We're actually living in Oklahoma right now - crazy, isn't it? We got a call in June that we had about three weeks until Tim needed to start his job here . . . three weeks was what they gave us to move across the country. One of those weeks we used to fly out and look at houses; another of the weeks we used to pack, and the last one to drive. What a miserable experience. The house-hunting trip is a story best left to another time, since it's far too fresh in my mind for me to be completely objective. I guess the long and short of it is that we're blessed to have purchased our first home (yay!!!) and are in the process of renovating, painting and replacing carpet. And though our computer has been set up for several weeks, this is the first time I've sat down with a purpose and direction (other than wasting time futilly on MySpace, trying to be cool and hip).Through it all Joshua has been really wonderful. He calls our new apartment home, and knows that sometimes we have to go to "Joshua's new house," as he's dubbed it. At least he no longer calls it Kathy's new house - she was our realtor, and he still looks for her when we go over. He's had so many new experiences and learns something new everyday - he's discovered the wonderful world of Dr. Seuss, and will sit through even the longest of stories (Horton Hatches and Egg), then walks around asking about the "Ting of dam-dond." For those of you not fluent in toddler-speak, that's the King of all Sala-ma-sond, from Yertle the Turtle. What a smart little guy he is! It amazes me every time, but he will open one of his books and start saying the words that are on that particular page - unbelievable, isn't it? Not that I want to be one of those moms . . . you know the kind. The moms who must loudly and publicly laud every accomplishment, who don't realize that as smart as their kid is, he's probably just developing normally (gasp!), and might not be solving quadratic equations at the age of 6. We want Joshua to have time and space to grow on his own timetable.
We went several weeks ago to a baseball game - Joshua's very first game - and had quite a time.
It was, to say the least, an experience. Though we'll laugh about it someday, the events that unfolded might, in my mind at least, make it one of the worst baseball games of my life! It was a local minor-league team here, so the stadium is not huge, but still had the feel of excitement, and of being somewhere really special. Joshua and I were with Tim's aunt and uncle; Tim was at work. How neat it was as we walked in, with the crowd, and the vendors, and the little ripple of electricity that you find at those venues. We were having a blast, and Joshua was watching the game with his usual studiousness. He was very excited about the small group of 11 or 12 year old boys behind us, cheering and wearing their baseball gloves. About fifteen minutes after we arrived, with Joshua sitting on Uncle Doug's lap, we heard the crack of the bat, and looked up to see a foul ball heading right at us. Specifically, right at Joshua's little head.
Had I had more time to think, I probably would have taken Joshua from Uncle Doug's arms and moved him out of the path of the ball. Looking back, that makes the most sense. At the time, my only thought was that if I wanted to keep Joshua from being hit, I would actually have to catch the ball. Do any of you know how hard and fast a foul ball hit at a minor league game actually goes? Because I had NO IDEA. Needless to say, my ungloved hand did not actually catch the ball, but acted as a deflector, sending it into Uncle Doug's ribs then into the crowd in front of us. I like to think that the broken bone I suffered was not in vain, but really did change the direction of the ball enough to save Joshua from being the target . . . my wonderful husband fully supports me in this theory. In fact, he's convinced that I actually saved Joshua's life, since the baseball would surely have hit Joshua's head and killed him on the spot (read A Prayer for Owen Meany). That's a little too close to home for me to think about much, so we'll leave it at keeping him from being hit.
The rest of the game was uneventful, except to say that Joshua was frantic and sobbing at every crack of the bat and cheer from the crowd. The lady in front of us who got the ball was very nice and gave it to Joshua, so we have the "heat seeking missle" as Aunt Gwen called it, here in our living room right now. We left about 20 minutes after that, which Joshua was more than pleased about, and still, when we drive by the stadium, he talks about being scared of the baseball game. This too shall pass.
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