That's Nuts

I've decided there is no such thing as summer. There's just baseball. Good thing I love baseball.

If you've read any of my other blog posts, or have children yourself, you are familiar with the "Wham, bam, Thank You Ma'am" speed of life. Today I called ahead to the house to have the babysitter have Grant get his uniform on for his 6pm game. I would be home at 5:10 and the coach likes them at the game 45 minutes early (and I will tell you that it is longer than a 5 minute drive.) (And don't even get me started about the trip to the eye doctors to fix his broken glasses.)

Of course, I get home and Grant is not dressed, but making himself a bowl of ice cream. So I whisk him upstairs and scramble to find all of his gear. Luckily, we had a 3-day weekend, so I was able to cram in some cleaning and a little bit of laundry and his uniform was clean and waiting for us. I also cleaned his...athletic undergarments and its funny-shaped accessory.

We were rushing to get dressed. He was wriggling on his shirt. I was trying to figure out how to put the slightly curved, triangular-shaped protective thingamabob in his shorts. Which end goes up? (They really should put arrows on those things.) How the heck does this thing work?

And Grant says to me, "What Mom, you didn't wear a nut cup when you played softball?" (The one whole season I played.)

"Nope," I explained. "Girls don't wear nut cups."

The look on his face was priceless.  "You mean they make them suffer?" he said. Shock, mixed with sadness for the fairer sex.

Yes, honey. For the rest of our lives.