Bleacher Police (with diagrams!)

I don’t consider myself to be a confrontational person.  I’m no shrinking violet, but I need everyone to like me and part of having people like me is . . . well  . . . not making them mad at me. 

Sometimes I just can’t keep my yapper shut though.

Our son, Large, plays on a travel baseball team that has many different age levels.  Last weekend, Large’s team (11U) and the 9U team played in the same tournament.  Once our game was over, Large’s entire team decided to root, root, root for the 9U team at their game. 

While there are no written rules regarding where one should sit when watching 9-year-olds play baseball, generally spectators sit on the “side” that their team is on.  As we were waiting for the game to start, a woman, whose TONE I did not appreciate, asked me huffily, “are you watching this game?”

The game hadn’t started yet as the field crew was watering the infield, and my interaction with this woman was new, so I was not yet irritated with her.  I was confused about what she was asking me, however, because there was no game being played.  Was she seeing Angels in the Outfield?  Was Kevin Costner talking to Shoeless Joe in a cornfield and I just couldn’t see it? 

Artist (that's me!) rendering of field.

I looked at the field and said kindly, (because at this point I was still feeling kind,)

 “there’s no game going on right now.”

Clearly irritated, she asked, “do you have kids on this team?” 

I thought she was making idle chit chat, so I said, “no, we’re the 11U team and we just came to cheer on our 9U team.”  I might have even thrown in a smile. 

“Well, we came a LONG way to not be able to sit and watch our kids play,” she snapped.  “It would be nice if there was someplace for us to sit.  Why don't you go down there,” and she pointed to some spots down the way.

Oh, it’s on now.  Don’t you get snippy with me.

I asked our boys to move down so that they weren’t taking up as much space on the bleachers.  I noticed, however, that she and her daughter-in-law (who remained silent throughout the entirety of our interaction) were the only two people in the stands.  (Probably because she was sitting on OUR side, but alas . . . )  The rest of their team’s spectators had brought their own stadium chairs and were sitting in prime real estate behind the batter’s box.  Some of them had gone to a little patio area on the first base line on the opposite side of their team’s dugout, and none of them seemed put out that we were taking up space on our own bleachers. 

She got up to get an over-priced drink at the concession stand and was clearly disappointed to find me still sitting in the stands when she returned.  She slammed her foot down as she stepped on to the metal bleachers; I’m assuming it was to announce her arrival.

Whatevs, I thought.  The game started.  So did her passive-aggressive comments to her daughter-in-law, obviously for my benefit.

1.  Alex S. had a good hit.  Ryan S, his brother, is on our team.  I mistakenly yelled, “nice hit, Ryan,” and the kids playfully reminded me that ALEX was the one who got the hit.  “She doesn’t even know their names,” she WHISPERED to her companion. 

2.  A player on her team hit a ball way out into center field and our player was unable to catch it.  “Awwww,” she chirped sarcastically, “he didn’t catch it.”

3.  A mom from our team yelled, “nice try” to one of our players, to which she commented, “not good enough!”

Finally she said to her daughter-in-law, “at least they found a place to sit to watch the game,” referring to the spectators from her team. 

I had had enough.

“Is there someone who needs to sit here?” I asked.

“Don’t talk to me. . . . it’s just that we came a LONG way to see the kids play.  You didn’t.”

I didn’t take a road trip over the Bay Bridge on the Friday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend with a little detour through Annapolis on Naval Academy graduation day just to have some busybody question my motives.

“Excuse me?”  Oh, I’m irritated now.  “You have no idea where we traveled from.”  You see that?  I was so angry I ended a sentence with a preposition. 

“Stop talking to me.” 

That was the end of our conversation. 

Karma works mysteriously, however.

One of our moms, who had no idea that any of this had transpired, asked my nemesis if she could move one of her bags (which were sprawled all over her “area” of the stands) so that she could sit down.  The old lady obliged . .. by grabbing her bag dramatically and slamming it on the seat in front of her.

