T-Ball Season Will Commence... Later

Today was supposed to be Caleb's first day of t-ball. I signed him up a couple of months ago, saw that the league had cashed my check, and then never heard anything. I should have followed up, but that's not the way I roll. That would take... energy. Finally, someone contacted me and this was the evening practice was to commence!

This whole t-ball experience has been a source of tension between John and me. He wanted to know crazy things like what was the name of the league, where was the paper with the information on it, who was the contact person, things I immediately forgot and/or got rid of the moment I sent the check in the mail. He looked at me with his "intense eyes" and said, "It would really be a major disappointment if Caleb didn't get to play this year." He said this in his "intense voice." John is a lawyer, and lawyers are individuals who are especially adept at "intense eyes" and "intense voice."

I understood his concern. You see, our son Caleb is the very best six-year old baseball player IN THE WORLD. And I'm not just saying that because I'm his mother, either. It's a fact. I have proof. Last summer, I pitched the ball to him and ended up with a black eye. Now I'm petrified of the ball and Caleb has no one to pitch to him during the day.

Need more proof? Caleb can hit the ball over roof. He can catch the ball while sliding, jumping, or standing perfectly still as he gazes upward towards the sun. When he plays, he totally gets "intense eyes." He can rattle off the names of all the players on his favorite team, the Cardinals. He thinks Albert Pujols is really really great, and argues with anyone who suggests otherwise. Men have been known to call our house to ask Caleb for advice about their fantasy baseball teams. He has an eye for the ball, and recently informed me he will no longer go for the "high cheese." I don't know what that means, but I'm sure it's a good decision.

When we were searching for a new house, Caleb's baseball obsession became an important factor in our decision making process. The house needed to have the following: an attached garage, two full bathrooms, four bedrooms, and a backyard that would accommodate Caleb's batting practice. It's serious business.

Tonight, Tuesday night, when I told Caleb he wouldn't be playing t-ball, his lip quivered and he stated, verbatim: "I will never ever play t-ball ever again!" He makes these grandiose statements often:

Caleb, calmly: Hey, mom, can I play X-box?

Mom: Not right now.
Caleb, wailing: I will never ever play X-box ever again!

Personally, I was grateful for the delay. We know not yet what team Caleb will be playing on. I've been worrying about this. What if... what if... Caleb's team is called... The Yankees?

Caleb has a passionate, irrational hatred for the Yankees. It's slightly embarrassing to have a child so opposed to a baseball team that is so incredibly popular in this area. When people tell Caleb they are Yankees fans, my regularly amiable son will narrow his eyes and say (in "intense voice"): "Oh. The Yankees. I hate the Yankees." I think I have a reasonable concern about arriving at the ballpark and being handed a Yankees uniform. Caleb has never cursed, but that could very well be the first occasion where a naughty word spontaneously combusts within him.

I will refrain from talking about what a travesty it is that my son, simply because of his age, is forced to play t-ball instead of baseball, as I am a humble person who just happened to be blessed with boy who is a brilliant ball player, a baseball savant, if you will.

Signing off now before I choke on my own obnoxiousness.