T-ball Practice: A behind-the-scenes look

Week 1
My mom dutifully took pictures in between mad sprints across the field to prevent Rowan from either a) crashing my team's practice or b) attempting to reach the summit of the climbing dome, a contraption my mom insists was developed by some kind of national association for emergency room doctors.

Photo source: Am@zon.com

Week 2
My mom attempted to entertain Rowan by bringing her own bat and ball.  That bought my mom approximately two minutes, which ended after Rowan jammed both into the chain link fence and made a break for the climbing dome.  And then the baseball diamond where two other teams were in the midst of a "game."

Week 3
My friend Samantha's mom offered to head back to her car to retrieve a kiddie lawn chair for Rowan.  Suppressing the urge to laugh, my mom politely turned down the kind offer, certain Rowan's to-do list (1. Injury, 2. Chaos) would leave no time for sitting.

Thankfully Samantha's mom ignored my mom and got the chair anyway.  And if for no other reason than to prove my mom wrong, Rowan sat in that chair for the ENTIRE game, snacking on crackers, sipping her water and listening to her favorite playlist.

(P.S. My mom says thank you for the twentieth time, Samantha's Mom!)

Week 4
My mom marched triumphantly onto the field with a kiddie lawn chair designed in the likeness of a bear.  And Rowan wasted no time sitting down in it.

For three minutes.

Round about the time that repeatedly tipping herself over in the chair and loudly announcing, "I'm okay!" ceased to be entertaining, she got up for good.

But the universe delivered my mom another miracle, this time in the form of a water cooler.

And this is exactly where Rowan was for the ENTIRE game.  Except when my mom made her move out of the way for other kids.  (Oh, the hassle!)

When the game was over, Rowan had SO much water in her belly that my dad could hear it sloshing around when he picked her up.  Which should have been a sign that he should put her right back down, but instead was how we learned that if you jostle around a kid who's been hitting the tap every 30 seconds, you're pretty much guaranteed to be barfed on.

Stuffed

Rowan attempted to minimize the fall out during last Friday's trip to the bakery.

Say what?

Yesterday was my Yaya's birthday.  In the middle of my T-ball game, Rowan called to wish her a happy one and sang  three separate versions of "Happy Birthday."  After hanging up, Rowan started up version four, which my mom caught on film.

Which is how we learned that Rowan apparently speaks Hebrew. 

Game changer

Last week was our first official T-ball game.

My mom says that we are using "game" in the very loosest sense of the term, because there are no strikes.  No outs.  Everybody hits.  Everybody gets to run to every base.  Everybody scores a run.

I'm not that good at math, but it seems to me that at this rate, the team with the most players wins.  Which means we're gonna need to start some heavy recruiting if we plan to take the title this season.

 

Some things never change

My mom says that our relationship with Rowan and the movies is like a bad boyfriend. Every time we leave the theater with her, we promise ourselves that we are DONE trying to make this work.  We swear we won't EVER be back.

But then a few weeks go by, and we start to miss the theater.  We reminisce about how much fun the movies were back in the day (i.e., before Rowan) and think, This time, things will be different! 

Today, however, after paying $75 for admission/food for Cars II, Mom and Rowan spent the majority of the show in the arcade and wandering the lobby.  Seems like kind of a steep price tag for loitering.

Despite stepping into the theater with an arsenal of chocolate, fruit snacks, popcorn and pop, Rowan mentally checked out about 15 minutes into the movie.  Normally she makes it at least halfway through. 

So I guess this time things WERE different.

I guess we just needed to be a little more specific.

Dry humor

My mom says that hand dryers in public restrooms are a breeding ground for disease. But one person's breeding ground is another person's playground.

Unfortunately my mom got the camera out just a little too late to catch the heartiest laughter, but Rowan's enthusiasm for hand-drying mechanisms is quite clear. Lucky for my mom, Rowan's a little unclear on their functionality and is quite pleased to vigorously rub her hands outside of the airstream.

A whole new wall

While mom tried to tackle one seemingly insurmountable wall last week, I set my sights on another...

Father's Day Recap

The past month has been lonely times in the Tangled Tower my dad got for his birthday. See part of the charm of the tower is that it's not only excessively expensive, but it's sold unoccupied, and the birthday fairy only saw fit to spring for one tenant (Rapunzel).

So, OF COURSE, my dad's spent the last month dropping hints that for Father's Day, he might like Flynn Rider, Rapunzel's significant other, which unfortunately only comes as part of a set with Rapunzel and Maximus, the horse.

Rowan and I were only too happy to make his Father's Day wishes come true.

And while my mom and dad were expecting that having two Rapunzel dolls would address the monopoly I've had over the original doll, they were not expecting my plot to pawn the original one off on Rowan in the hopes that she wouldn't notice/mind that her foot-long hair hadn't been brushed in nearly two weeks on account of the fact that the couch swallowed her magical golden brush.

