OK, I've made all my reminder calls for the wedding, and I now officially get to forget about it until I get to the church for the rehearsal this afternoon. And the sound tech said he'd help me move the sanctuary furniture back after the wedding (when the strapping young ushers will have other things to do, such as flirting with bridesmaids at the reception), so that should minimize my heavy lifting nicely.
'Just Rewards (2)'
Spike's Bitches 24: I'm Very Seldom Naughty.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
we're still hoping O settles on his left hand for throwing.
We think Annabel has decided to be right-handed, much to her southpaw father's disappointment. Of course, if we really want to be obsessive baseball parents, we can teach her to bat left and throw right, like Ichiro.
My poor lefty brother only had my father teach him sports right-handed. So he bats, golfs, bowls and throws right-handed. That's all too hard for me. Fortunately, my FiL is also lefty, so O will have lots of teachers.
My dad would be on cloud nine if we could produce a pitcher, since he pitched in high school and nearly went to the minors before marrying mom.
Things Coach David Says About 8,000 Times Per Practice
"Down on the ball! Down on the ball!"
My biggest fault as a fielder was not putting my glove all the way down to snag grounders. (I've always had iffy depth perception.) And as a kid, my Dad would always yell "Put. Your. Glove. DOWN!!!!"
Fast-forward to post-college, when I played with a recreational-level team. We played on Fridays after work, and my Dad would come and watch us (this was back when he was still drinking, and he loved to sit in the bleachers with a cold beer[s] and watch the game).
I was playing third base and missed a grounder because of my old bad habit, and immediately, as if 15 years hadn't passed, I heard from the bleachers: "Put. Your. Glove. DOWN!!!"
Ben's in Mass. However, Owen's not too far away from benefiting from the practice.
::reroutes flight plans::
Maybe, I just wanted to Teppy to field them.
Maybe, I just wanted to Teppy to field them.
I'm happy that, when we played catch in SF last year, it would have been impossible to throw grounders in Deb's driveway. Otherwise, you would have found out how weak I am on them.
I'm happy that, when we played catch in SF last year, it would have been impossible to throw grounders in Deb's driveway. Otherwise, you would have found out how weak I am on them.
I created a new drill to get Emmett to work on his fielding fundamentals. It's sort of like pepper for fielding. I sit down and bounce short-hops right at your toes (with a padded practice ball) until you get into a strong, spread position and are keyed to the ball and the bounce.
{{{Deena}}} A dad's heart attack is not necessarily the end. My dad survived his and went on to defeat colon cancer not once but twice. Now he's blissfully married and glowing like a schoolboy with his first girlfriend. FIL survived his heart attack and still wants to go to the bookstore all the time.
Also {{{shrift}}}. I miss my cousin, too.
I was playing third base and missed a grounder because of my old bad habit, and immediately, as if 15 years hadn't passed, I heard from the bleachers: "Put. Your. Glove. DOWN!!!"
I think I would have turned a couple shades of red if my dad did this.
I was playing third base and missed a grounder because of my old bad habit, and immediately, as if 15 years hadn't passed, I heard from the bleachers: "Put. Your. Glove. DOWN!!!"
I think I would have turned a couple shades of red if my dad did this.
Heh. It was perfectly normal to me. I almost didn't notice.