Hey asshat dad, thanks for nothing

Yesterday I would have thought the worst thing I could come back tonight and post was that we'd lost the playoff game to the Astros. Instead, I come back to say coming in second place (after nine nerve wracking innings and a 1-2 final score) wasn't the worst thing that happened. The worst thing that could possibly happen to ANYONE is watching a dad after the game completely lose it, berate and physically assault his NINE YEAR OLD SON, knock down the league president, get ejected from the field, and storm off screaming that his son "blew three chances to win the game."

All this class act in front of his crying son and about 100 stunned parents and baseball players.

What the hell is wrong with people? It's a freaking baseball game. Yeah, it was tense. Yeah, we probably could have won it a couple of times, but seriously, who the hell cares at the end of the day? Is it worth acting like an asshat in front of your kid?

The parents and kids looked at each other like they'd seen a train wreck. I was crying. It was AWFUL. Some people wanted to call the police. I feared for the child going home to a dad like that. His wife was sitting next to me and silently left to follow her husband to the car. Someone else took the little boy home.

It was nine o'clock by the time the game ended, it was getting dark, a storm was rolling in. The wind was blowing but it had been sucked out of our sails at that point. William was crying not because they lost but because he didn't hit the ball when we needed a hit most. He said the pressure on him had been terrible. I told him how much we loved him and he said he was not only very glad that boy's dad wasn't his dad, but that he actually felt sorry and scared for that little boy.

Instead of heading for ice cream we all decided to head home. Hey asshat dad, thanks for nothing.

It's "Zach" not "Michael," and it's "Zack," not "Zac."

Oh, and it's "Schlender" not "Slender."

I officially suck as trophy mom. In my rapid fire attempt to get the boys trophies to commemorate their championship season, I ordered them all engraved off the roster, never thinking the roster could be totally wrong in like 3 places. Thank God the trophy shop can re engrave and mail them to me toute suite and I'll eat the $3 cost for not triple checking.

But WAIT, you say. Didn't you just post the other day about the boys getting their league trophies? Why yes! I did. Despite being told to order them, the league gave us trophies anyway. So now each kid has two (though mine are cuter and can hold a game ball). That was a fun 45 minute drive to the trophy store. Weee!

Last night we won our game against the Astros 8-1. No one managed to get a bloody nose but three kids got whacked by a ball. This game is not for wimps!  My sweet baby did not hit a ball once but let me tell you he can play the hell out of the violin and he skipped freaking first grade so take that all you little 9 year old sports phenoms (sob sob sob baby please dear God hit the ball just once really hard).

My son's goal at age nine is to have the other coach tell the boys to "back up. He's a hitter" when he's up to bat. At nine. Who needs this pressure??

The last game is tonight with Nana and granddad in attendance all the way from Florida. I am pretty sure they are getting yet ANOTHER trophy for the playoffs. And then we're all going to get ice cream after the game.

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Yeah, Baby!

It's always so nice when they win. I'm so HAPPY. Of course during the games I'm a nervous wreck and wear through the bottoms of my shoes pacing in circles around the park, unable to stand the stress of sitting through a close game.




Hot damn! Look at those trophies!

  

Last Saturday I thought I'd have to convince the kid running the concession stand at the ball park to run and get me a drink. And NOT a slushie. It was a messy game. I did a lot of pacing. Our pitcher hit the catcher so hard with a ball they had to carry the pitcher off the field. William took a ball to the head that left him with a lump despite his helmet.  We were down by 5 runs in the second, then came back to tie it in the 6th. That sent us into overtime extra innings (Thanks Bill). 7th inning they scored. Then we did. 8th inning. No runs. 9th inning. Madness ensues. The next teams to play have arrived. There are now 22 more kids clinging to the fence behind home plate, screaming. There are 40 more parents watching, cheering. We are 3 balls and 2 strikes, at bat. Bases loaded. Then their pitcher walks the batter and William walks in to score the winning run. Three and a half hours later Dodgers win! 

Tonight I dropped off William to face the Brewers, the team that sent us into the losers bracket in the play offs. I arrived a little late only to find a frown on William's face. "We're doing terrible," he moaned. They were down by 4 in the first inning. Kids on the bench were crying. Ugh. Awful. Here we go again, I thought. Then they were down by five runs. And then it happened all over again. Our batter sent a line drive into the pitcher's head (holy crap aren't these kids supposed to wear a helmet when then pitch??). Later their catcher sent one back to their pitchers that left him with a blooding nose and face (by this point I was ready to take William home). Two pitchers out of play, the Brewers were rattled and sent in their third string pitcher. We scored or were walked in 11 unanswered runs. Dodgers win 11-5 and earn a seat in the playoff finals on Wednesday.  AGHHHH! Pass mommy a margharita thank you very much.

I needed a laugh

Our summer sitter just took this of William. I don't know why it made me laugh so hard, but it felt good to laugh. It's kind of funny how stress makes some people eat and eat, but I never want to eat when I'm nervous. It's a lousy way to lose weight, that's for sure.

Any how, enjoy William all fattened up via Fat Booth (and Android and iPhone app).

Set backs

For those of you playing the "how is John's sciatica today?" game, I'm sad to report that he's actually doing worse. While he was able to at least find a comfortable position to be in on Thursday, by Sunday he could find nothing that made the pain really retreat. Today has been his worst day, spent mostly writhing on the floor and taking Percocet and Flexeril and a bunch of other drugs that don't seem to make the leg pain dissipate for very long.