My mom and dad both noticed and minded, and so I spent the better part of the morning insisting that I couldn't POSSIBLY continue to play with the old, haggard Rapunzel. The one who has hardly left my side in a month.

And though the story goes that Rapunzel tosses her shiny, golden hair out of the tower window, Rowan wasted not a second in using the new doll for a more liberal adaptation, in which Rapunzel tosses herself out of the tower window, but wraps her shiny, golden (PERFECT!) hair in a tangled mess around the ledge to avoid hitting the ground.

While all this was happening, my dad opened his present from my mom -- an iPod Nano watch, which tells him the time, plays music and shows pictures. Although it wasn't really what he had asked for (you're welcome, Dad!), he seemed to like it anyway.

Perhaps the most remarkable part of Father's Day at our house this year was the fact that my mom hosted a brunch in which she served food that she made (baked apple French toast and breakfast potatoes). From scratch.

Kind of a big step for a person known to serve the bagels right out of the box she bought them in.

That's my Ya Ya over there on the left recreating the
hey-maybe-we-shouldn't-have-eaten-before-we-left-the-house
expression she had when she discovered that this wouldn't
be the usual out-of-the-bag brunch.

And HGTV made it look so easy

A family picture wall is a great way of reminding you of some pretty terrific memories.

But when your mom's kinda "Type A," it can be a great way to create some pretty terrible ones. Potentially not even the kind that everyone will laugh at in a few years.

The 5+ hours (and three separate techniques) it took to hang 11 frames with perfect symmetry assure that:

1. This is the only picture wall we will ever have.

2. We are never moving. Ever.

Patio dining

I love to spend time outside. And despite the fact that my school schedule involves not one but two trips to the playground daily, I get home and beg to go outside again. With the warmer weather that finally arrived earlier this month, my mom decided to treat Rowan and me to dinner al fresco.

After our 10+ trips inside the house for assorted requests and Rowan's repeated attempts to see if she could pass through the screen door without actually opening it, my mom declared that the back of the house is, in fact, not zoned for food service.

Which is probably all for the best, given than we spent 45 minutes eating pretty much nothing.

Closet toy user

Occasionally Rowan decides to take a toy out of the hall closet. But just barely.

Promoted!

Last week, I reported to the ice skating rink for my fifth week of lessons in the Beginner Tot class. As I skated onto the ice, I learned that we'd be skating with the older kids in the Advanced Tot class. And while this might motivate some to skate to impress, I went about my usual business of overdramatic sounds effects when I fell and routinely stopping to eat the ice from my gloves.

My carefree approach to the scrutiny of the advanced teachers worked, too, because at the end of the class, our teacher handed a slip of paper to me and Adam, the other kid in my Beginner class. Upon reading it, my mom went to sign me up for the next level.

As we stood at the registration counter, I asked my mom if she knew why Adam and I got these special slips of paper. And when she asked me why, I declared, "It's because we were the very best skaters."

My mom agreed. There could be no other reason.

Time out!

After weeks of anticipation, Monday evening we headed to my first baseball practice. My excitement upon seeing my school friends (many of whom I had not seen for DAYS) out on the field could only be equated with the joy of a kid waking up on Christmas morning.

And my excitement upon learning that my dad was selected as the assistant coach for our team could only be equated with the joy of a kid being nudged awake on Christmas morning by the pony Santa left him under the tree.

It was a HUGE honor for my dad to be selected among the nones of other volunteers for this position. (Nones is like tons, but slightly less. Kinda like zero.) And while I'm certain that his leadership abilities, charisma and natural athletic ability make him more than well-suited to lead us to victory this season, there's just one problem...

I am unwilling to share his attention with others.

Because when you have what you are positive is just the most amazing dad that ever lived, you don't want to see his attention diluted by all your friends who suddenly need help learning to catch and hit a baseball. Surely if left to their own devices, they'll figure it out.

The lack of one-on-one attention I am used to receiving left me with no other option but to pout for the majority of our first practice.


And while my dad was expecting that it might be a bit of a challenge to teach 4-year-olds to play ball (we're not the most coordinated bunch), he was not nearly prepared for how hard it was to get us to listen to him try!

Not to mention, Rowan was extremely dissatisfied that 2-year-olds were not considered for the team. While she tried twice to take it up with the assistant coach, both times he failed to see her right behind him, backed into her and knocked her to the ground.

Factor in my friend who was upset that someone else had better luck hitting the ball and it seemed as if the only thing we did with any coordinated effort at this practice was cry.

Looks like we've really got our work cut out for us this season.

An open letter to Miss Bonni from my sister, Rowan

Dear Miss Bonni,

Yesterday was my last day as your Baby Gym pupil. After spending a year-and-a-half together, it is hard to believe that it will never again be time for me to clap hello.

