Baseball and Beer

I got a call from the school nurse today saying that my oldest son wasn't feeling well, and could I come to get him. He's been a little sick the last couple of days. On the ride home I told him I bought Pirates tickets for Sunday's game near where his best friend's family will be sitting. That cheered him up. He asked if he could get something to eat and drink at the game. I told him we would be doing a little pre-game tailgating, but I joked that I'd buy him a beer at the game.

"Dad! I can't have beer until I'm like 20 or something," he said.

"Well actually, 21. That's just about 14 years from now. When you're 21 I'll buy you a beer at the ballgame."

"Well", he said, "I might just want some ice cream then!" he laughed.

"It's a deal!" Then I said, "Do you think you'll still want to go to baseball games with me when you're 21?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you'll say 'Sorry dad, I can't go to the game. My girlfriend wants to go dancing' or 'She says there's a sale on duvets at Pottery Barn'."

"Nooooooo!" he screamed.

"Or maybe you'll say, 'Can't go dad, I'm hanging out with my friends'."

He said, "No dad, I'll always want to go to baseball games with you. Why would I ever want to do anything else?"

I hope that in June of 2024, he and I will be sitting together in PNC Park, and I will buy him that beer... or ice cream.

Wakey-wakey, puny human!

This morning, Drew was up early. He's always up early. Every night around 4 A.M. we hear, "Is it daytime yet?" from what sounds like a disembodied voice in our room. No it's just Drew either in a sleeping bag on the floor next to our bed or in our bed (which means kicking me repeatedly until I move to where I have about 14 inches of our King Size bed to myself). As long as he's comfortable. Right.

Lately, he's been taking great joy in waking up Clay, who still gets his 11 hours in most nights and is usually only awoken with promises of french toast sticks, or threats of buckets of cold water being poured on him. The boy like his sleep; except of course at bedtime.

So this morning I hear "I'm Optimus Prime!" coming from Clay's room. I go in to find Drew in his Transformed state, shaking his brother's bed with the menacing, electronically processed voice of a 3 year old screaming, "I'm Optimus Prime! Wakey-wakey Clay!"

For a moment, in the half-darkness, Clay wasn't sure what was going on. Then he let out a little yelp and threw the covers back over his head. After a second, he realized what was going on and got up and started telling Drew that this was not funny.

Maybe tomorrow, I make sure Drew finds the Incredible Hulk Smash Hands before he goes in to wake Clay. Wake up, puny human!

UPDATE: He came into our bedroom this morning as a pajamaed Darth Vader to wake us up. And so it goes.