We called the nurse this morning and let her know the change in symptoms, but she simply said he needed to take the full prescribed dosage (2 pills, not one) and didn't think he needed to move his appointment we've already scheduled for tomorrow. I've decided to just continue to work from home until further notice. I have a nanny here for the children while I alternate between trying to get a report finished for work and tending to John. It feels sort of weird to have the nanny here while we are here, but I don't want them to spend the entire day watching TV nor watch mommy stress and daddy be miserable when they could be doing a fun craft (like they are doing right now).

As if the fun can NEVER end in my house, last week we had a torrential driving rain that managed to soak the basement under our new (not 6 months old) Marvin French doors. We called the office and they sent a service guy and he suggested caulking it. This won't work for a number of reasons, not least of which is that I have sill pans and caulking them shut does little good, oh and caulk is not a waterproofing means. I paid for sill pans that drain but NOT INTO my house. This begs the question about what else is leaking under the other doors (which I cannot see).

Oh and there's still the odd smell I have had since April in some rooms, which the Mold Guy said isn't mold (thanks Mold Guy for showing up in a truck emblazoned with "GOT MOLD?" on the side). $385 and two air samplings later showed no trace of mold but still that odd smell. I bought air fresheners. They tell me this is out gassing of insulation and will go away. I don't believe them. They told me their sill pans could NOT POSSIBLY LEAK. 

I hate my house.

We have a trip to Paris this August and right now I'm not certain if John is even going to be able to go. I'm not certain if John is going to be able to get up the basement stairs into the first floor today. 

Some days I want to cry and some days I cry all day. There's a lot of stress right here in my little corner of Suburbia.

Rocket man

I call him the human torpedo. He needs a cape.

Poor John is completely unable to sit. He's now working lying on his stomach on the basement floor. They gave him a new pain prescription for Percocet, but he hasn't taken any since he thinks they will make him sleepy.

Traveling to and from these doctor and imaging appoints has been interesting. Since John can't sit for more than about three minutes before having excruciating leg pain, he travels lying flat in the back of my minivan. Do you know how weird it is to open your hatch and have a person get out? I feel like a kidnapper....

Hoping

Woke to the basement wall under the French door sopping wet. Called the door company to see why it is leaking.
Hope it can be fixed PERMANENTLY.

Hope it isn't leaking on the other side, where we can't see it (behind the basement bathroom wall)

John is scheduling an MRI on his back.
They hope it can be resolved in 6 weeks. He might need a cortisone shot.
Hoping he won't need surgery and hoping he can still go to Paris with us. Right now he rides to the doctors lying on the floor of the car.

I hope my headache will go away.

All Star

Always, Love, Mommy

I think I'll sit in the car

Today's last regular season game was a disaster. I won't mince words. The Dodgers did terribly. They played the team with the worst record in the season (2 and 9) and they got creamed 10 to 5. Poor John had to sit next to me in the rainy mist and cold and listen to me grit my teeth. Ugh. His only consolation is that he was hopped up on Vicodin for his sciatica pain.

I was not a happy camper even knowing the game didn't matter (we still won the league championship) but boy, I am wondering how we managed that after today's game. I found my blood pressure rising with every comedy of errors, missed hit, missed throw, missed grounder and I finally decided that I would just sit in the car and watch the game from the parking lot.

William was the grown up in all of this. He told me later it doesn't matter if you win, but if you do your best. He's right. I was a bad sport and I learned my lesson. From a 9 year old.

Dodgers Win League Championships!

Woo hoo!

William managed to get his third game ball on Wednesday night in the close match between the Cubs and Dodger. We won 4 to 3 and it was really by the skin of our teeth. At one point I couldn't take it any more and decided to go for a very long walk around the baseball fields.

Final game is Saturday and I believe we'll get the trophies then.

Will post photos then.

Is baseball season over yet cause mommy needs a drink?

I think we have two games left in our Minor 9 season, and I will be glad when it is all over with because it is going to kill me.  I've been a good baseball mommy. I learned what an in-field fly rule is (that is one messed up rule). I have not screamed obscenities at any children (unlike the mommy from our Sunday game). I have attended every single game, snowing (yes), raining (oh yes), or sweltering. Last season I just remember the weather. This season I remember the weather and the STRESS. 

For the first time ever, William is on a winning team. Like a seriously freakingly good team (we have Uber coach, remember?--by the way, turns out we LOVE HIM).  We're 9-1 this season (our first loss was yesterday when I don't know what happened but suddenly we went from pitching and batting machines to crazy ants running around like someone kicked our nest). If we beat at least one of the next two teams, we win the league championship. OMG. I might explode. (The next two teams are 2-7 and 2-8, so please please please don't screw this one up).

William has gotten TWO game balls this season. One came yesterday when he got a double, some boys came in to score, tagged someone out on third base, lots of things like RBIs (no clue). His coach from last year was on the opposing team. He told me later he always knew William had potential. But only I know the secret ingredient to making William a star: Slushies. All our coach had to do was tell William if he hit the ball, he'd buy him a Slushie.

Turned out they were out of Slushies

And like any 9 year old motivate purely by the promise of sugary SNACKS, my baby performed!