The Ultimate Workout

A few weeks ago, we decided to spend a Saturday at the ballpark watching Dad play softball. I thought it would be fun for Cooper to see his dad playing the game instead of always coaching. I wasn’t really looking forward to it, since I’m pretty experienced at taking two little kids to ballgames by myself. I knew what to expect. But I tried my best to prepare for the full-throttle workout that lay in store.

Having two little kids who live and die by their daily naps, I am well versed at what is to take place when they get too tired: I would say a polite goodbye and duck out of the fun before things got embarrassing. This day, however, we decided to try and hang in there to the very end.

First Inning: For a terribly tired two and a half year old, Cooper did the best he could. His first round of trouble sprung up when he spotted a little boy about his age, smartly dressed and pulling around his without-a-scratch little red wagon. This was quite an eye catcher for Cooper due to his undiagnosed obsession for moving vehicles. He directly approached and offered his driving services to the little tyke. The boy was all for this idea, but I don’t think he was quite prepared for Lightning McQueen to be at the wheel. Judging by the white knuckles and the G-force look on the little boy’s face, the speed of the ride was a little more than he was used to. Dad finally got the wagon stopped long enough for the boy to get out, but Cooper immediately proceeded to take the shiny, red race car for a ride all on its own. It was borderline comical to see this delirious little mongrel running at full speed, pulling an empty wagon, with a Willy Olson type following after to reclaim his prized possession. But within a few seconds it became clear that the adults were the only ones laughing, and after a few rounds of cat and mouse by a tired, shoeless dad and a toddler on a mission, the race finally ended with an explosion, a call for the fire trucks, and a long walk to the pits.

Second Inning: Although he had been eating nonstop since 8 a.m., Brisco was scavenging the area for any sign of food that had been dropped onto the ground. He came across a tasty Cheeto from under the bleachers that was covered in ants. I wanted to call Grandmother, the EMT, to see if I needed to put Maalox in his cup or induce vomiting, but I ignored the urge. All I had time to do was a quick finger sweep because big brother had just found a crazy, screeching bird, and he was off to investigate.

Third Inning: It was a mother killdeer, and Cooper had become mesmerized. She was cawing and flailing about trying to distract him from her nest, and she had done a great job. The umpire almost had to stop the ball game when Cooper became so interested that he started chasing that momma bird all the way out into right field. And I, of course, was running madly behind.

Fourth Inning: Brisco took every opportunity to practice and perfect the grin and go maneuver. It is really quite simple. When you hear mom or dad say your name, you turn and look at them, grin really big, and then go the opposite direction, in a dead sprint. Such a charming little game.

Fifth Inning: Cooper couldn’t seem to stay out of the dugout or refrain from sneaking off with the players’ bats. During a break, Uncle Max bought him a bat that was just his size, and he was set for the rest of the day. He found a huge mud puddle, and discovered that if he hit balls into it, they would make a cool splash. But if he just swung the bat at the ground, directly into the water…boy, could he make that water fly! After some cross-eyed looks from a few onlookers, and a bit of encouragement from a few others, he abandoned his bat altogether and started walking, running, marching, jumping, and sliding all through that mud. I think he would still be there to this minute if he could have figured out a way to keep his thumbs clean!

Sixth Inning: Brisco peed himself and had to run around for the rest of the day in a T-shirt and a diaper. Can you say red-neck?

Seventh Inning: He’s seen his dad do it a thousand times. He himself has done it hundreds, and he’s heard me tell him almost a million that if he throws a ball up over his head and doesn’t catch it in his glove, it is going to hurt when it comes down. But until that moment, they had all been empty words. When that big, yellow softball came down on Cooper’s head with a thud, I knew that we had stayed far too long, and making it out of the ballpark without a scene at this point was completely out of the question.

When we finally left the complex that night, I’m sure we were quite a sight. Cooper, muddy from head to toe, was wearing a pair of Brisco’s sweat pants, spitting at every other step because of the dirt he was collecting in his mouth from his thumbs. Brisco was wearing no pants and no shoes; a combination of mud, goldfish, bug guts, and snot covered his entire face. I have no idea who won the games, but when I finally fell into bed that night, I was sure about three things: Cooper doesn’t care if his dad is playing or coaching; maybe we aren’t quite ready for all day excursions without naps; and there is no class, technique, boot camp, or personal training regimen that can compare to the ultimate workout I get from my two boys.

And that’s All in a day’s work!