The Boys of Spring — Play Ball!

Damn my boy looks cute in his baseball uniform.

I know he will die to read these words. "Cute" and "baseball" are not one in the same to an 8-year-old straddling babyhood and boyhood, trying to look tough on a mound and learning not to cry when someone catches his fly ball.

But really. They are so cute when they first try on their stark white pants, pre grass/dirt stains, along with the (ahem) athletic protective gear they're proud to be sporting (now he's REALLY going to be mad at me) and the T-shirts with the colored sleeves.

Add the belt, the shoes, the hat, and I'm an emotional mess.

It's Little League season already. Did I blink and miss winter? Why is everything blooming? How did February just happen?

One kid already got hurt on his team. It's a miracle more don't. An errant swing of the bat and BAM — a fingernail split down to the bone. He didn't even cry until Mom showed up. 

Hopefully he'll be recovered by Opening Day! It's just around the corner. March 10 at the , our home away from home for the next three months and counting, if you throw in my daughter's softball to boot. 

I'm already craving those bad nachos, a warm blanket wrapped around me and a hot coffee in hand.

Play ball, baby boy. Play ball.