“The only real game, I think, in the world is baseball.” Babe Ruth – April 27, 1947
Youngest kidlet and I agree, though my husband doesn’t. He tolerates it.
George Herman Ruth Jr. was born 117 years ago, but lives on in American history as one of the greatest baseballs player of all time. Memorial Day stands as a remembrance of those that have protected our country, but Babe Ruth protected our country’s hope during the 1920’s and 1930’s. He is probably the first true sports superstar.
This weekend will be a whirlwind of baseball activity in our household. 32 thirteen year old teams will be playing in our tournament and we are so excited! Uniforms and equipment bags are checked and ready. The car is being stocked up with bottled water, sports drinks, power food and coolers. The camera has fresh batteries, sunscreen and sunglasses are in the backpack, gas tank is full, eyes are on the clock waiting for the magic moment of go.
Steve is watching TV.
I could ask him to help pack and load, but he gets too frantic. He runs around like a chicken with its head chopped off. It stresses him out to no end. If I can do without his ‘help’, I get a lot more done.
I have to laugh at some of his packing ‘skills’ when we first were married. He packed his own bags for Hawaii. Then I repacked for him. He had three full bags for two weeks. I put everything he needed into one carryon. I packed one carryon for me. Simple.
Tropical paradise. You eat, you sleep, you go to the beach. Funny little secret about our fiftieth state is they have washing machines and everything dries in an instant. We took swimsuits, a couple changes of shirts/shorts/undies, wore flipflops, had toothbrushes, sunscreen and sunglasses. We bought disposable cameras over there, and beach towels as souvenirs.
Steve stayed in a panic about not having the right stuff with him until we stepped off the plane two weeks later.
I had a fantastic time. We ate, slept, and laid in the sun. Brown as coconuts, we went home. One of us thoroughly relaxed, one of us a wound up, hyper mess.
Now that Steve’s been diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome, I understand why. He gets nervous and upset about new places and changes. I can handle those things.
So sit, dear Husband, and watch TV. It’s okay. I’ve got this.
Let the games begin!