Up until last night, I had absolutely no idea what hitting a cycle in baseball was.
(I was actually just the slightest trifle worried that my 8-year-old had done something wrong.)
“Mommy! Oh my god! I got A CYCLE! Do you know what that is? It means I got A HOME RUN! A TRIPLE! A DOUBLE! AND A SINGLE! All tonight! In ONE game! And I made two huge plays at second base and got two people out.”
“Well, from the giant smile on your face and the milkshake you are inhaling, I’m guessing this is a good thing?”
“Are you kidding?? It’s, like, the best thing to ever happen to me ever in my entire life.Daddy just kept saying something about some dude named Kelly Gruber.”
“I’m guessing that he’s different than Macgruber?”
“Who knows? Daddy really says weird stuff sometimes.”
“Hey, Josh. How come when *I* come to your games, I spend the entire time in the port-o-potty with your sister or buying snow cones or trying on helmets or playing in the park and when Daddy comes, he gets to see your shining moments?”
“I’ll tell you what, Mommy. Come to the next game. Leave the pooping spectators at home. I promise I’ll do something special for you.”
And then he winked at me.
Who the heck *is* this boy? Where did he come from?
Now if you’ll excuse me. I’m off to check mls.com and find us a house in a warmer climate…
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