A few weeks ago, I visited my friend JM’s blog, and saw a post where she talked about her new tea buddy, Mr. Tea.  And even though I don’t drink tea, I thought he was über adorable, so I wanted to see if the company that created her Mr. Tea, had any other items that were creative and adorable like her new little friend, yet were unrelated to tea drinking. 

I pity the fool who don’t drink no tea!

So I went to the website of the company that made Mr. T, and fell in love with everything I saw there.  And while I was perusing the site, I realized that I had actually previously seen a bunch of their items and/or even owned a few.

You’ve seen all of these, right?

And then of course, I came across an item that I have coveted since this past Christmas, but had no idea who made it.  I just knew that I wanted it, and still want it.  One day, maybe.

Remember these? Um, yeah, ME TOO!

And then I found something that I had not seen before, but I thought would be just perfect as a cute gift for my secretary.  I love getting her kooky gifts just because she’s completely amazing and deserves gifts for no reason.  It’s how I do.  But then I thought, “Wait, me…..wouldn’t this also be a really great gift to give to someone else as well?”  And I thought-responded, “Why yes.  Yes it would.”  And then I stopped talking to myself, because it started making me feel as if I was going to be committed at any moment.  Gotta at least act as if I’m a normal member of society, right?

So, anyway . . . back to the item.  It’s another office supply, so some of you might not be interested, but I thought it was fun.  Then again, maybe it’s because I have two boys that pretty much can’t stop talking about all things farting and pooping and potty humor, and I’ve finally been drawn over to the dark side . . .

“The Butt”

This little beauty is called The Butt Station Desk Accessory Holder.  It is a little blue man, holding a roll of tape (the cutter thing is on his toes), sitting on a toilet seat full of paper clips, whilst holding a pen in his mouth.  Behind him, there is a space for a post-it pad and more pens.  This little guy has a lot going on.  If you are like me, and are currently feeling like you are actually working in a toilet every single day at work, then this is the perfect little guy for you to subtly display your displeasure for your craptastic job.

Oh, but wait!  Besides all of the cute little functional things that this little guy represents, he also has a secret talent.  What is that, you ask?  Well, his butt is a magnet that pulls out the paper clips when you lift him off of his perch.  Yep.

But wait!  There’s more . . . if you call right now, you will get this bonus gift!  In addition to this lovely little gift that I bought both for my secretary and for one of you lucky contestants, I also bought a nifty set of pens that are also created by those irreverent and goofy bastards over there at Fred & Friends.  They are called “Borrow My Pen” and have faux business names and slogans on them.  They are rad. 

And . . . there is one of these lovely pens stuck firmly in the little blue man’s mouth up there.  So, if you get this great toilet guy, you will also get one of the Borrow My Pen pens.

This one.

“Stuffed With Love Taxidermy
No Pet Too Small – Give Us a Call!
(ask about our goldfish and turtle discount)
fluffy4ever. com”

I know, right?  You are thinking, “how can she be this beautiful AND generous all at the same time?  It just can’t be possible!”  But it is, my friends.  It is.  It’s just a gift.

Ok, so . . . rules!  Tell me about why you need this toilet man at your crappy job.  Tell me a story about something goofy or crazy or just plain shitty that has happened at your place of work.  And although you won’t be judged on your story (as always, random out of the hat picking by my fellas), I do need to be entertained, so make ‘em good.  I need something to distract me from this toilet bowl of a job I’m in! 

A lucky winner will be picked in a couple of weeks.  Good luck to all!

(In case you were wondering, my secretary absolutely adored this gift.  She liked it so much, that she walked around showing it to everyone, talking about how I know just the perfect things to get for her to represent her feelings about the job.  Yeah . . . it’s magical at my place of employ, as you can see.)

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**I was not compensated in any way for this post.  All opinions are my own, as I truly do love the Fred & Friends products.  I mean, how can you not love a company that refers to itself as “a lot like Santa Claus, but without all that breaking and entering?”  Seriously.  Love them. **

That’s Renee. Isn’t she adorable?

With no shortage of material to choose from, I had to pick the perfect event.  And then I had the unenviable task of crafting it in such a way as to at least attempt to match the other brilliant authors who have penned their stories on her site all this year in her So Wrong series.  Well, maybe not match it.  More like, try not to embarrass myself.  I mean, at least not again.

