Wee Ball: noun. A game played between parents and children too young for sports, the parents must chase the children while smiling and hiding all frustration, the children show their worst possible attitude the object being to drive the parents insane.
I spent much of my childhood taking taekwondo lessons and running around in the woods building fires and treehouses. (It was a cross between Swiss Family Robinson and The Next Karate Kid…ya know…with Hilary Swank.) Meanwhile, in Michigan, my husband was playing a weird foreign game called soccer. (He also played a few other games I have heard of before like baseball and basketball.) My husband fell so deeply in love with sports that he has become quite rich by coaching high school basketball. (I mean rich in spirit and heart.) You can’t imagine the joy he felt when he found out about wee ball. Our kids no longer had to wait until a reasonable age to begin playing competitive sports. This sport can pretty much be played by anyone out of diapers. You may be thinking, aren’t they only babies? Oh no, my husband would respond, they are fine athletes. Sissy, Bubba, and my sweet three-year old nephew are beasts on the baseball field. Let me describe their skills with a few photos.
The first game: After spending one million dollars on all of their ‘necessary’ equipment we were ready to play ball. It all started with adorable pictures and laughs. Everyone was on time and happy. Things quickly unraveled…
The dugout was insane. I wore flip-flops and my foot was seriously injured by numerous mini cleats. (oh yes….they needed cleats.) It didn’t take long to realize that Bubba might not be ready for baseball. If you will notice, in the photo above, there is a wee ball pile up to the left (They all run like wild animals and pounce on the ball while the daddys scream things like, “Get that ball, be aggressive.”). Sissy is walking away to the right crying because she didn’t get the ball. Who is the kid on the pitcher’s mound dancing? That would be Bubba.
Sissy gets the ball! And the crowd goes wild…..so do the three boys who pounce on her, snatch the ball, and fight over who gets to throw it to the middle of nowhere. Good thing daddy (red shorts) is right there, ready to help. (or just standing with his arms crossed) Bubba is no longer interested in the ball because he is too busy playing with a piece of gum he got from the other team’s coach. At the end of the year, when trophies are passed out, he will receive the ‘friendliest to the opposing team’ award. He walked over to the other team’s dugout, struck up a conversation, then said, “Hey, you got some gum for me too?”
To the right we have Bubba, who will not leave the other coach alone! I really don’t know what he is saying, but I’m sure it is something embarrassing like, “My daddy, you know…the guy in the red shorts with his arms crossed, sleeps on the couch.” (If you are that coach, and somehow you have come across this blog, I must tell you that my husband and I love each other very much! We just have a bit of a disagreement about where our last baby should sleep. I say curled in a ball against my stomach, he says in something called a crib?)
So, we now have several games under our belts and things are getting a little better. During last night’s game I only had to tell Bubba to quit eating his glove one time! Sissy did cry, but not too often. Once, because she was tackled, and the other because she wanted everyone to follow the rules. I entertained the kids in the dugout by drawing baseballs and bats on their hands. (I bet all the parents love me!) Baby boy ate quite a bit of dirt, but like I always say, “God made dirt, dirt can’t hurt.”