Miss me, miss me, now you have to kiss me...

Yeah yeah... I know... I haven't been here in awhile but in my defense, I have been super busy. I know that really isn't much of an excuse but hey- it's the best I've got. Not only is there the full time job, the four boys, the writing of two novels (that should be much farther a long than they are BTW), my super brilliant husband thought it would be a phenomenal idea to sign the two of us up for a co-ed softball team.

How sweet right? A loving husband wanting to spend time with his wife of eleven amazing years by participating in physical activity partnered with the camaraderie of five other happily married couples... What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters, me. I am all sorts of wrong for pretty much anything requiring any athletic ability. Let us count the ways shall we?

#1. I haven't played softball since the sixth grade, back in the spring of 1990. Oh yeah, and I only played that one season and I sucked... BIG TIME.

#2. Softball was the only sport I ever played. Unless you include all of the times I tried out for sports and didn't make the team. Tennis, soccer, volley ball, and dance squad in junior high and cheer-leading every damned year between 6 and 12th grades. I did however attempt to be on the track team my freshman year and since anyone who wanted to be on the team was allowed, yay me! My first meet while running in what was affectionately called the fat man relay (I was slow and therefore was elected to throw discus and shot put, not well or far) the girl in the lane next to me shoved me down and after sliding over a track covered in black cinders which easily embedded themselves into my flesh, I quit.

#3. I am fat. Not so fat that I can't move under my own volition, but fat enough that I now qualify for the fat man relay and am really not thrilled at the idea of anyone witnessing me doing anything more than speed walking.

#4. I throw like a girl... Wait, that is an insult to girls. I throw like a spastic sloth. It's sad really. And funny. But there are reasons beyond my control for this... I have had my shoulders dislocated and no one ever showed me the right way to do it. Now it is just awkward.

#5. My beloved feels the need to critique my every move and coach me. This does not please me. It makes me want to punch him in the boy parts. A lot. Deep down I know he is trying to help me get better, but it feels like he is picking me apart instead of helping me to improve... sigh...

#6. I'm scared. Of getting hurt. Of falling down. Of looking like an idiot. Of people laughing at me. Of always sucking. Of always being last.

Okay, I am done counting. I can tell you this. I am giving it my best shot. I am getting better, a little better, but better. I have practiced. I have faced my fears and have played in three games and jacked up my ankles for a few days, but they are not so sore now (four days later). I have discovered that I can throw farther underhand than over and it looks normal. As long as I get the ball there no one really cares how I throw it except for Darling Husband who is hell bent on forcing me to throw the correct way. I have hit the ball but have yet to make it to first base before the other team throws me out at first base. Maybe before the end of the season.

The only position I am allowed to play is catcher because I don't have to move around a whole lot. The team never throws the ball to me when someone is running home, even though that is what is supposed to happen. Instead the pitcher runs home to cover the plate and I just stand there like a big fat bump on a log. The umpire even commented how obvious it was that my team didn't trust me one little bit. Oh well. baby steps.

Well, so far I have survived and have smiled a little and yes I have even had a little fun. So I hope you all forgive my absence while I try to balance one more thing on my already out of whack scales of life.

Oh yeah...


Let's go PITCHES BE CRAZY!!! *

*in case you are wondering, we are 0-3 so far...