Every morning, I hear two things in order without fail. The first is: ”Mama, can you make us breafkiss?” Once the boys have eaten, they start saying, “Mama, will you pitch to me?!”

See, aside from family and church, baseball is a constant in our house. Daddy’s police schedule has always been wacky. His flight schedules are even crazier. One thing has been consistent in our house… Springtime means the Cubs come home to Wrigley Field and our TV, and little league games are just around the corner. The boys love watching their cousins Dale and Ty play. They love hoping for a chance to run the bases after their games. They love watching the Cubs play on WGN and they love to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” as loud as they can in our 12-passenger van. Just last night, while having batting practice in our living room, Andy told Brady that he has a “good strike zone.” I seriously think Connor has learned to count to three either through the aforementioned song or Andy’s count of Brady’s strikes. (Though he rarely makes it to three strikes before sending the ball sailing.)

Yes, baseball is a way of life for us. It’s a great game. And, though, the boys can tell you how rotorwash works on a helicopter (information passed on through Daddy) and they often play as though their talking to dispatch on their police radios (also courtesy of Daddy), they also know how to bunt. They are my kids, too.

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 21st, 2007 at 9:40 am and is filed under Kids, baseball. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.