Truthfully, we weren't certain Reese was going to play. We vacillated back and forth over whether we were going to let him because of his allergies, but those seem to be in control for now. Then he wasn't really sure he wanted to play because he likes soccer so much better. In the end, though, I paid the forty five dollars.
Which was a joke in itself.
Silly me thought forty five dollars would be the extent of our commitment. Nope. One trip to Academy for a bat, glove, ball, pants, cleats, and a helmet did that assumption in. And now Lofton tells me we need a tee for the yard.
All that to say, our first practice was last night. And it should be noted that with the exception of the thirty minutes we spent in the yard practicing Monday, Reese has never played t ball in his life. This would not be true of approximately half his team. In fact, I heard one mother mention professional batting lessons last night.
Yep. She really did.
And another mama wanted to argue about the height of the tee because her child is short. To be fair, our preacher is our coach {and Lofton is the assistant} and he's really great. As are his two boys. But the fact remains that parents can be crazy. I know this because I teach the children of these crazy baseball fanatics. The ones who can't do homework because of baseball practice.
And so it's possible at some point this season we might need to have a dose of perspective on Team Bats. Because, dang it, if I'm going to spend three days a week at the ball field this is going to be fun.
And also dirty. Reese had nasty dirt sweat dripping down his face last night. Cue the laundry.
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