Oh, Those Summer Ni-hights (Tell me more! Tell me mo-o-ore-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Ah, those summer nights.

Sitting on the dock of the bay. Wasting time.

(Oops, that’s a different song.)

Wasting away in Margaritaville.

(Sorry–it’s hard for me to write a post with itunes blaring in my earbuds. Can’t multi-task.)

Relaxing on my pontoon boat, sipping a glass of Chardonnay and tanning my long, thin legs.

(No, not a song. Also, not my life–or my body!)

Going straight from work to the Little League fields to watch Boy #1 play in his first All-Star game. (Well, with a minor stopover at Goodwill. Hey–it was on the way!)

(Yes, that sounds more like MY life.)

I settled onto the bleachers beside Husband and then caught sight of Boy #2 and Boy #3, who were, of course, digging in the dirt and rocks behind the fields.

Boy #3 looked pretty good, considering I hadn’t laid out any clothes for him before going to work. Blue’s Clues t-shirt. Denim shorts. Leather flip-flops.

Boy #2? Well, the first thing I noticed is that he was wearing a pair of bright red SWEATPANTS. Mind you, it was pushing 90 degrees. But he DID have the sweatpants pulled up to his knees, which brought me right back to jr. high in the 80s. Anyone else remember how UNCOOL it was to actually allow the elastic to encircle your ANKLES? (Or are you all too young for such memories? If so, just humor me. Smile and nod.)

The second thing I noticed is that Boy #2 was also wearing some kind of homemade jewelry. Upon closer look, I realized that they were Zoobs, crafted into a necklace and bracelets. Plus one for Boy #3. He had chosen to use only the red Zoobs. (Hey, at least he MATCHED!) Husband informed me that this jewelry gave them superpowers. Something about being able to resurrect the dead. That’s definitely a skill that could come in handy.

As we waited for the game to begin, I looked around and began to feel a LITTLE out of place. Kind of like I had just crashed the party. This is because all of the moms knew one another. Except me. You see, nearly all the boys on the All-Star team play AAU baseball as well–and most are on the SAME TEAM. Oh, and did I mention that the coach of the All-Stars is also the AAU coach of the majority of the boys too? Yeah, so these moms are used to seeing one another a bazillion times a week–have traveled together and bonded over rain-outs and bad umpiring. And all their boys are used to playing together. They’ve got nicknames for the kids and inside jokes to boot.

Yeah, a little out of place.

As I sat with Husband, listening to the other moms carry on their conversations right beside me, it began to dawn on me that even if they did decide to try to include me in their chitchat, I wouldn’t really have anything to say.

Let’s see…I don’t watch The Bachelor, or The Bachelorette (I know, I know, I’m the only person on the planet who doesn’t really give a flying fudge who these people pick). I have never seen an episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County and am pretty sure I’d rather watch an infomercial for ProActiv 10 times in a row than have to sit through this reality show even once. (Yes, I do realize I’m a snob.)

Hmm…I don’t spend all day laying out at the pool with my BFF and our kids (This may be because I currently don’t really HAVE any girlfriends…), and if I did, I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t then attend my son’s baseball game still wearing my bikini under a strapless beach cover-up. Well, maybe I would if I actually looked like this mom…

I don’t have freshly pedicured feet.

Or designer sunglasses.

And I’m pretty sure the rest of the moms didn’t have to spend the game spouting to their kids “Put down the rocks. PUT DOWN THE ROCKS! Did you hear what I said?” and “Why did you just spit on your foot?” and “Well, why did that kid just hit you with his bat? What did you do to him?” and “Seriously, you just buried all of your toys in the sand on that field?! Well, I guess you’ll just have to try to find them all and dig them up!”

I also didn’t see them take their kid to the water fountain 37 times to wash off a sand-encrusted Ring Pop.

One mom did kindly hand me some wipes as Boy #2 made an appearance in front of the bleachers completely covered in WET SAND. Face. Arms. Hands. Legs. (Supposedly this was compliments of the same boy who hit Boy #3 on the head with a bat. Curiously, he only seemed to bother MY kids. I wonder why?)

I’m guessing that none of them went into the bathroom, stripped off their kid’s poopy SpongeBob underwear, threw it in the trash, and made him go commando the rest of the game, either.

Just a guess.

So maybe it was just as well that I was allowed to just sit quietly and listen.

I did get to entertain myself for a bit by watching Boy #1 play. In this case, “for a bit” means exactly one inning. One. Never mind that he rocked it out over the center fielder’s head when no one else seemed to be able to do anything but pop it up or strike out. Or that he hit in two runners and began the rally that put us in the lead. It was back on the bench the next inning. (It’s a mom’s right to be a teensy weensy bit bitter in such situations, isn’t it? I thought so.)

Finally, the game was over, and our boys had prevailed. Time to reel in the boys, one of whom was underwearless, and head to the van. I took Boy #3 and asked Husband to take home Boys 1 and 2. Walked my sticky, blue-mouthed boy to the van. As I pulled out, I began thinking about what we needed to do once we got home. Supper. Baths. Bed. And it was already 8:30. Ah, those relaxing summer evenings…

Checking the rearview mirror, I saw Husband and Boy #1 climbing into the rental car (the one that for some reason came complete with an Oklahoma Native American license plate) and became a wee bit nervous.

Husband picked up the cell phone on the third ring. “Hello?”
“You DID remember Boy #2, didn’t you?” I asked.


“Crap. I forgot. I’ll go back and get him.”

Did I mention that we have another game tonight?


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