Wednesday, May 11, 2011, 7:00 AM. The O pops his head around the wall into the kitchen, teeth-filled grin bigger than his face.
"It's my first baeball bame!"
Immediately followed by:
"Can I put on my baeball oonifoam?"
The mom of perfection ten years ago would not have yielded to such a request. Get a uniform dirty for opening day??? No way. But this mom of five has been around the block a few times...she knows that bacon grease and syrup on a uniform is small potatoes. Today there are way bigger fish to fry than uniform presentation. She nods in compliance without batting an eye.
At 7:35 AM the mom gets one of those uncanny mom premonitions. It tells her to make sure the glove is secure for tonight's game. This manager of chaos is usually not one to follow through with such thoughts ten hours before game time. That would be--just too on top of things. But today something makes her scan the shelves in the garage for little man's glove.
It's 7:40 in the morning on opening day and the O's glove is no where to be found. Lost. Left behind on a bleacher somewhere. The O doesn't take the news very well:
And the first fit is thrown nearly before the dawn of the rooster crow.
Big brother Jeremiah tries to save the day by going and getting his glove out of this bag: 'Look O! You can use my glove...oh no... MMMOOOOMMMM! THIS IS BEN'S GLOVE!'
Ben? Whose Ben? (and by the way, whose on first, Abbott?)
Teammate to big brother Ben, that's who. Whose glove happens to look a whole lot like big brother's, resulting in a switch-a-roo..or would that be a switch-a-who? (is it just me, or is this starting to sound like Dr. Suess?)
'No worries, O. This is so exciting! You get to use Jeremiah's teammate Ben's glove for your first game ever! Isn't that special?'
High maintenance youngest sibling of five isn't buying it.
Recovery is looking unlikely, but then Miss Shell shows up with a special something something to commemorate opening day:
And the face does a 360.
Cupcakes with plastic baseballs save the day...once more, all is right in the world.
Shortly after the sugar consumption, I announce the next surprise:
OPENING DAY HAIRCUTS!
At this point in the day, eldest son Joshua, whose concern for justice is of utmost importance, pulls me aside:
'Wow--pictures, cupcakes, haircuts, more pictures...you sure are making a big deal about this first game. Did you make this big of a deal about my first game?'
Buddy, go open the cabinet in the basement and pull out scrapbook, volume #7. On page 250, you'll find a ten page spread, I'm sure of it.
Phew. Glad those middle kids...what's their names...didn't pose that question.
So we mosey on down to the Sports Clips and this momma has a trump card in our back pocket...and she's so excited to pull it out, yes she is. The last of the pack needs some trumpet noise--some announcing--every now and then. A trump card of the Mr. T. variety:
One last look, Mimi:
And back to our red-neck roots we go:
The 'out-in-your-face-here-I-am' kind of do. A mohawk-sportin', red-neck stylin' grand-son. Mimi is so proud. I know she is.
So with the buzz of the clippers, the O's capacity for trouble just grew ten-fold. Or, more accurately, just exposed what was already there. (Who just knocked that kid down? It was the boy with the mohawk. Who is throwing a fit out there in the field? The boy with the mohawk. Who is stomping off from his parents again? Oh, just the boy with the mohawk.) Yep. No hiding now... No longer able to hide under the innocent locks of brown hair. No longer.
The O is in his element, his prime. It fits like a glove, and he can't lose this one I might add.
And finally, finally, it's 6:00 PM--the moment we've all been waiting for.
And a slew of 'firsts' for this four-year-old happens in a matter of minutes.
His first National Anthem:
His first team huddle:
His first time to field (sportin' Ben somebody-or-other's glove):
First up to bat (with dad's assistance):
First time to score:
And amidst all his 'firsts', his fan club cheers him on:
Of course, in O fashion, he pretends to ignore the signs. He pretends to ignore the friends, the Mimi, the aunt and cousin cheers. He tries to look all unaffected...but the smile seeping out of the corner of his pretend somberness gives him away. Later, when it's safe to care, he'll talk non-stop about all the people that came to share in his day of firsts.
O boy, you are one-of-a-kind. You might be number five, but you're the first to ever sport a mohawk in this family. And sport it well I might add. Crooked smilin' mohawkin stylin'. Yep. It suits you. It suits you just fine.
So thankful to share in this day of firsts with you...we love you O-ee-O.
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