In the spirit of Easter we played baseball in the front yard yesterday. Baseballs, eggs...tomatoes, tomatoes....
I hit some grounders and pop ups to the boys and then decided that the spirit had moved me...or needed me to move...back inside next to a diet coke.
I did not panic when I looked out the window and saw the Mens huddled around Magnuts...not even when the HeadMens AKA Rob was apparently palpitating his forearm for breaks and bumps.
10 minutes later the Mens were at it again...this time huddled around MonkeyBoy. I noticed the batting helmet still on his head and thought to myself..."how bad could it be."
A few minutes later the HeadMens, with a chagrined look on his face, ushered the LittleMens into the house. MonkeyBoy had a brand new 'baseball tattoo' on the back of his neck. For those of you keeping score...that is the second tattoo in less than 10 days (the first was on his hip).
I didn't balk when Rob used to send the boys in to grab a pair of socks to pad their ummm 'boys' when he practiced football or baseball with them.
I kept popsicles on hand for then endless rebounds that Magnuts seemed to prefer to catch with his face.
As I examined the baseball indention on the back of his neck Rob explained that it had been a perfect pitch...MonkeyBoy had just panicked. He also told me that he had warned MonkeyBoy that from hence forth to "hit the dirt" when he thought the pitch was wild.
For the record...I have never, not once, seen the "hit the dirt" method used in baseball. Considering the ramped up nature of MonkeyBoy's fear I might as well get him a pillow and a blanket so that home plate won't be so uncomfortable.