Category: Uncategorized

Kate is in the midst of her first season of t-ball. It’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. They are all doing their best to remember which way to run and what to do when the ball is hit to them… and of course most of them are doing the requisite playing in the dirt. There are no outs, no keeping score – it’s all about learning the rules of the game and having fun.

Having fun. Yes, that is the idea. Most of them are doing just that… but there’s always an exception to the rule.

So what to do if your kid isn’t having fun? How do you know when it’s time to chalk the registration fee up to a loss and try again next year? How are you to determine if your kid’s just not ready for t-ball? It’s a tough decision to make, I’m sure (or at least it seems to be for one family on our team), so let me clear it up for you.

(I swear I am not making this up.)

— If he bursts into tears at the sight of the ball diamond, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you have to hit the ball for him, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you have to carry him from base to base, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you are the tallest person doing the team cheer, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you will forever be immortalized in the team picture because you’re forcibly holding your son in place, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If, on the way to first base, he takes off his batting helmet and kicks it, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If he spits in the coach’s face and, when asked to apologize, throws dirt at her, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If he then hits the same coach as he walks off the field, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.

Yeah, call me crazy, but I think It’s time to give up the ghost. I feel really sorry for the poor kid – he is obviously miserable. I just don’t understand his parents’ insisting he continue to play. His future MLB career is not resting upon this season. I felt bad for the mom, too, until I saw her struggling to spank the little hellion without dropping her cigarette. Ugh.

Oh, and one more thing… if you tell the coaches your kid doesn’t respond to his given name and they should call him by the name of his favorite WWE wrestler, you might be a redneck.

About Twitter. Except me. I don’t get it! I signed up for it about one day before I had Sam, and I stared at the screen for a few minutes before giving up, and I haven’t been back. I keep getting emails saying people are “following” me on it, but that must be pretty thrilling because I’m not going anywhere. It must be fun, though, because it seems like everyone’s doing it. So will someone explain it to me?

I am hoping to get hooked on this Twitter thing, because my current internet addiction has become the victim of an upgrade. Has anyone been on Urban Baby in the past 12 hours?? W. T. F. No one has had an idea that great since New Coke. I’m seriously upset by this, but it’s a good thing I am on maternity leave or I would be staging an uprising. So if you UB dummies are reading this, which I’m sure you’re not, PUT IT BACK.

And in other completely random news, does anyone think that The Office hasn’t been as good after the writers’ strike? I hate to say it, but it’s true. Except for when Jim said he bought an engagement ring a week after he and Pam started dating… that was about the sweetest tv moment ever. But in general, I think The Office is spending too much time out of the office.

And that, my friends, is as deep as my thinking gets these days.

“I have something to tell you about your daddy’s prostate,” my mother’s subdued voice said on the other end of the phone.

You know any conversation that starts with those words is either not going to end well or be really, really, funny. In this case it was the former. And so, I’ve known for almost two months now that my dad has prostate cancer. When I heard my mom say the “C” word, I was truly shocked. I knew dad had had tests the week before but I, in my infinite wisdom, was absolutely certain the results would be peachy. After all, we don’t have cancer in our family. Heart disease is the enemy we know, and are prepared to deal with. But cancer? Cancer Who?

Mom assured me at the time that there was only a little bit of cancer, and that dad’s doctor said it was totally treatable, and that most men will get it if they live long enough, (so sorry to the five dudes who read this thing!) and that dad would be fine. A few days later he went back to the doctor, who said he felt the best course of treatment (there are several options) for my dad was to have that darn prostate totally removed. Apparently, the best place for that little procedure to be done is a certain hospital in Detroit, Michigan, which is about 3.5 hours from where we live. And as I write this, in just a few hours, my parents and my oldest brother will be leaving for Detroit, where tomorrow afternoon a robot will surgically get that prostate gone. This is pretty amazing technology, but I am having a hard time visualizing a robot surgeon. All I keep seeing is Johnny Five or the girl from Small Wonder. Let’s hope this robot concentrates less on humor and more on the task at hand than those two jokers. Hopefully he or she is more along the lines of C3PO. (Ok, you all know I’m kidding right? The robot is controlled by an actual, human surgeon. I swear.)

My parents and my two brothers (who are alternating staying with my parents) will be in Detroit for over a week as dad recovers. After the surgery there will be tubes and things draining and all sorts of unpleasantness and so the boys (as we call them) will help my mom with caring for my dad and all that fun stuff. Dad will stay one night in the hospital, then they’ll be staying in an apartment adjacent to the hospital, fully-furnished, kitchen, all that jazz, until dad’s well enough to come home.

And I’ll sit here and pray, and wait, and miss them all. And I’ll be thankful. Thankful that, as cliche as it sounds, if you’re gonna have cancer, this is the kind you wanna have (sorry ladies!) because it is so treatable, and the removal of the prostate is considered a cure. Thankful that, no matter what happens, my dad put his life in God’s hands a long time ago, and that God is totally in control of this and every other part of it. Truly, there is no need for us to worry about it! Worrying is something we do to indulge our own neuroses. God has got this one in His pocket. And I am so thankful!! I’m also thankful that I have such a wonderful daddy, and sweet mommy and caring brothers and sisters-in-law, and that we are all in this together.

And I’m thankful for you for reading this, for letting me get it out and put it out there. Whisper a prayer or two for my parents this week, and I’ll be thankful for that, too.