So I reached way back into my history of embarrassing moments to delve into the depths of teenaged cluelessness, and I found the perfect incident to relate to all of you.  I have submitted this highly embarrassing story to Renee to feature in her So Wrong series, so you will have to visit her site today to experience the mortification of my youthful transgressions.  Enjoy!

To Bra or Not to Bra . . .

This past week was a very busy one, containing yet another birthday necessitating celebration, and adding Mother’s Day into the mix as well.  The hubs celebrated his birthday this past Friday, and as a special birthday treat, I decided to take him to Charlestown Race Track in West Virginia and just basically throw some cash at him so he could bet on the ponies up there.  On our drive over to our neighboring state, the skies decided to open up and flood us with a torrential storm.  This, of course, caused massive amounts of traffic heading out to our destination.  Oh joy.

Once we entered WV proper, the rains had stopped (or more accurately, had yet to travel that far west), but the skies were roiling with storm clouds in one of the most impressive ways I have ever seen.

Driving towards it, we could have sworn that we were viewing a far distant snow-capped mountain range, and not actual clouds in the sky.

Once we arrived at our destination, the skies opened up, making the race track very sloppy.  I had reserved a table at a restaurant overlooking the track, and we were treated to a front row view of the race track.

You can see the table, the little TV which showed the closed circuit race happening out beyond the window, and the very muddy track itself.

Once we finished our dinners and had bet on a few races (and won!), the establishment very kindly brought the hubs a dessert to celebrate his special day:

A little extra special birthday script made that key lime pie truly festive!

The next evening was to be yet another celebration of the hubs’ birthday, but this time it was a family event.  I had purchased tickets to a local minor league baseball game, and the special treat was that the first 1,000 people would get Manny Machado Bobbleheads (he’s an Orioles player, look it up!).  I had also called the ballpark ahead of time and requested that my hubs’ name be placed on the scoreboard to announce his birthday.  We were all set!  The only problem was that once again, the weather was not cooperating with us.  When it was about time to leave (we planned to get there early to ensure we all got a bobblehead) it was pouring down rain.  Thinking that we probably wouldn’t be going because of the weather, we all sort of settled in to the reality of staying home.  Then, only about 15 minutes later, the skies cleared and the sun came out!  So, it was game on, but we were leaving later than we had originally planned.  Nonetheless, we arrived at the stadium with plenty of time to spare . . . but not early enough to get the bobbleheads.  Drats!

Oh well, it would still be a nice night.  The weather was lovely, and we had amazing seats.  Second row, right between 3rd and home plate, and there was nobody in the seats in front of us.  Plus, the view was excellent.

My oldest son is a huge baseball fan and was very excited to be at the game, and watched every pitch and every strike out.  My other son . . . was not quite as invested in the game.  Instead, he spent the majority of the game doing this . . .

In the middle of the 5th inning, it was time for the birthday announcements.  So, I told my hubs to look up at the screen, and aimed my phone to take a picture of his name listed up in large glowing lights.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to capture the list of names on my camera because of the lights, and all I got was a glowing screen:

However, it didn’t really matter anyway, since my husband’s name was not one of the four listed up on that screen!  Despite my best  and most timely efforts, for whatever reason, they did not put his name up on that screen.  First no bobblehead, then no name in lights.  He was a bit disappointed in this birthday celebration, to say the least.

Before leaving the stadium, we decided to stop at this kids’ play area near the outfield that had some carnival type games and blow up bouncy things.  Earlier in the evening, as the game was about to start, a sort of “local celebrity” threw out the first pitch.  If anyone watched this most recent season of The Biggest Loser, you might remember a young boy named Bingo who was on the show.  Well, Bingo threw the first pitch.  While we were throwing some balls in the kids’ area, I looked over and saw Bingo standing at a game immediately to our right.  I pointed him out to my oldest son, who had watched the entire season of The Biggest Loser with me, and knew full well who Bingo was.  I asked if he wanted to go up to say hi.  Being my introverted and shy son, he said no, despite my repeated attempts to convince him to go over and talk to him.  But he just wouldn’t do it.  Not wanting to push him into doing something uncomfortable, I let it go.