Then another mom, also unaware of the conversation, commented sweetly that she was unfamiliar with this rival team and she wondered where they were from.  Somewhere far, far away, no doubt.

And then our 9U team won the game.  So there’s that. 

Workin' for the Weekend

Hubby just returned from a seven day business trip to India.   Since I am the primary caretaker here at home (the CEO of the BoyMommy Household, if you will . . . ) things aren't THAT different when he's gone, but knowing he's on the other side of the world and that I will not have reinforcements is a bit disconcerting.  Again, I give a humble shout-out to single moms and military wives everywhere.  

I took the boys to visit their grandparents, who live 3 hours away (and whose visit requires a stint on Interstate 95, grrrrrr,) and rushed back home on Sunday only to find out that baseball practice was cancelled.  Then school was cancelled on Monday because WINTER WILL NOT END.  EVER.  Then I had Small home with me all day Tuesday because when the public schools have a two-hour-delay, Small doesn’t have preschool at all.  During that week I also fit in a museum visit, a pediatric "well" visit, and an allergist appointment which required a prescription pick-up at the grocery store.  Of course the medicine was unavailable so I had to return to the grocery store the next day with all three of the boys . .. my absolute favorite thing in the world to do, right after bathing suit shopping and toilet plunging.

Luckily I have a girls’ weekend to look forward to, and it’s happening in 2 days!  Hubby asked where we’re going. . .

“I don't know.  Wintergreen, I think?  Or Massanutten.  I don’t know.  Someplace,” I responded, providing about as much information as he had going IN to this conversation.  I had said all along that we could go to the Super 8 on Route 1 for all I care, so really, location is arbitrary.

“When are you leaving?” he asked.  A logical question, since he will be in charge of our offspring in my absence.

Hmmm.  I shrugged.  “I’m not really sure.  Friday sometime.  3?”

Frustrated, he asked, “do you know anything?  You don’t know where you’re going or when you’re getting there.”

“I know I’m gettin’ the hell outta Dodge,” I answered. 

I NEED this weekend.  I just need a little break . . . a refresher weekend in which I can take a deep breath and regroup. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked, and I know the response he wanted was something along the lines of braid each other’s hair, make prank phone calls, and then have a pillow fight in our skivvies. 

Alas. . . “drink beer and sleep.”  The girls have already planned for adequate beer consumption, and I have notified them that if anyone wakes me at 6 AM, I will “scratch your eyeballs out with my own hands.”  I think I made my point.

I understand Hubby's concern, of course.  'Member in college, when you'd be hungover on Saturday morning, but ready to go again on Saturday night?  Not so much any more.  Now I can have two glasses of wine on a Friday night and have a headache all day Saturday, OR I can have one martini and be home and in bed by 10:30.  

Funny (well, funny NOW) story:  I went on a girls' weekend years ago, on which I had a tad too much to drink.  There was karaoke.  I can't help myself when I'm belting out Dolly Parton tunes.  When we got home from the bar, I promptly relieved my stomach of all of its contents.  I was a bit lacking in the coordination department, however.  I leaned my head forward over the bowl of the toilet just as the seat was coming down, which led to an unfortunate bruise in the middle of my forehead.  On Monday morning, I had to lie about how I got the bruise because I couldn't tell a class full of high school seniors the truth.  

Man, that was a fun weekend.

Men's Marriage Manual: Chapter 1

This week will mark our 14th wedding anniversary, and we will have been together for 19.  One would think that with age and duration comes wisdom.  Currently I am not speaking to Hubby because he said one of the following to me this weekend.  I'm sure he's considering this lull in conversation as a little nagging vacation, but alas, I'm stewing.  In the interest of helping him survive another year without me smothering him with a pillow or poisoning his corn flakes (or both, if I really want to speed things along,) I offer 

Things You Should NOT Say If You Value Your Life, Your Sleeping Arrangements, or Your Front Teeth: 

       

      1.  Is that what you’re wearing? / Is that how you’re going to wear your hair? / Or any version thereof.  You'd think by this point one of you fellas would have written a marriage manual and this would have been Chapter 1.

