Lola in Little League

When I was a kid, my brother played little league. I remember going to his games, sitting on the bleachers, and enjoying the springtime sun. It was nice.

Sign-ups for our local little league were in January, and when I asked Lola if she wanted to play t-ball, she looked at me and said, "What is this t-ball?"

After convincing another parent in Lola's preschool class that she should also sign up her little girl for little league, and making a request to the league that the girls play on the same team, we signed Lola up.

She was "drafted" to the Indians.

At her first few practices she was unsure about herself, but she has worked hard to learn the rules (i.e., run to first base first, and always throw the ball to first base. (I've learned that there is a significant focus on first base in t-ball.))

When playing in the outfield, the coaches always tell the kids, "Get in ready position," which generally means squat, with your hands on your knees, and watch the batter.  Lola takes her "ready position" very seriously. So seriously, that she often misses the ball when it rolls by her because she is too focused on maintaining perfect ready form.

She also had the opportunity to play catcher. At the t-ball level, what this really means is that she got to put on the catcher outfit for an inning, and stand approximately 6 feet away from the batters who are other 4 and 5-year-old kids wildly swinging metal bats.  I appreciate that the catcher's gear includes a heavy duty helmet.

 

At the end of each game, I like to ask her what was her favorite part of the game.  Most days she says that she loves running around the bases, other days it's the post-game trips to the snack bar. I can't blame her. Snack bar food is pretty darn good.

The Art of 4

Thus far, 4 is a spectacular age. I think I may even go as far to say that it's my favorite age.

One of Lola's current interest is biology, particularly human anatomy.  Some days this results in adorable conversations, like her concern over "whether the red blood cells and the platelets were going to form a scab." (Yes, indeed, that is how it works). Other days, she has questions that are too big for me to answer, but she seems satisfied with the response of, "Uh, I don't know. But I'll look into it and get back to you." (This a response that seems to work well with my boss, too.)

And, sometimes, her curiosity and need for exploration, is a bit messy. Like the night I found her facing the toilet, naked, trying to figure out a way to aim her pee into the toilet. When I asked her if she knew why she was having such trouble she sighed and said, "I think I might need a penis."

Part of my love for her new obsession is her expanded vocabulary.  She has added words like pupil and iris, cochlea and intestine, to her list.  It's adorable to hear someone with a tiny, squeaky voice, explain how food is digested. "First, it goes into down your e-soph-o-gus..."

 (Wearing her "drinking glasses" as well as her anatomy shirt.)

Yet, for all this older kid stuff she has started to talk about, there are definitely moments that remind me she is indeed only 4.  Like, when I ask her if she is "sure" about something, and she replies, "I'm sure not."  Or when we sit in our favorite Japanese restaurant, for what I hope will be a calm uneventful meal, and she sprawls herself across her chair and moans about how her Buzz Lightyear action toy MUST AT THIS VERY MOMENT attack the Evil Emperor Zurg, who is, in her mind, the soy sauce bottle sitting on the table next to us occupied by people who looked annoyed with the fact that we have a 4-year-old in a restaurant. Or, like last night, when she woke up 3 times, first at 1:30 AM, then 2:00 AM, and lastly 4:00 AM, with no excuse to be awake except that she wanted me to soothe her back into sleep with my presence.

So, yes, this is all 4.

I read once on another person's blog, of whom his name in particular I cannot recall, that 49% of the time, children are a serious pain in the butt. Like, so awful, that you wonder, why in the world would a person abandon a life of sleeping in and showering without interruption.  A life that was likely focused on exactly what you wanted to do when you wanted to do it, and you didn't have to constantly be watching a small person who enjoys urinating on herself, or placing incredibly dangerous objects in his mouth, or generally being the suicidal maniacs that most babies and toddlers aspire to be.

The author continued and wrote that the reason so many people are willing to deal with such crap is that 51% of the time kids are awesome. They give the most sincere hugs, teach what true unconditional love is, and have belly laughs that compare to no other group on earth.

I've learned that this 1% makes a difference. It's the 1% that make people like me, a woman who wasn't entirely sure the first time around whether she was going down the right path, want to venture down the same road again.

(This time around I'm hoping for more of a 40/60 split, but we'll just see what happens.)