Thank you for all the good times we have shared. I will always remember being pulled through the "car wash" on my belly, testing my mom's patience by chucking balls out of the ball pit and attempting to see if I could get enough speed swinging on the ring to send myself back to the future. (Still here, so I suppose that stunt never worked.)

And while I never dared crawl out of my crib, had the thought crossed my mind, all the time I spent on the red climber would have given me the coordination and confidence to execute the mission.

Thank you most of all for letting me constantly claim rights to lap access. It is true that my disdain for organized activities and structured learning caused me to sit out many a circle time back in the day, but were it not for your willingness to repeatedly use me as your Demo Baby, I would have sat out way more.

Every time I touch my nose to my toes, I will think of you.


I also want to let you know that I forgive you for that one time you put me in Group 2 (the group that went into the Big Kid Gym on the second rotation, instead of the first), forcing me to hang on the door handle of the baby gym in very unsilent protest. I realize now it was probably some kind of clerical error beyond your control.

Lastly, I would like to apologize that on our very last day together, my mom couldn't be bothered to bring anything nicer than her iPhone camera. If she had, perhaps you wouldn't have to squint to try to see these pictures in focus.

As you well know, I am the second child. Such is my life.

While I am looking forward to all the perks of Big Kiddom (namely the big trapeze and the foam pit), I will miss your laugh, the way you say "tada!" and how you like to yell at the moms when they fail to sing along. Not to mention, your lap rides. (It really did FEEL like one wheel was off and the axle was dragging.)

My heart will always be yours, Miss Bonni!

XOXO,
Rowan

It's not you

It is no secret that there is no bigger fan of my mom than Rowan. So when my mom put Rowan to bed Wednesday night and asked, "Who's your best friend in the whole world?" she wasn't exactly waiting on pins and needles to hear Rowan's answer.

She was surprised, though, when Rowan responded by saying, "you." Mom didn't know Rowan was old enough to grasp the concept of calling somebody "you," rather than referring to them by their name.

She attributed yet another incredible language-development milestone to school and responded by saying, "You're Mommy's best friend, too!"

At which point Rowan said "you" again.

And my mom was thinking, Yup, I heard you. We're best friends. Heart's warmed, life's good.

But after Rowan repeated "you" for the third time, Mom realized she wasn't confirming her initial answer, she was clarifying it.

She hadn't said "you," she'd said "Drew." A kid from school.

At which point my mom really questioned whether school is the kind of influence Rowan really needs.

She puts the Pee in Potty

Although Rowan has demonstrated the ability to join the ranks of the Potty Trained, like I once did, she lacks the interest. She was excited last night to finally reap the benefits of a completed potty chart (an authentic Little Mermaid handbag made of real tin and bedazzled with a handle of jewels), but she wasn't exactly tripping over herself to get to the potty today.

My mom has declared that the mental exhaustion from the six months it took to potty train me last year has yet to wear off. Not to mention we're just a few diaper value-pack purchases away from being able to redeem our loyalty points for a Mercedes S-class coupe.

Before Rowan can get motivated enough to fill up her second potty chart, my mom's gonna need to get motivated enough to print one.

Restricted Area

Although we moved into our house three years ago, coming from a condo less than half its size, the only new furniture my mom and dad have bought until now was for Rowan's room.

Oh, and the white chairs for the dining room.

Because nothing sounds more practical for a dining room in a house with small children than white microsuede.

Since they arrived, we have not been allowed to eat in the chairs. Sit in the chairs. Make any sudden moves in the direction of the chairs. But in a house where the household appliances most commonly used in mealtime preparations are the microwave and telephone, those chairs don't see a lot of use, anyway. They've remained as pristine as the day they were delivered.

You'd think the stress of trying to keep them this way would teach my mom and dad an important lesson about decorating a home populated by very small people. But you know parents.

They NEVER learn.

Which is why as part of my mom's family room redecorating project, they purchased this table:

Because if refurnishing an entire room in a house populated by the preschool set sounds like a good idea, selecting furniture that resembles a ladder would be nothing short of PURE GENIUS.

Literally every friend of mine who's come over in the past few weeks has either climbed the table, stood on the base or laid their body over the top of it.

Throw in a houseful of freshly painted walls and one of those white dining room chairs doing double duty as a temporary desk chair only two feet from where Rowan and I eat dinner by the TV, and my parents start to twitch a little whenever either one of us walks in the room.

When the redecorating project is completed in the next couple months, my parents have been considering clearly labeling the areas we are still allowed to use. Which I'm assuming will be the corner of the room containing our craft table and toy bins.

Given the fact that it was my mom who finally ruined that white temporary desk chair yesterday (with her new dark-wash denim trousers), looks like someone will be pulling up a chair with us at the craft table.

Enjoy your new family room furniture, Dad.