2.  Do not tell me you’ll be home at 7 and then call me from the office at 6:55 to tell me you’re running a little late.  You are likely to arrive home (finally) and find the neighborhood kids roasting marshmallows in a bonfire made completely of your business suits.

3.  What’s for dinner?  Seriously.  We’ve been together almost 20 years and I have not ONCE made a meal that caused you to celebrate my skills in the kitchen.  I don’t like to cook.  I’m not good at it.  It takes longer to make it than it does to eat it.  Invest in stock in the Chef Boyardee company and leave me alone.

4.  My mom never let the clothes pile up like this.  Well then perhaps you should take your laundry to her.

5.  Didn’t you just get your nails done/ hair done/ brows waxed?  It’s called maintenance.  Don’t ask how the magic happens . . . just appreciate the end result.

6.  What do you need to get at Target?  Nothing.  Target is my happy place.  I like to go to there.

7.  You don’t need ice cream.  No one NEEDS ice cream, but the fact that you are pointing out that I, in particular, do not NEED ice cream means that I’m now considering ordering two ice creams. 

8.  What’s the over / under on when these clothes are going to be put away?  On a completely unrelated topic, please note that Jimmy Hoffa’s body has YET to be found.  Maybe he aska too many aquestions.

9.  Why is the house always such a mess when I get home?  You should have considered this question about 9 months before I delivered each of your children.

10.  When’s the last time you went to the gym?  1996.  The answer is 1996.

25 Things You Don't Know About Me

25 Things You Don't Know About Me . . . .

1.  I never wear blush.

2.  I sleep on the left side of the bed, unless we’re in a hotel room, in which case I sleep furthest from the door.  This way, if a monster breaks in through the door, he’ll get YOU first.

3.  I could easily work at IKEA as the person who puts together the furniture.  I'd have to work alone though; IKEA furniture assembly nearly ruined my marriage.

4.  I can keep the book at a baseball game or on the GameChangerApp.

5.  I hated Twilight, 50 Shades, and Harry Potter, (though I have enjoyed reading Harry Potter with my boys.)

6.  My toes are ALWAYS painted.  I'm vain.

7.  I found my first gray hair on my 26^th birthday.

8.  I get anxious about impending pain, but I seem to have a high tolerance for it.

9.  I had plastic surgery before I was 5 years old.

10.  I’ve known two of my oldest friends since we were 3 years old, and they are the closest to sisters I’ve ever had.

 

11.  I believe my Mother-in-Law likes me WAY better now than she did when she first met me.  Apparently I'm an aquired taste.

12.  I need a lot of sleep.  Naps make me a better person.

13.  I remember having my first experience with depression at age 13, and I worry that it’s a trait that will be passed on to my children.

14.  I use Oil of Olay products simply because my grandmother did, and smelling it makes me think of her.

15.  Friends is still my favorite tv show.

16.  I do laundry every day.  Every.  Friggin’.  Day.

17.  I believe in Karma . . . the energy you put out into the world surrounds you at all times.

18.  I have a tattoo - because no one ever believes a girl like me has one.

19.  I believe my husband and I are like Yin & Yang.  We are two pieces of a puzzle that complete each other; not in the sappy “you complete me” way, but in the way that we complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

20.  I loved being pregnant because I felt like I finally fit into my body.

21.  I feel guilty every day about my parenting – that I’m not good enough, I’m not paying enough attention, and that I need to be more engaged.

22.  I am addicted to my computer. 

23.  I wish I had rushed a sorority in college.  I'm really good at making those alphabet letters with the little dots on the ends.

24.  I don’t know how to whistle. 

25.  Misplaced apostrophes make me crazy.