In the midst of the marriage angst I have to say that Noah and I have discovered a real passion.
T-ball. We were at a birthday party last week and Noah went wild for the t-ball they had set up. And while we were shopping for favours for his party, we discovered the same t-ball set for $9.99. (This is a toddler set: what I would call a “wiffle ball” and “wiffle bat” and a plastic stand with no real bendy bits.)
Anyways, we’ve been playing it all weekend. He’s got the whole idea down of hitting the ball. And he picks teams (out of the two of us; I always get to be on his team). And he hits it and I run and get it. And sometimes I really have to run! And it’s a lot of fun.
I suck at some kinds of games. I am ok with elaborate fantasy games. And crafts, we have that covered in the system. And building stuff. But when it comes to the low-grade imagination games – the “make the train go off the tracks One Hundred Times” or the “sip tea 50 times” games I slip. My attention wanders. I try to create narratives or change the story, when really my job is to SIP THE TEA MUMMY. Do not vary it! Do not!
But t-ball, that I can handle. I don’t mind catching the ball 50 times. I’m not really a sports leader in that I really have very little idea about how to play soccer that properly or whatever (I do have basic softball/t-ball skills, and decent basketball and volleyball skills I suppose). But I like being outside moving my body around and it makes me wriggly that Noah is getting into it too. So, we played t-ball a lot this weekend.
We also went to a park around the corner that has no frontage on streets, and he RAN. And RAN. And RAN. I bet I could jog alongside him. If I would wear better shoes.
It brought back a lot of memories of walking him around the neighbourhood in the Ergo, hoping he would sleep. Those were cosy times. These are too.
