Play Ball

The beautiful weather continued, for yet, another weekend. The warm sunshine and deep blue skies, once again drew us out of our house and into the pleasant afternoons that we have become spoiled by, in these recent weeks. This fine weather was also the inspiration for finally putting some flowers in the various pots and planters around the house. I have to admit, if left to my own devices, I would not go to all the trouble of throwing away the dead, crunchy flowers from last year offering and replacing them with the new vibrant colors for the upcoming summer. I just don't have the vision and drive for it. But thank goodness, Agnes does. This isn't a new thing either. Here are some pictures from past plantings with Andrew in 2009.

Not much has changed since that spring three years ago. Andrew still likes to wield the trowel and get his hands dirty. But dirty hands is one thing Noah will not tolerate. He is much more inclined to relax and supervise.

We got distracted by sidewalk chalk once we moved to the back yard. I drew rail road tracks and conductor Andrew was very concerned about the "wagon train" not derailing.

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There are few things I enjoy more in this world than going to Autozone Park and watching a Redbirds game with the family. With the boys, I spend more time now, getting concessions, playing the carnival games and visiting the playground than actually observing the game. I used to think, I must be doing something wrong. I was doing everything but watching baseball. But every once in a while, I'll steal a minute and take in a couple of plays. And the game of baseball will whisper to me, "Go ahead...let your boys enjoy this time with you the way they want. This is what it's about...this is what is has always been about." One day, Andrew will look up and ask why something particular is happening on the field and Noah won't be far behind, questioning the difference between a force out and a tag. And baseball will be there waiting, as it has for decades. Welcoming fathers and sons to share a couple hours together in whatever way makes them most happy. I've been to baseball games with my father as both a young boy, caring more about a giant foam finger than the action on the field, and as a grown man, sharing a couple of beers and discussing the nuances of the game. Each time is perfect. Each time is irreplaceable. That's why I love the game.

We tried to get Noah to wear his hat so the sun would stay off of his face. We were only able to keep it on in five minute intervals.

Andrew played in the kids section a lot and after the game they let the children come on the field and run the bases. Andrew kept trying to get Rocky the Redbird's attention and in the process caused a couple of photo bombs.

We must have done something right. Andrew is already asking when the next game is happening. For now, I think it is time for some rest.