It’s baseball season. When I married my husband over nine years ago, he liked baseball, but he wasn’t obsessed with it. Now it’s a certifiable obsession. My husband has the game on the television all the time and he wears his baseball glove while watching the game. Our guest bedroom has become a shrine dedicated to the baseball god. My husband sits in the living room tossing the baseball up into the air and catching it with his glove. My husband turns ten years old when the Diamondbacks or Cubs play.
This was our conversation the other night:
Him: “Let’s play catch!” (mind you, it’s dark and we are in the house)
Me: “Do you remember the last time we played catch in the house?”
Him: (face loses smile) “Oh, yeah.”
Me: “I nailed the lamp.”
The Diamondbacks won’t sign me up as their star pitcher; maybe the Cubs will offer a contract? I was aiming at my husband. The sock-ball zinged over the breakfast bar and punctured the lampshade. Breakfast bars are great places to throw things over, but it’s important to make sure that all breakables are put away.
What do you or your husband do when one of you turns ten?