Dear Itty Bit,
You knew this was coming…
I mean, after entertaining the soccer team last season, you had to know I was gonna call you out for your t-ball antics?
(oh, and let’s not forget the Chicken Dance)
But this year, you’ve come up with some new material. Honey… the reason we have to watch the ball, is because that little sucker can bounce into cute little boys.
(ah the joys of indoor practice in the rainy Northwest)
Next time you take a direct hit, please don’t wail to the crowd,
“the ball hit my balls! THE BALL HIT MY BALLS!”
Because while they surely didn’t mean to, they couldn’t help but laugh.
And once again honey… this is not soccer.
Duuuuude. Timing is everything. I love me some fresh dandelions as much as the next momma, but please wait until the seventh inning stretch to deliver your floral gift.
And I don’t have pictures of it because I was too busy wildly gesturing to operate a camera… but I love that you hit the ball, then stood there as everyone screamed at you to run to first base.
I love that you looked confused at the parents and coaches, then trotted off to first base.
Then threw your bat down on the base.
Let’s work on that, mkay?
You’re my favorite slugger.
Your Momma Who Already Knows This Is Gonna Be a Crazy Ride
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The Snap Happy Momma Who Thinks You Should Look Cute Too
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