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I sat down intending to write my say about the Wake County School Board Reassignment plan that last night drew the attention of America’s most watched news source – The Colbert Report.  However, that soap box has been preempted by Spring Training.

I know it’s still January, and I know that a large chunk of the country is buried under snow and ice, but here in Suburbia, Global Warming is at its finest, bringing us 2 days of temperatures in the low 60’s.  Because these unseasonal temperatures are set to expire this evening with temperatures returning to a low of 29 degrees, I tried to make the most of the days that I could comfortably spend outside.  The plan included staining the wood for the frame of the headboard I’m still building, yard work, and garage cleaning.  But plans are made to be broken, right?

By the time my errands were finished and yesterday had warmed up, I had already made two trips to Lowes to purchase materials for my frame staining.  There would be two additional trips before the day was out.  I worked in the garage with both doors open while the kids played in the street.  Their squeals and laughter made for a very nice soundtrack.  By nightfall, I’d tested several techniques and decided how to proceed, come morning.

Today, I ran my errands and got back to work.  By 3pm, all wood was stained and glazed and set aside to dry.  ShortGirl played all around the house with some of her little girlfriends, while TheBoy rode his bike down the hill by the golf course behind our home.  I was just about to don gardening gloves and get to work in the bulb beds when my helmet-clad son walked up the driveway all dejected and said, “Mom, there aren’t any boys home right now to play catch with me.”  His glasses magnified his sad, blue eyes while his jacket hung off his shoulders, somewhat obscuring the baseball glove he was already wearing while he went door to door looking for male companionship.

I quickly looked around the garage and spotted TallGirl’s baseball glove, abandoned for a year and a half now, in favor of music, boys, and studies (in that order).  I asked TheBoy if maybe it would be alright if I played catch with him.  His eyes got even bigger and he enthusiastically said, “Sure!  Can we play in the street?”

Why not?

Now, you have to understand that TheBoy looks more at home in front of a chess board or maybe behind the Monster’s Compendium than he does in any athletic setting.  At 8 years old, he is the second smallest child in his 3rd grade class.  I’ve seen the parents of the shortest kid and sadly, I don’t think he’s going to break 5 feet.  My son is thin and pale and looks very much like a child who survived Cholera, but just barely.  He’s cute as a button, but he does look sickly.  Being a diligent (read; anxious) mother, of course, I’ve taken him to the doctor for his pallor.  He’s fine.  He’s healthy.  He’s just genetically predisposed to looking otherwise.

 We spent the next hour tossing a tennis ball (couldn’t find a baseball or softball in the garage I never got around to cleaning) back and forth.  We made plans to practice hitting in the back yard on the next spring-like day we have.  I didn’t complete everything I wanted, but I did complete everything I needed.

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