Yet, when we were done playing games and getting ready to leave the stadium, I noticed that Bingo was walking in front of us.  I asked my son once again if he wanted to meet Bingo, as this would be his last chance, assuring him that I would take the lead in speaking to him if he wanted.  He finally agreed, so I got Bingo’s attention and then told him that my son and I watched his season and were just so impressed with how well he did, and that we wanted to congratulate him.  He was very sweet and said thanks, and then I asked if he would mind having a picture taken with my son, to which he graciously agreed.

Bingo & 7

So, at least the night ended with a fun occurrence.  Oh, but did I mention that my hubs had left us in the game playing area, while he ran out to get the car with my youngest in tow?  Yeah, so he actually missed out on this part as well.  It just wasn’t his night, apparently.  But then again . . . I did show him the picture!

(And, I’m just realizing that this is actually my 200th post!  So, I guess a resurgence of the whacked is an appropriate celebratory event.  Huzzah!!).

This was a few months ago on my way to work, where I got caught behind SIX snow plows blocking the entire road and all progress of traffic moving forward.  While I applaud the county’s exuberance in combatting snow on the roads, I’m thinking that six plows across 3 lanes of traffic might just be a bit too much overkill, n’est pas?

Is this really what they need to resort to in advertising . . . man caves?  Oy.

This was so very whacked.  I personally watched as a woman walked up to the salad bar, grabbed these two containers, started putting lettuce in one, and then mumbled to herself that it was cheaper to just get plain lettuce, threw down the tongs, and then just walked away.  Just left this mess for someone else to deal with right there.  I was so surprised that by the time I got myself together, sadly she was gone.  Lucky for her.  I might have slapped her.  Ridiculous.

This one just snuck right up on me on the highway.  Imagine my shock!  Those damn fungi are sneaky little bastards.

You would see a lot of this around tax time this past April, but this one is just sorta sad.  He’s not holding a sign or gesturing or anything.  He’s just walking back and forth with the help of his cane.  Give Mr. Liberty a chair at least, people!

Can you say redneck?  Count the instances of references to Jeff Gordon.  Go ahead . . .

This was my tire.  So I sat on the side of the highway during rush hour traffic, in sweltering 95* heat, waiting for my Brother in Law to come help me change it.  I hate being a damsel in distress.  I really need to take one of those car maintainance classes!!

Pinkish/purplish type car.  It was much more vibrant in person.  In fact, I probably would have thought “Mary Kay car” if it wasn’t such a jalopy piled with an unbelievable amount of crap inside.  I think there is even a car seat buried in there somewhere.  Poor kid.

Which fact is more disturbing?  The fact that a grown-ass woman is driving around with this sticker on her car, or . . . the fact that I immediately recognized those symbols as New Kids On The Block?  Crap, it’s the second one, isn’t it?  Hell.

There are now pamphlets at the post office, warning people about online fraud.  Our tax dollars at work here, people.  Really, if you are dumb enough to send a Nigerian prince cash, then you deserve to lose all of your money.  Yep, I said it.

Not sure if you can tell, but her backpack has these colorful foam spikes all over it.  At least, I’m hoping they are foam, because otherwise that would be pretty painful to hoist around on your back.  Although, I imagine nobody would mess with you while carrying that thing.

This isn’t so much whacked as it is awesome.  I went to a wedding recently, and this guy was the DJ.  Check out the rad mustache/sideburns deal he’s got going on all up in there.  Love it.

And . . . the unexpected yet triumphant return of the Whacked is now in the books, y’all. 

((Throws down mike, making that thudding reverberation sound, and then walks off the stage))

The Whacked has left the building.  Thank you, thank you very much.  Good night!

(And that’s how we do 200).

See, some women are addicted to shoes.  Not me.  I probably own about 12 pairs . . . total.

And other woman are all about the expensive handbags.  However, I usually buy one big black all-purpose bag and use it until it basically (and sometimes literally) falls apart.  So, yeah, that’s not my thing, either.

What is my thing, you might ask?  Well, apparently my thing is . . .

BOWLS.

Yep, I can’t get enough bowls.  Big bowls, little bowls, even bowls with feet.  But not just any bowls.  Cheap plastic bowls from Target.

You see, another thing that you might or might not know about me (and will pretty much disqualify me from that sacred Girls’ Club I’ve always aspired to joining . . . nobody talks about it or anything, I’m assuming that’s one of their rules, but I just know it exists!), but I HATE to shop.  Yes, that is capital letter H-A-T-E, hate.  The thought of a trip to the mall, for me, is like going to the 9th circle of hell . . . it’s super hot, overcrowded with obnoxious and horrible people, and unfortunately, some place that I eventually will have to end up.

