  100 of them:  baseballs, footballs, soccer balls, and basketballs.  His favorites. 


As we stood in the aisle, I tried to use the occasion as a 'teaching moment'.   (The balls were actually stickers, probably made for scrapbookers, but I figured they would stick to a t-shirt well enough to work...maybe not for long-term use, but they'd last through the day!)
The stickers come packaged in a cellophane sleeve in groups of 5, so I helped him count out 100.  He can count to 100 easily, but I wanted to help him do it by 5s, and then (making it quicker for me) 25s.   I showed him that 25 + 25 + 25 + 25 = 100.   We went over it several times.  And by, "we went over it several times", I mean:  I went over it several times.....to his lack of interest.  Next, after many many minutes of arguing and whining discussion, we decided on a black t-shirt for the ball stickers.  I paid for the items and off we went. 

We spent a good 45 minutes a couple of nights later working on the project.  More arguing and whining discussion about how the items should be placed on the t-shirt - finally, we grouped them in the simplest of ways - chaotically: no specific pattern...completely random. There were balls everywhere!   It actually turned out pretty cute, even if it was a little harum-scarum.
Sent the t-shirt and the little man off to school the next day, hoping for a good grade for our his project.

That afternoon on the ride home from school is where I had my little lesson on keeping my mouth shut.  I asked the little man how his presentation went (oh yeah, forgot to tell ya they had to "present" their work....explaining how they'd come to choose their objects, and how they'd grouped their objects on the shirt.  I'm sure that was entertaining.)
He told me it went "good", but he'd had too many balls on his shirt; the teacher counted them and he'd had 105.  I was immediately on the defensive, because I knew I was right and she was wrong....I mean, we counted the wrappers over and over and over!  Remember my 'teaching moment'???  But for some reason, I kept my mouth shut.  We got home from school, he parked himself in front of the tv, I went to quietly dig through the garbage.  

I found the cellophane wrappers that had held the stickers and sure enough, for whatever reason, the basketballs were packaged in groups of 6.  Why?  I have no idea.  But I missed it.  Completely.   And because I missed it, I never even thought of counting the stupid balls as we stuck them to the t-shirt.  Because of my mistake, he probably won't get the best grade he could have gotten. 

Now, did I come clean?  To him, yes.  I told him I'd missed the fact that the basketballs had more than 5 in the package.  

To his teacher?  No.  Maybe I should have, I don't know.  It was supposed to be his project.  I'm a rotten mom - I let the 6 year old take the heat.  Would it have done any good to tell?  I don't know.   

The kid?  Completely unfazed by the whole thing.

Me?  Going back to elementary math class.

football

This snippet of conversation heard Saturday morning between Nana and Ben, on our way to Ben's Very First Ever(!) football game.  Topic?  Obviously: the upcoming game.   

Nana asked Ben, "Did you know your Daddy was a football player?" 

Ben:  "But I thought he was an Engineer!"

:)

and the award goes to.......

Last night we were supposed to go to the ball park to celebrate the end of the fall t-ball season with a picnic party, but Mother Nature decided that we needed another soaking. So, fast and furious, our team mom scrambled to find a central meeting place - cue local pizza joint. Perfect.

We braved the cold, wet weather to meet the team for pizza and trophies (and lots of jumping up and down in the booths, laughing, talking, pizza, cookies, root 'beard', and fun). Coach Glenn was there; moms, dads, grandmas and all the kids from the team. As Coach stood up to give the trophies, you could see how much he'd truly enjoyed this team and how much time he'd spent working on the presentation of the trophies. It wasn't just stand up and hand out trophies, no - he'd made certificates for each player - even naming the awards after famous baseball players - while on the back of each certificate, he'd listed accomplishments for the child, and recommendations. This obviously took some time, thought and effort. He'd name the 'award', then tell why the particular player fit the criteria, then read off the accomplishments - funny, how as he listed them off, we could easily figure out who he was referring to! We had an awesome bunch of kids this fall season - so many little characters - but so sweet and so ready to play.

