The boys

YMCA t-ball has started for Blessing #3, and he had his first practice yesterday evening. I show up at the park with the five monkeys- more specifically, five little howlers. (Little in stature, not decibels.) While it was nice to release all that squawking and squealing from the captivity of the car, it was just as ear-splitting in the open air of the playground.

Yet, I digress.

We get to the park, and I take B#3 over to meet the coach. She asks if he's brought his glove.

Uh, no. Was that on the list? While I'm silently pondering why that wasn't in the email with all the other necessary information, I send my boy off to practice baseball bare-handed. Apparently all the other mothers are much more t-ball savvy than I, as their children were well-prepared for practice and came equipped with their gloves.

Nevertheless, he had a good practice, and it actually held his attention. It was far different than his flag football games where he spent his time playing telescope with the orange cones or his basketball games where he flopped on the floor like a ragdoll.

After practice and dinner, Monkey Daddy took him out glove shopping, so he'll be ready for his game on Thursday night. While WalMart and Target had a wonderful selection of $6 t-ball gloves, they apparently only stock for right-hand throwers. After many phone calls and various visits to the sports sections of different stores, our little leftie ended up getting to go to the fancy shmancy sporting goods place to find a left-hand-thrower glove.

It wasn't $6.

It's also a little big. Apparently, left-handers don't place baseball until they're older because they also don't make the smallest sized t-ball gloves for lefties.

But he's proud as can be of his new glove. Which is good... look at that fancy leather Mizuno t-ball glove. Did I mention that it wasn't $6? During the car ride this morning, I heard B#5 giggling and laughing and having the best ol' time. I figured he was squirming his way out of his seatbelt straps and feeling quite proud. When I turned to scold him, I instead found him with an arm up his shirt, scratching away at his armpit... like a monkey. He is evidently ticklish even when he's the one doing the tickling!

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