(Do I even need to clarify that I'm talking about BUG's baseball seasons? Because as much as I love me some Colorado Rockies -- they hold a special place in my heart since their inaugural season was happening when the Teenager was born -- Major League Baseball just doesn't hold my attention in quite the same way.)
I love hearing the crack of the bat.
I love watching amazing, miraculous, no one's ever gonna believe it catches.
I love hearing the cheers when he throws a ball from deep in center field, and it lands perfectly in the catcher's mitt.
I even love watching him as he watches his teammates, because it's showing me that he's learning to pay attention even when the focus is not on him.
What I don't love, though? Baseball dirt. I don't love how it takes beautifully white pants and makes them orange. And as amusing as it is, I'm not even overly fond of how it takes my handsome boy and turns him into an Oompa Loompa.
Very much like Pig Pen, actually, by the time the game is over.
But, mom.....baseball dirt makes everything taste BETTER.
Give up, mom. You're never gonna get it out of there. Besides, I don't want you to. I like it. Seeing all of that orange ground into the white? Really makes me feel like I'm doing my job out there, and doing it right.
Did I say I didn't love baseball dirt? How can I not, when it has the power to give my baby another piece of himself back, when he struggles so hard to hold onto all that he can?