My Only Son

Spring is approaching and that means one thing in our house... baseball.

You see friends, I am a woman of many trades.  Laundry connoisseur, master pb&j chef, speedy bed maker, baby doll barber, house keeper, sock matching enthusiast, AND pitcher.

Not to brag on myself, but I am a force to be reckoned with on the pitching mound.  And the neighbors know that I mean business when I take my position wearing my pajama pants and house shoes.

Move over, Cliff Lee.

This morning, Noah and I were playing baseball while Emery napped and Kayt tended to her babies in the fort.  All was good until a threw a wild pitch and accidentally hit Noah square in the shoulder.  If I could have captured his face in a picture I would have something worth money.   He was completely dumbfounded and crushed and confused all at the same time.

In the most sincere, sympathetic voice he said, "What in the world are you thinking, Mom? You just hit me with the ball.  Have you forgotten that I'm your only son?  It's fine and I forgive you, but think about that next time.  Okay?"

I didn't really know how to respond.

So I laughed.
Like any good mother would do.

And then apologized.

So, to my only son: forgive this wild woman.

And to Cliff Lee: don't go anywhere.  You stay on the pitching mound and I'll stay home in my pjs.