When it came time for our favorite little player to receive his award, Coach Glenn read off the title: "The Alex Rodriguez Award" for Best Overall Performance!
On the reverse side of the certificate is written:
Does: Many put outs - unassisted - 3 in one inning
Hits ball hard for power
Enthusiasm at every position
Shows learning by doing
Excels in all areas - also with team relationships and game situations!
Recommend playing all positions
Needs to: Relax at the plate when batting
Continue to play all positions
Study game situations & strategy
Teach other players to improve

Well, I don't mind telling you that this mama got a little misty. (I'm sure it was just the pepperoni and jalapeno pizza I'd been working on) I hid it well, though. I put the camera up to my face and snapped a few blurry, unfocused pics. Oh wait, I was blurry and unfocused - not the pics. Little man smiled like he'd won the world series. I don't know about you, but I can't get enough of that kid.

Great job, little man!

WAR EAGLE!!

Another episode in the "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" chronicles.

Lunchtime today: walked my sweet self into Subway for a sammich - sporting my favorite Auburn scrubs. Could there be any better job in the world than nursing???? I mean, I get to wear my pjs to work!

Well, doncha know the first thing the 'sandwich artist' behind the counter says is "Auburn!?" (hmm...it's hard to get across in typing form the nasal, sarcastic tone he used). Then, "didn't you see the sign on the door?"*

*Excuse me here - now, normally, I'd just laugh it off - because every.stinking.time I wear my AU scrubs to work I have to deal with the oh, so original! comments from the Dawg faithful that I'm forced to work with. A few brave souls (patients) might pipe up and mention something about my choice of teams - just a few though; I guess they know I could be the one administering their sedation for their colonoscopy, so I suppose they don't want to take a chance on gettin' me all riled up. (sorry, guess my redneck is showing)

Sooo. Back to Subway. Today, I'd had my fill. I turned around and looked at the door he indicated and said, 'No, but I could just as easy turn around and walk right back out that door'. No smile. Didn't laugh it off this time. The poor guy didn't know what to say!

I just don't understand it. Here I am a paying customer, and you're gonna insult me? Yeah, yeah - I know - he was just kidding. But sheesh! It happens every.stinking.time!!! I don't have a lot of AU paraphernalia; but the sweetest hubby IS an AU grad, so we are kind of proud to wear the team colors, y'know? We don't go overboard with it by any means - generally, it's a 'whatever is clean' in the closet kind of thing - so for someone to say something about it each and every time we wear our favorite team's logo, it gets kind of old.

Oh and um....I'm not stupid. I made sure to watch the 'artist' at work when he made my sandwich. Like I could possibly withhold your sedation if you get me riled up - he could do some really nasty things to my sammich - I'm just sayin........{shudder}

Hey, batta batta........!

And how was your weekend? Mine? Fantastically great, thanks for asking!
We woke up this morning to a bright, beautiful, sunshiney day - just a little chilly when wind would blow - but perfect for the first t-ball game of our little mans life.

Had a wonderful breakfast cooked up by the sweetest hubby in the world; eaten a little too leisurely, I guess, because we had to rush like whirling dervishes to get to the field by 10:15. The team came together on the field and got the final piece of their uniforms - new caps with their names/number embroidered on the back. Now, they're officially a team. And boy are they cute.

We weren't able to have practice last Saturday because of all the rain we had in the area, so the guys really have had only had one practice - at which, part of the time was taken up with pictures and just trying to herd 9 little boys into one small area - heck, some didn't even know how to put their glove on or throw a ball, much less the intricacies of playing the game. But, there's a schedule to keep, so off we go to the field.

Scrappers (yea!) v. Mudcats (boo)

The Scrappers got to bat first. Um, lemme pause a sec here. The coach said prior to the game that the players would bat in order of their jersey number. Ok, no problem there. Hmm...
Little man is number 8. One kid out today due to illness so that leaves our little guy batting last. All the other players got to hit and then run the bases - unless they were tagged out. Last batter up in the inning is our little hero. He hits (great job, btw!) and runs to first.......inning over. He never got to run past first base!!! Grr....not fair.
Mommy was not happy.

