The O Factor's Debut

Yesterday was our youngest boy's first official t-ball practice. Owen (whom we like to lovingly refer to as the 'O Factor') has been waiting all of his life to get some action out on the field. Since he was one month old, he has been sitting in the stands as a spectator. So yesterday marked a big milestone in the life of our four-year-old. Here he is right before we left for his practice:

And here he is with his sidekick, Jeremiah.  They are 'baseball ready!'

For the last two years, older brother Jeremiah played on the 'Twins' at Lyndon Recreation.  It has been the best t-ball team we ever played on because of the coaches (you can read about them here).  In fact, word must have gotten out about the coaching, because there were sixteen parent requests to play on the Twins!  Sixteen!  Wow.  We are so glad that Owen made the cut.  And so is he.  He would have been devastated if he couldn't have followed in his big brother's footsteps and be a 'Twin'.  And since he and Jeremiah are like twins (not only do they look alike, they spend every waking moment together),  it fits that he would be on a team named such.

While they may look alike and enjoy the same activities, Jeremiah and Owen's personalities are night and day different.  Jeremiah is laid-back, soft-spoken and compliant.  Owen is intense, loud and well--a rule breaker.  In fact, his personality is what led to us calling him 'the O Factor'.  I have already warned the coach that Owen is a completely different animal--I mean boy--than Jeremiah.

So off to practice they went, the daddy and son.  What Owen didn't know was that Sophie and I were going to come by shortly after they started.  There were two reasons we couldn't resist seeing the O Factor's debut:  1) because watching a four year old on the field is just hard to resist 2) whereever the O Factor is, there is usually a 'story'...

When Sophie and I arrived, the coach had divided the team into groups to practice their fielding.  We set on the stands with about thirty other people (no--I am not kidding.  You would have thought it was a game with all the spectators at this practice!  See?  These parents can't resist either!).  Anyway, suddenly Owen told his coach he needed to go potty.  Eric, who was helping another group of youngsters, began walking off the field to accompany our O to the bathroom--or so he thought. 

Our O Factor ran off the field and dropped those pants right outside the backstop.  Yep.  There he was--drawers pulled down, baring all...trying to do his business.

Everyone's attention turned from the field to this bare bottom...of course it did.  This is usually the case with the O Factor.

Soph and I about fell off the bleachers and busted a gut.

And then I remembered that I was the mom.  And a responsible mom would offer to take their child to the bathroom.  That a responsible mom wouldn't just lay there laughing while the responsible dad left his coaching post and took the O to the bathroom...

So as responsible Dad pulled up the drawers, I gained my composure, snorted one more time, and fessed up as the mom of deliquent boy.  

Well, that was a bad decision.  

O Factor hadn't realized that dear Mom was in the stands.  And dear Mom has a way of bringing out the best in him.  The O immediately ran towards the bathrooms, his defiant arms in the air, yelling, 'I going by myself, Otay?!?  I can do this myself!' 

As I chased after him, I guess the Factor got it in his head once again that he didn't really want to bother with the bathroom.  After all, he was in the middle of his t-ball practice and time was of the essence.  So he stopped and dropped those drawers again, intending to get his business DONE.

'Owen, you can't do that...pull up your pants!'

I don't know if it was me yelling or the fact that he did not want his mom to help him, but O pulled up his pants and began running towards the bathroom again, yelling, 'I don't need help, otay??!'

I finally caught up with him.  That just made him all the madder.  So he decided to do a front noseplant into the ground.  He laid there stiff on the ground.  Yes!  A fit of the finest sorts. 

'I don't need help, otay???'

Getting him to wash his hands was another whole battle.

'I don't have time, otay???!'

After practice, Owen wanted to stay and run the bases a few minutes.  And here is fit two, three and four:

Oh me. Oh my.  I think our parenting abilities are going to dissolve into the dust of the t-ball field this season.