Friday, July 3, 2009
The Great Wiffle Ball Game
We're down the Cape for the Fourth. Everybody and their girl/boy friend came down, too. We have a full house. Well, that's what we have the cottage for. We didn't do much today. The day was spent waiting in traffic to get down here. Then Dick and I took inventory of the food stocks and he went shopping. The cat, Dallas, hates it. She's been snarling and growling and meowing all day. Now she's hiding in one of the built in bunk bed drawers.
For supper we cooked steak on the grill, corn on the cob, grilled the potatoes--like they were baked, the cole slaw and potato salad were store bought, however. Cheryl tasted and remarked, "Ma, you're slumming it." Cheryl really, really, loves my potato salad; and all it is is mayo, potatoes, and onion. Cheryl brought down a batch of brownies, she made this morning.
One of Mark's friends is even shyer than he is. Do you believe it? He's very nice. He insisted on doing the dishes. (We ruff it down here--no dishwasher.) Everybody else went outside and played whiffle ball in the street. It's safe. There's only a few houses on the street. No one would venture down here unless they lived here.
Watching them play gave me wiffle-ball-lust. I wanted to play in the worst way. But no one asked me. I didn't ask to play because if I were their age I wouldn't want an old fart playing, besides, I had my share of playing in my day. Now it's their turn.
The pictures are of the outfield and then the other side. Jon in black is one pitcher. Mark in green is the other pitcher. I liked the one of Christine whiffing it! She's a little thing, but can she hit. All 95 pounds of her are thrown into that swing. She can catch, too--quick reflexes.
Watching them play brought back so many good memories. I taught these kids to play. Me! I showed them how to hit. I remember they wouldn't play unless I played with them. Look at them, now. Then all the baseball and softball games that I drove to. Years and years of being. a softball/baseball/soccer/hockey/basketball Mom. All my kids are jocks. Look at them, now.
I'm a proud Momma.