Mudcats at bat next. If I say so myself, our little guys did a much better job than they did. Got two real outs the first two at bats for the mighty Mudcats. But who's counting? I did notice a meltdown in the (not so) mighty Mudcats dugout that lasted through the bottom of the inning. One little guy obviously did not want to be there. Hey, there's no crying in baseball!
Sorry. Had to.

Mudcats did pretty well hitting, but inning over. Scrappers out in the field had done an outstanding job. I noticed our little hero plodding back to the dugout with his head down, shoulders slumped almost to the ground, hands just dangling loosely: the picture of the downtrodden. Assistant coach, aka Daddy, stopped him just as he came to the door of the dugout and said something to him. Not sure what it was, but it didn't sit well with our guy. Now, we've got ourselves a meltdown in the Scrappers dugout. Clean up on aisle ten. Off I go to the dugout to see what was going on.

Seems the problem lies in the fact that he didn't get to get to the ball. The coach had placed the players out on the field and would move them from time to time to let them get a little experience everywhere, but the ones in the outfield never really got a chance to do much - the balls weren't gonna make it to the outfield when they couldn't even hit it past (or to) the pitchers mound. So, he was understandably upset. I talked to him and let him know that everybody would get a chance to get the ball, he just needed to wait his turn. Meanwhile, back at the game, the Scrappers were up at bat. #6, #7...and hey, bud! it's your turn at bat! Tears are wiped and off he goes to bat. Swing!! Whaack! Ruuuuuuuunnnnnn, Bennnnnn! Off he goes to first. High-five with the first base coach, aka Daddy - again. Then: inning over. GRRRRRRRRR.....

Scrappers take the field. One or two batters later for the Mudcats and then little man gets his chance to head to the pitchers mound. He was thrilled! His whole demeanor changed. You could see his face shining with the smile that took over his face. And he.was.ready. I'm tellin' ya.

Batter up! Sa-wiiiinnng! Smack! GEEEEETTTTTT IT, Beeeeennnnnn!!! Woooo Hoooo! He stopped that ball like a pro!!!!!! Now, what to do with it? So, with shouts from the coaches all around, he starts to chase that little Mudcat around the field. I've never laughed so much. He tagged him somewhere between first and second base after a very circuitous route.

No sign of the dejected little baseball player would be seen in the park the rest of the game. Just giv'em a chance to get to the ball and he's happy.
And so is his mommy.

---Had special visitors to the park today to watch the first game of the season: our little hero had his Nanny and Pop in the stands. They got a much coveted thumbs up from the field when he took the pitchers mound.
Thanks for making the trip, N and P!

Batter, up! Eh, almost.

T-ball practice was cancelled. We did get to make a trip to the field but because it had rained all night and continued to do so, the field was a sloppy mess. Got to meet the coach and all the boys on the team and also got fitted for t-shirts. Little man's number will be number 8!
Oh, and can I just say how stinkin' cute the boys were all lined up shortest to tallest.
OMG. Too cute.

Left there to buy uniform pants. Went to WallyWorld but no luck; then on to Dick's. So, ya think 4 is too old to strip a kid down to his underpants in the middle of the store? Hope not.
Cause we did; right there in the uniform aisle in front of God and everybody. My BFF made the comment: "Well, that's how rednecks do it."
Guess that answers that.

Uniform pants on a 4 year old boy = extreme cuteness. The butt? Oy. Have you ever seen anything so cute? Can't wait to get the full uniform on so I can get pictures.

Let the games begin...

Saturday marks the first practice day for T-ball for my little guy. We'll see how this goes - soccer wasn't the hit we thought it would be, even though he could kick a ball from the time he started walking. He was very excited about playing soccer, just not playing soccer with everybody else. He had very little interest in learning the 'fundamentals' of the game - in his mind, to play soccer you: run, kick ball, chase ball, catch ball then kick it again. Which is good - just not really playing. Since this was a parent/child interactive soccer team; we spent most of our time yelling at him to "come baaaaccck, buddy!" as he flew across the soccer field in the opposite direction of the coach and us. We gave up after 3-4 practices.

It just wasn't worth getting mad at him for enjoying himself.