Now Batting Left.....

I didn't get to see much of Rachel this past weekend, because with my schedule, I work when she is asleep and I sleep when she is awake. It stinks.

So after leaving work this morning, I decided to surprise her. I dashed across the street to her school before class began. She was the only student in her classroom.

I walked in, she turned around, ran toward me and threw her arms around my neck. Totally worth it.

As I conversed with her and her teacher, I wonder whether there was something wrong with my eyes. But there was not. She has a purple sock under one tennis shoe and no sock under the other.

"Rachel, you have a purple sock on one foot and no sock on the other! Where is your other purple sock?"

"I don't know," she shrugged.

"What happened?" I asked. "Did you get distracted watching Super Why and forget to put on your other sock?"

"No! I didn't watch Super Why! It was Clifford.

Whatever it was, I think she confirmed my diagnosis.



Speaking of Rachel and her shoes, I am stunned each night how much playground sand she manages to get in them and on the bottom of her feet. Actually, it has worked out quite well. Instead of going out and buying her a sandbox, I merely need to save up what she accumulates over the course of a month.


Today turned out to be a beautiful day, so I suggested to Rachel she go outside and ride her bicycle. However, we couldn't find her helmet. It probably has adhered to something from all the Dragontales stickers affixed to it.

Rachel had a Plan B in mind. She wanted to go out and hit a baseball. Of course, we couldn't find one of those either, so we improvised with a soft, miniature soccer ball like your dog would fetch. We did find her Hello Kitty bat, the one I can feel bending when I swing it real hard.

It is not easy pitching to someone half your size and she wasn't making contact at all. Then I realized my southpaw was trying to bat righthanded, so I turned her around to bat from the left side. As she faced me, I realized she was trying to spit. It was actually more like drool dribbling from her mouth, but apparently she knew baseball players did it. I assured her that would not be necessary here.

Anyway, batting left, she actually made contact four straight times. Excitedly, she ran around the bases and I made all these exaggerated motions to tag her out.
One of those times, I lifted her up over my shoulders and asked out loud what happened to her. She seemed to enjoy it, as did I.

Before going back inside, I showed her how our cherry tree had bloomed and how our Bradford Pear tree was about to, when a sticker branch got caught on the back of her pants. You would have thought she had been shot. She was still complaining about it two hours later.

That's my daughter... the one-socked, lefthanded baseball playin' drama queen!