Last weekend, I was cleaning out the garage and organizing all the toys, tools, and trash.
By “organizing trash” I mean strategically placing those items the kids might give me grief about in the bottom of trash cans.
Who needs broken plastic golf clubs from the Dollar General, a fabric frisbee that has taken on a pentagon shape, or a crusty bottle of bubbles?
Not this mom!
Anyway, as I was cleaning I was reminded of a funny story from years ago.
Ian and I had spent an entire day outside playing “ball.”
Baseball, basketball, football, golf, tennis, lacrosse, kickball, volleyball, bouncy ball, paddle ball, and “Swick”.
(“Swick” is a mash-up of a game of kick ball and swinging. There is a complicated scoring system that only Ian really understands, but the rules amazingly stay consistent.)
Anyway, as we were cleaning up our yard, which looked like a ball pitt that had exploded, Ian recapped how fun the day was.
“We played baseball, basketball, football, golf, tennis, lacrosse, kickball, volleyball, bouncy ball, paddle ball, and “Swick”!
“Yeah, buddy, that’s a lot of ball. It was fun!”
“Yeah, we never do that at Dad’s. Dad doesn’t have any balls.”
*What’s this title got to do with this post??