Army of Mom

So this is how liberty dies ... with thunderous applause.


Take me out to the ballgame

Recovering from a late night date with my husband *ie, hungover and sleep deprived* is not the best way to approach a two-hour long baseball practice for my 7-year-old. Yeah, you read that right: TWO hours.

Intense. But, at least Hot Rod has Coach Hubba Hubba this year. *fanning self* This guy's picture is found next to tall, dark and handsome in the encyclopedia. Wow. I wound up finding Stinkerbelle a nice shady dugout to play in and I got out and helped the coaches by fielding during batting practice. These guys can't pitch for shit. I told them that I am decent and I could do it, but they were not going to let their penises shrivel enough to give me a shot. Lord forbid that they get shown up by a girl. *rolling my eyes* The dad who was pitching kept having to rotate his shoulder because it was getting sore, but no way could he acquiesce. Nope, he plunked a kid before it was over, too. I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Nope, don't let the girl try.

Boys. They're still smelly and rude.

And, I still like them in spite of it. Can't wait to help Coach Hubba Hubba at the next practice, too. Maybe I'll put on some makeup for that one. It always looks good when I'm sweaty, NOT.


  • At 8:09 AM, September 05, 2006, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Don't worry honey, if I was coaching I would let you pitch! You do a better job then me most of the time!


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