The one exception to this “shopping is hell” rule of mine, is the gloriousness that is Target.  I have a love/hate relationship with Target.  I absolutely love going there, but I really hate how much I spend every time I go.  So I avoid going to Target unless it is absolutely necessary, because I know when I do, I will inevitably walk out of there $200 or more poorer.

I recently went there on one of my “can’t avoid it any longer” trips.  I had a list of about 5 things, as I always do, and knew full well that I would get about a bajillionty more items than that.  It is inevitable and I’ve made peace with it.  I found myself walking through the home section, where I always seem to find some interesting things for my kitchen.  On the Clearance shelf, I came across a couple of things that I just could not resist.  A utensil holder that will be great for any outdoor barbeques by the pool, and a couple of little bowls with feet that will be great for salsa or guacamole.  So adorable.

When I brought home my treasures and began to unpack them, my husband was currently loading the dishwasher.  I pulled out my little bowls and placed them directly on the top rack, saying to him, “look I’m helping!  And guess what, sweetie . . . I got some more bowls!!”  His response:  “Oh good, because I think we might have been running out.”

For some reason, I don’t think he was quite as thrilled with my new acquisitions as I was.  I really can’t understand why . . .

Feet!!

You never know when you are gonna need about 20 bowls full of chips.

To be fair, the green and white bowls on the bottom are from my wedding! So there.

Yeah, there’s no excuse for this. I bought them all.

They’re just so tiny! And colorful! And adorable!

What?  I mean, it will only become an issue if I run out of room for the bowls!!

Ok, fine.  I may have a problem.  The first step is admitting it, I guess.  But, I can quit if I want!  Really, it’s not like I need the bowls or anything.  They are just so adorable and useful!  And it seems like every time I go to Target, they have new designs and colors and styles and . . .

I think I need to go shopping.

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What are your out of the ordinary obsessions/addictions?  Please share so I don’t feel quite so bizarre and alone!

Anyway, because today is 5′s special day, I decided to dedicate an entire “Convos with” post to him.  And since it’s been many months since I’ve posted one of these, I have plenty of material just from him, trust me!

Word.

5:  You know what’s inside pyramids?
Me:  No, what?
5:  Mummies.
Me:  Oh yeah?
5:  Yeah, you know how mummies hide inside pyramids, and then when people walk by, they jump out and scare them?
Me:   Um, sure.  Why not?
(Annnnddddd, cancelling my trip to Egypt, now).

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5:  I wish my name was Fisafer.
Me:  Christopher?
5:  No, FIS-a-FER.
Me:  Why?
5:  Because I like that MUCH better than my name now!
(Everyone’s a critic).

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Me:  When you finish dinner, we will watch the Disney World video.
5:  I bet Mickey Mouse will be on the video!
Me:  Yeah, I’m pretty sure you WILL see Mickey on the Disney video.
5:  That’s because Mickey is the BOSS of Disney World!!

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5:  Do we get presents on Green Patrick’s Day?

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Me:  You had a cookie?  But you don’t LIKE cookies!! (Said dripping with sarcasm).
5:  YES I DO!!
Me:  No WAY!  Since when?
5:  Well, I like candy!  Even though it sometimes feels all gloppy in my throat, I still like it.

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Hubs:  What’s the difference between a chicken finger and a chicken nugget?
5:  The name. 
(Literal answer for the win!)

Hubs:  How was your day?
Me:  It was ok.
5:  Was it a longer day?
Me:  Longer than what?
5:  Longer than expected.
Me:  No, it was about as long as it normally is.
5:  Was it a lover day?
Me:  What’s a “lover” day?
5:  You know, did you love it more than you expected?
Me:  Um, no.  Definitely not.

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Hubs:  You know not to drink the pool water, right?
5:  Yes.
Hubs:  And why is that?
5:  So I don’t swallow any criminals.
(And yes, we were apparently vacationing at Rikers Island.  Chemicals is the word he was going for, by the way).

Fortunately for me and my GPA, the teacher took pity on me and was incredibly charitable with her grading.  She knew I was being tutored and that I was trying my absolute hardest to do the best I could.  Because of this, I managed to eke out a C-, when truthfully it should have been much lower, if not failing.  It is the only class I have ever taken that I truly almost did not pass.

