September 24, 2012


Reasons why September has been nice thus far:

1. The heat is gone. GONE! VANISHED! DISSIPATED! I love summer with all my heart but the endless 100+ degree days this year was just too much for me. My crippled garden still depresses me. I sound like I'm 93. Anyway. These sunny cool days and chilly nights have me dancing the rumba.

2. Somewhat related to above, but I can use my oven again and not melt in a gross Indiana Jones puddle on the floor!

3. Soup for dinner!

4. I, along with a team of champs, painted and cut out a 30 foot tall tree for a sermon series at our church. Nothing more therapeutic than painting a 30 foot tall tree out of cardboard.

5. I learned how to cut garlic properly. I love garlic. I put it in everything. However, the dicing of garlic made me sad, because it was such a pain to do. Silly me. There's a proper way to do it that saves everyone time and sanity. And probably fingertips, too.

{our tree}

Reasons why September hasn't been entirely nice thus far:

1. I burned my arm on steam from our kettle. Big burn. As in cover the children's eyes Burn. It's absolutely going to leave a scar the size of Newark. STEAM WILL BURN YOU. If you ever doubted that... come see my arm. On the upside, when I burned myself, I didn't even swear! yay!

2. Wayne is back in school. Don't get me wrong, this is good! This is why we are where we are! But getting back into the school groove is always a challenge after a summer of lounge-y laziness. Okay, only a little bit of laziness. Summer was still pretty darn busy.

3. All the trappings of Halloween are out in full force. Gah. So tacky. Don't get me wrong... I love a nice evening of pumpkin carving. But in what other part of the world is it cute to hang a warty old hag on the front door and coat your porch in spider webs? I'm trying to keep the spider webs OFF, thank you very much. Also, to whom it may concern, do yourself a favour and please don't dress up as a skanked out nurse this year. It's not hygienic at all. 

...And that's pretty much it. S out. 

September 01, 2012

baseball brain.

Growing up, my parents had all six of their children signed up for some form of softball at one point or another. I remember going to watch my three older siblings play softball and thinking it was great -- although I don't remember much of the games. I was more interested in playing in the piles of field line chalk. Weird kid.

My turn came. I was willingly signed up for a local little league team that consisted of a bunch of distracted 8-year-olds. I don't remember much of this time in my life -- but think Brian Regan. Most of the memories I do have involve my coach telling me to pay attention because I'd be standing in the outfield doing this:

I was not destined to be a great ball player. About halfway through elementary school, however, my parents coerced me onto another team for a summer. I was not happy. I don't blame them, though -- I'd do the same if one of my kids spent the majority of the summer with her nose in a book and hating birthday parties.

Like I said, weird kid. 

That summer confirmed the fact that I was never to achieve greatness in softball. I dreaded Wednesday nights because a softball game meant:

a) Experiencing emotional trauma by continually striking out, or 
b) Getting a walk, then having to run around the dang bases with my clumsy pre-adolescent giraffe legs  while avoiding being attacked with the ball by psycho infielders, 
c) Watching the just-as-psycho outfielders close in on me when I stepped up to bat,
d) Standing in right field trying to force myself to pay attention,
d) Having to communicate with other people I barely knew. coughintrovertcough. 

I got through that summer determined to never play baseball again. Then I married Wayne.

Wayne loves baseball. He loves it with all his heart. It makes his eyes light up and his face glows... GLOWS when he gets near a diamond with his bag full of cleats and gloves and baseballs and water bottles. When he has a little bit of free time he'll come up to me with a face like this:

And ask if we can please please please play catch. I do like playing catch -- in fact, I've got a mean curveball goin' on. But to actually play a game of baseball -- well... that's, as they say, a whole different ballgame. 

Wayne's been on a city rec league all summer and has signed up for the fall league as well. I go every week and cheer noisily. That's an easy job. No running involved (though no longer pre-adolescent, the legs are still reminiscent of a giraffe's). 

There are weeks, however, where not enough women show up. Each team needs a certain number of women or else they forfeit. You'll be glad to know that despite my fear of organized team sports, during these not-enough-women occasions, I step up to the plate. 

Get it? Haha!


My summer experiences on the field have again confirmed that I am not a baseball star. Wayne and I have determined, though, that it is not because of insufficient athletic capabilities (though there's a lot of that lacking as well). It's mostly because I don't have a baseball brain. 

On our drive home from the diamond this week, Wayne asked what was going through my brain while standing at second base during the last play of the game from just before the pitch onward.

Suzanne's brain: Okay. Focus. Focus. One more out... what did I have to do yet tonight? I think I have to write that email to my mom for those recipes. I wish I had worn my sunglasses out here, I can't see much. Although they fall off a lot and that's just as annoying. I wonder if I can fix them? Hm. FOCUS. Argh. Focusfocusfocus. Okay. If the ball comes to me... um... whatever. It probably won't. My feet are hot. NO. Focus. Hocus Pocus Focus. Foooooocus. What a weird word. There's a runner coming to second if the ball's hit. Get him out. Probably. Somehow. Then throw it to first? There's the pitch. I hope that squeaking the car's making isn't the brakes. GAH! NO! NOT TO ME! NOT TO ME! heyIcaughtit!!! PUMMEL RUNNER COMING TO SECOND IN THE STOMACH WITH GLOVE! What the. I just ended the game! Hurrah! I'm not useless! Man I feel gritty. Shower? Yes please! 

Wayne at shortstop: Suzanne, you could have just touched the base, it was a force out. 

Suzanne: Oh.

Wayne says that when he's in a ball game, his mind is on overdrive, planning strategies and orders in which to throw the ball and figuring out what to do in the hundreds of different scenarios that could take place when that bat hits the ball. My mind... is not. I'll just stick to making baseball-themed birthday cakes.