Play Ball!

 Freestone's picture of him playing catch with his dad.

Apparently, my mission in life is to make other parents feel good about their parenting skills, and I'm doing a great job.  Here, I'll show you:  Have you and your spouse ever watched a good twenty minutes of your son's baseball game before realizing that your son is not among the boys on the field or in the dugout?  Never done that?  We have.  See, don't you feel like a better parent already?

Freestone had team pictures before his game last night.  After pictures, he followed the coach to walk to the playing field, while Scott and I went to other direction to bring our cars to the field.  We were having a great time on the sidelines talking to Ryan and Jennie and all the other parents about why Ptolemy didn't have pants on (long story) and how the husbands would do things if they were in charge.  Suddenly, Henry was up to bat again, and I hadn't seen Freestone bat yet.  Scott and I looked in the dugout.  No Freestone.  We scanned the field.  I was squinting, saying, "Well, what about that boy?  Is that one Freestone, the one on third base?"  It's hard to tell with those giant baseball caps on, but none of them was ours.

I ran back across the busy road to the far field where we had parted ways with Free.  Searching for a Rangers cap with a sobbing six-year-old under it, I finally found him.  A dad in a suit with a Blackberry was crouched down with him, dialing my phone number as Free stifled heaving sobs.  I guess his coach had left him behind at the drinking fountain, thinking his parents were there.  What he didn't know was that Freestone's parents are incompetent.  (To tell you the truth, I was more focused on how I was going to sneak away from the game and smuggle Ruby out of play practice to go to Jazz, then back into practice an hour later without anyone noticing.  As if she were crossing the border out of the former Soviet Union, I had instructed her to quietly walk out of play practice at 7:28, NOT looking back, and there would be a car waiting for her.)  So I was distracted, and those baseball boys are all wearing the same outfit, for heaven's sake!  After all the excitement had died down, I listened to my phone messages.  One was from Ari saying, "Hi mom.  Play practice ended (different play practice than Ruby's) and I've been waiting a really long time.  Bye!"  Clearly, I am in over my head.  But in my defense, who lets 3rd graders out of rehearsal 45 minutes early to roam around outside?  When I picked her up, I was pleased to see that the other kids who hadn't been picked up were walking around on the roof of the park bowery.  I felt better.  At least I got there before Ari cracked her head open.

Freestone caught on quickly to the benefits of being abandoned.  Last night and again this morning, he walked up to me and said, "YOU LOST ME.  Can I play Wii?"

My answer:  "Yes, of course you can, but let me give you one more hug first."