The next year, everyone smartened up, and I was placed in the most basic of basic math classes.  And although I was finally in an appropriate setting, I never forgot the feeling of drowning in that one advanced class.  The feeling that I just wasn’t smart enough or capable enough to handle what everyone else around me was easily comprehending.  It was not a feeling I enjoyed or ever wanted to repeat in the future.

Yet somehow, despite my genes, my oldest son is a math genius.  Merely in 2nd grade, he is already appropriately in an advanced math class.  Math is apparently one of his skills.  Where that innate ability with numbers came from is anybody’s guess, because as I’ve established above, it is definitely not from his mother.

The other night, my son was helping with dinner preparation.  This is a task which he routinely enjoys and does without complaint.  We were making stir fry, and one of his jobs was to cut up some of the veggies.

While he was cutting up a head of broccoli into little florets, he made this comment:

Cutting up broccoli is fun because it’s like math.  Because when I cut them in pieces, it’s like doing fractions.  For example, this piece is one-fourth of this broccoli. 

I am 38 years old.  Much like Dana Carvey, I have chopped quite a few heads of broccoli in my day.  But not once did I ever think, “huh, this is just like math.  What fun!”

So, while I am happy for my son and his newfound sense of adventure and learning through cooking, this episode also scared the crap out of me.  I’m looking into the not so distant future, and seeing a time when my son needs help with his math homework.  Oh, say . . . probably sometime next week.  And I know for a fact that I will be absolutely useless in assisting him. 

I mean, if he needs help with English or composition or grammar, I’m your mom!  I am most definitely proficient in those topics.  But with anything math related?  No.  If I don’t have a calculator handy or the answer is more than 10 (the number of fingers on which I have to count), then I will not be solving for X.

These are going to be some long school years.  I mean, how sad is it when an 7-year-old boy is smarter than you at an elementary school subject?  All of a sudden, I am starting to experience that drowning feeling again from many years in the past, when trying to tackle an untenable subject.

In related news, I am going back to the hospital to do some research about any babies born the same day as my son.  If I find one that is really good at reading and writing with brown hair and brown eyes . . . there are going to be some hard-hitting questions, is all I’m saying.

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Do your kids have any traits and/or skills that have you wondering where they came from?

Once again, my kids came into play.  Sorry for those of you who voted for certain people and/or comments (ahem Hippie ahem), but this also limits my ability to pick a favorite as well.  So it’s all fair-like, capisce?

This time, I enlisted the services of my eldest son, 7, to help me.  There were a larger than usual amount of people who entered, which meant lots and lots of little papers which needed folding.  (Yes, I do actually type up each name, print them out and then cut them into equal sized pieces, before folding them into little squares and putting them into a hat to be picked . . . what?).  So, because of the extra volume of papers, I told 7 I needed his help folding them all up.  And after folding up a few, he commented: “huh, this is kinda fun.”  I love my little dork. 

So, since 7 was on folding duty (and hat holding), I let 4 pick the name:

And who, praytell, is the lucky new owner of this super mega ridiculously fabulous drinking vessel, you may ask?  Well, it’s none other than:

AGIRLWHOGAMES

Woo-hoo!!  I am very excited for this win.  I think she may have needed a little special something more than anyone right now, being from Boston and having a very heart heavy week.  The fates (or 4) apparently knew she needed a little pick me up in the form of a mickey mug.  So, agirl, congrats on this super mega wonderfully rad win!!  I hope it will make you smile.

Go ahead and send over your deets and I’ll send this out to you.  mistyslaws at gmail dot com.

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And, because everyone was so keen to know the answer to my little riddle from the last post, about whose face was on the other foot (if you didn’t read this, go back, and that phrase will make much more sense) . . . the answer is:

MARILYN MONROE

A few of you guessed it, so good job.  You don’t get a prize or anything.  I mean, except for having the knowledge of 50′s era stars who died young and guessing the correct one, which is a prize in and of itself.  So . . . go you! 

We left the house with every intention of getting downtown with enough time to grab some sushi at a nearby restaurant.  An accident, closed street and 20 extra minutes of traffic via a detour derailed that plan.  So, we headed straight to the theater, and instead decided to drink.  Seemed like a valid alternative.

