My New Bat Bag

          Yes, I could have found a babysitter. Yes, my kids probably would have behaved decent for a babysitter, and yes, I probably would have had a MUCH better time at my rec softball game if I wouldn’t have taken my two children. But…I took them anyway because who is going to babysit willingly without tv and air conditioning being hooked up and who wants to babysit two kids that scream like banshees when I leave? Nobody!

          Here was my night:

4:30: out of work, rush home to get my softball jersey, cleats, and glove. Pack the  diaper bag with snacks, juice, toys, diapers, wipes…and my jersey,   cleats and glove! (who needs a bat bag when you can stuff everything you need for your softball game in your trendy diaper bag?)

5:00: pick kids up from daycare, drive my father-in-law to pick up his car at the shop.

5:30: Pick up a healthy dinner of McDonalds, and an Iced Tea for myself since I had forgotten to pack water in the rush of the evening.

6:00:  Finally, at the game…and on time! Ready to go!

          I get Ben to sit down at the picnic table by the ball field so I can keep an eye on him while he eats his “Donalds,” give Presley a mcnugget to gnaw on so she doesn’t scream when I pass her on to whoever will hold her, and I’m off to the field where I’ll end up playing a less than mediocre third base. In all of the hustle, I can’t imagine why it’s a little tough to focus on the game?!? After the inning is over, Ben is finished with “Donalds” and is off to the playground, where he may or may not fall and crack his head when I notice him climbing on top of the covered slide rather than sliding down inside of it. Presley is crying because her nugget is gone. I quickly put one french fry in each of her hands and rush to the playground to rescue my child from the mild concussion that he is about to have when his cowboy boot slips and he falls to the ground from atop the play equipment. (yes, this is how my mind works unfortunately) It’s almost my turn to go bat…but…”Mommy, I wanna go potty.” I urge Ben to go behind the bleachers and pee, but he told me no and that he had to poop in the potty! To help you understand the significance of this, Ben telling me that he has to poop before he has already left a “log” in his pants is equivalent to witnessing a solar eclipse, it happens rarely, but when it does it’s amazing! So, needless to say, I had to pick him up and run to the ball field bathroom that is just one step above a portable outhouse. He pooped! Amazing! I picked him up and rushed back to the field, which seemed to be about 3.4 miles away! Carrying a 38 lb child can make even the shortest walk very difficult. The game continued, Ben went back to the perilous playground, barefoot this time, and Presley continued to cry. Eventually the game concluded, we won, without the help of the very distracted third baseman, and I got Presley to stop crying. We went home, she fell asleep in the car, Ben took a bath, and the night was finally calm. I just really want to know…when did my ball bag turn into a diaper bag?