For weeks, they’ve giggled together, huddled in conference and whispered ideas that suddenly stop when I enter the room. They’ve planned, they’ve plotted, and today it paid off in spades.
My preschooler (oh! soon they will both be preschoolers!) popped out from behind the door this morning and said, “Happy Mother’s Day!” at the top of his lungs. They got dressed quickly while I took a leisurely shower (Happy Mother’s Day indeed!) and took me out for breakfast at my favorite breakfast place. You know, the one where you take visiting company and don’t think about it “just for us.” Yum.
We came home to homemade cards and beautiful flowers, one bouquet picked out by each child. Just what I always wanted.
But then we changed clothes, went over to the park and hit the ball around a while. Tennis with a two-year-old, my favorite. WD and I were able to get in a few volleys, and the kids went traipsing through the woods with me to snag the ball I hit high, so high, over the fence.
After tennis but before the playground, we went and checked out the grassy baseball field nearby. I told Widget about baseball, taught him the terms, pretended he hit a homer, and we ran the bases together, laughing in the fresh air, delighted that we could breathe freely again as the muggy, wet days finally lifted.
Bear joined us, with WD, and we jumped in the mud puddle in the infield, although the game was soon called on account of butterfly.
While the kids napped, we drove a ways to the home of a nearby minor (very minor!) league baseball team. For $21, the four of us soon went sailing through the turnstiles, perching our tushs on aluminum bleachers and sitting close (so close!) to the players on the field. I taught Widget all about the game, and we thrilled to the old fashioned organ sound, clapping the rhythms, and cheering “Charge!” with the fans around us.
We sat like that in the sunshine for quite some time, excited and comfortable, and happy all at once.
The kids played on the playground, and Mama got to lie on the hill and watch the game from the grassy part of the stadium, as if it were a stadium of her youth. Daddy cheered the players and ate greasy chili cheese fries from a helmet.
And guess who went home with a game ball? You guessed it. Widget and Little Bear.
Apparently, when you go to a minor (very minor) league game, it’s considered good form to give foul balls to the nearest little kid. In fact, everyone watches you until you do. So we saw, over and over, grade schoolers delight in catching foul balls, and preschoolers’ faces shine with gratitude when the college kids nearby handed over the loot. (Although I totally would have caught ours if that man hadn’t reached in front of me to snag it.)
By the time the game was over, we were deliriously happy and very tired.
As I put Widget to bed, I whispered, “Thank you for the best Mother’s Day ever,” and he whispered back, “Thank you for enjoying it.”
Oh, my child, how could I not?