I found it interesting that a bar in a theater that regularly has operatic performances serves Jello Shots.  And no, I didn’t get one, but I was tempted.  I instead had the Caramel Apple Martini.  In a plastic cup.  It was classy.  But also delicious!

When we found our seats, we realized that we had somehow ended up with pretty good ones.  We were about 5th row centerish, which was unexpected.  See, I ordered the tix months ago through Groupon, so I had no idea what I was getting, especially at half price!  But we were hooked up. 

After a few minutes, a pair of girls sat down beside me.  I happened to overhear them mention something about getting the same deal, and asked them if they also got tickets from Groupon.  They said yes, and we started chatting about the great and unexpected seats.  I talked to them for a bit.  They were very . . . vivacious.  At one point, I turned to the hubs and said, “look at me being social!”  I could tell by the reluctant momentary glance away from CNN.com on his iPhone, that he was very impressed with my feigned extraversion.  At one point in our conversation, I happened to notice the top of one of the girls’ foot.  There was a face there.  I remarked about how cool it was, thinking she would tell me it was her boyfriend or husband or something.  Nope.

In case you can’t tell, that’s a picture of James Dean.  On the top of her foot.  That just seems . . . painful.  She had another face on the top of her other foot as well.  Any guesses as to whose face might be there?  You know what . . . I’m not going to tell you.  I’ll let you try to figure it out . . .

Once Kathy came out, we were pretty much ready to get our laugh on.  And she didn’t disappoint.  She is basically one of those people who you either love or hate, I’ve found.  So, I’ve included a video of some of the performance, and if you are so inclined, you can see some of her show below.  (Warning:  NSFW).

(Click picture for video)

After the show, we were pretty much starving, since we hadn’t had dinner yet, and it was approaching 11:00 at night.  So, we figured we would revisit the sushi place we had initially had our sights set on.  The only problem was, according to their website, they closed at 11:00.  It was 10:45.  We had to hurry.  When we arrived, they didn’t want to serve us, but we noted that it was still 15 minutes until they closed, that we were starving, and that we would order right away.  They graciously allowed us to come in.  We quickly ordered some rolls, and within a couple of minutes, except for the waitress, we were the only people in the place.  It was a little strange.

After 11:00, we started noticing something else a little strange.  A very raucous noise that sounded like it was coming from the basement of the place.  We soon discovered why the wait staff was so keen on shutting the doors at 11:00.  Apparently, that was when the karaoke started downstairs.  It was . . . loud.  And not entirely pleasant.   Pretty much exactly how karaoke is supposed to be.  So, as we finished our delicious rolls, we were serenaded by some incredibly poor singers, that apparently did not understand the concept of reading the words of the song they were attempting to sing.  There was a lot of mumbling is what I’m saying.  And then!  Then, a guy started making what can only be described as ear shattering and soul crushing noises.  We deciphered that it was supposed to be Never Gonna Give You Up.  Wow.

But look at me!  Being all selfish.  I mean, why should I be the only one to experience the gloriousness that was this singer’s voice?  No, that would just be wrong.  In fact, when I was listening to this sweet serenade of Rick Astley’s wonderful hit song, I was thinking, “you know who would really enjoy this?  Everyone!”  So, that’s when I hit record.  You’re welcome!

Not that anyone asked, I’m sure, but immediately after this stirring rendition of the song, the gentleman decided to perform an encore.  That was pretty much our cue to flee the premises.  I don’t think we could take that . . . twice.

It’s that time of the year again . . . baseball season!!  The family and I were fortunate enough to get opening day tickets for the start of the Baltimore Oriole’s season this year.  The only problem?  We would be on a plane headed home from Disney during the game.  Drats.  So, we decided to do the next best thing . . . get tickets for the next night’s game.  Which is where we found ourselves one brisk spring evening in April.

Baseball in Baltimore has a long legacy.  The Orioles have been really good for some of those years, and just plain awful for many more.  And in fact, excepting last year’s playoff run, the birds have stunk up the joint for about 2 decades past.  Luckily, Balmorons have a short memory, and it seems that every spring, no matter how bad they have been or for how long, there is still a feeling of hope.  An optomistic thought of, “maybe this will be our year.”  And with the playoff run at the end of last year, the citizens of this fine city may just have a reason to hope this year.  Fingers crossed.

