That is what I heard over and over again, Saturday morning as Wyatt had his first t-ball game. It was mass confusion as about 50, 2 1/2-3 1/2 year olds lined up to play t-ball. Of course, Jim and I had visions of him fielding the ball, running the bases at mach speed and hitting the ball way beyond all the other kids. Visions, that's all we had. Instead, I was so proud to watch my little man toss the ball to his partner, cling to me as he ran the bases and insist his daddy help him bat. He wanted Grampy, Mommy and Daddy with him all the time. Baby sisters were along in tow as the cheerleading squad. It would have been much better if he hadn't seen the playground prior to getting to the ballfield. It would have also been better if there hadn't been at least 4 games going on at the same time. All in all, I was one proud Mommy, my little man played t-ball, he stuck it out and never cried. What more can you ask for?
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