Yesterday, I came to the sad realization that I was never going to have another day, for at least the next 18 years where I didn't hear, say or discuss balls in some form or another.
At least once I day I clean someone's balls. At least once a day I get smacked in the face with a ball or two. And every morning, bright and early the keeper/thrower of the aforementioned balls, opens his bright, little 16-month old eyes and promptly blurts out "ball" while pointing at the TV.
He wants to watch football.
Early, yesterday morning, all I could find was an old Yankees game being rebroadcast as it was the last weekend they would ever play at Yankee's stadium. It kept his little ball-wrought mind and mouth quiet, but soon enough, the finger started pointing, he started whining and it was "ball, ball" and "dada" over and over again.
Sigh.
I tried to reason with him and explain to him that if he slept in just a little later (like daddy) then he could wake up to all the balls he could handle. Now, please don't comment on that. I recognize that "reasoning" and "balls" don't go hand in hand, but a woman always tries to accomplish even those things she knows she can't.
My whole existence revolves around balls. I trip on them, I dodge them, I hunt furiously to find them on TV. I toss them at my son's head while he wears a helmet around, looking just a tad special.
He yells "deep" and takes off down the hallway, and waits for me to throw it to him because he just "went deep" for it.
There is some reprieve. Blue's Clues and Yo Gabba Gabba are suitable replacements when there is no ball to be found on the tube. So it didn't come as a surprise to me this morning when I woke up to a little finger poking me in the face and then furiously pointing at the TV.
I rolled over and grabbed the remote, relieved to see that it was the hour that Blue's Clues occupies on our watching schedule. Excitedly, the little finger points again:
"Blue" he said.
And then he looked at me, points the same little finger at me and said, "Blue Ball?"
His dad has got to stop talking to him.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Balls
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
8 comments:
Is it sad that I giggled ridiculously at the 'deep' comment because all I could think of was 'balls deep'. Yeah. I'm a sick fuck.
well, that sounds a lot like my life- only my 17 month old doesn't say blue yet. But as I type this, he is digging through the toy box and pulling out every ball- one just hit me in the head,but I type on!
I'm glad I have girls in my house. Except for the husband guy. I hate sports. And hockey season is starting. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG HOCKEY SEASON LASTS? Ugh.
Seriously? I can't even get a chuckle over balls deep? I was really proud of that.
You crack my shit up. I can so relate to this ball entry, on so many levels.
And, had I known it was your day, I'd never had taken the chance on a yellow, I'd have went w/a chocolate instead! lol
*SNORT*
Balls? Periods. Balls? Periods.
Hmmmmm.... I'm on the fence over here as to which is worse. ;)
Well if it helps, there IS hope. Eventually they learn to clean their own balls.
At least most of them do. Mostly clean.
*snort* Awesome.
Post a Comment