So, it was with this resurgence of hope and optimism that we entered the stadium, with a couple of thousand other hopeful fans.  It was our first game of the year, and the entire family was in attendance, including even some extended family who had seats in another part of the park.  We were all very excited.  My husband had ordered our seats specifically so we could be close to the field, hoping that there might just be a small chance that my oldest son, 7 years old and in love with all things baseball, might just get lucky enough to get a foul ball.  Our seats were front row on the left field side of the outfield.  Pretty nice, really.

We arrived at the stadium about an hour before the game, intending to get there early enough to relax, have some food, and settle in.  Instead of our usual m.o. of running late, rushing around, and showing up mid-way through the 1st inning.  This was a far better way of dealing with this kind of event, especially with young kids.

While we were settling into our seats, we saw the Oriole Bird come onto the field a little ways from where we were sitting.  My hubs took my youngest over to see what was happening on the field.  That is when we realized that they were grabbing kids from the stands to come out and “play baseball” with the bird.  Once we realized this, we asked our kids if they wanted to go over to be picked.  My youngest was all for it.  My oldest . . . you know, Mr. I Love Baseball . . . wanted no part of it.  No thanks, not interested.  I’ll just watch.  (Oh man, he is so my son).

But my 4 year old leapt out there onto the field when it was his turn.  And he hit the ball(s) thrown to him, and got to run around the “bases” set up out on the outfield there.  He thought it was pretty awesome.

But then, as my older son is just standing there watching, not even right in front of where this was occurring, but probably about 2 sections over from where all the commotion was happening, one of the “handlers” comes running over to him.  He points up to him and says, “hey, do you want to come down?”  And my son is like, “sure.”  Wait, what?  Oh, and did I mention that at this point there is a line of children waiting to go down on the field in the area they had been picking kids from?  Yeah, I have no idea what prompted this guy to run over and grab my son, but I was just glad that he agreed to do it.  Because he had so much fun.

What was even cooler was that the Bird kept doing this thing where he would pick up 2nd base as the kids were running towards it and play keep away with it.  With my son, he picked it up, played keep away, and then tossed it over his shoulder, so that it landed about mid-center field.  My son, who is a very, “huh, ok then,” type of kid, just altered his course and took off running to the newly distributed second base . . . all the way out in the outfield of Camden Yards.  So, basically, he got to traipse all around the field because of the Bird’s nonsense.  Pretty sweet for that huge baseball fan.

So, once my kids were done playing with the Bird and making their imprints all over the field, it was time for the game to start.  A couple of innings in, I started to get very thirsty, so I figured I would stretch my legs a bit and go get a beverage.  As I was walking around the outermost ring of the stadium, where all the food and beverage kiosks are, I chose one that basically had the shortest line.  As I got up to the girl serving the beers and ordered 2 (1 for the hubs, I wasn’t that thirsty), the girl said something that endeared her to me for all time:  “May I see your ID?”  Yep, that’s right, people.  I got carded!  I did notice a sign posted that said they carded everyone under the age of 30, but still, that would make me look 29.  I will totally take it!

After I got back to my seat, and then everyone played a few rounds of “take a child to the bathroom to empty his bladder,” it was time to settle in to watch some baseball.  It was getting dark, and subsequently, the temps were dropping.  Everyone was pulling out their winter accessories . . . hats, gloves, earmuffs, etc.  It was really quite chilly.  And we had just returned from 80* Florida weather the day before, so it was pretty jarring. 

Accordingly, when a player from the Minnesota Twins hit a foul ball straight to our section, landing in the outstretched winter gloved hand of the man sitting 3 seats to my right, instead of actually catching the ball, it bounced of his highly padded paw and dropped back onto the field.  And subsequently, the outfielder, Nate McLouth, jogged over to pick it up, then looked up at the outstretched baseball gloved hand of my 7 year old, and tossed it right up to him.  That’s right, he got that foul ball, after all!  Good planning with those seats, hubs!

Thanks, Nate!

All in all a pretty stellar night at the Yard.  Kids got to run around on the field, foul ball straight from a player’s hand, and I was indirectly told that I look 29.  Yep, a good night all around, I’d say.

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If you haven’t already, make sure you visit my last post, and enter to win the raddest mug ever!  All you have to do is tell me about your Happiest Place on Earth.  And really, can’t we all use a little happy right about now?  Go on . . .