Books And Baseball

I love a good library book sale. I realize that I say that the same way some people might speak of steak. Feel free to replace the word “book” with “steak” for the rest of this paragraph if it helps you better understand. I love that there never seems to be enough room for all the orphaned books lined haphazardly in cardboard boxes on top of and under rows of card tables. Then there is this careful dance between neighbors and strangers leaning over one another to take a book, or excusing oneself to crawl below the table to leaf through a box of books that caught their eye.

At this particular book sale, on a hot and sticky morning in August, I am making out like a bandit. The brown paper shopping bag that I’m carrying is stuffed with a bunch of novels for myself, an old issue of Craft magazine that I haven’t read, some classic books of my childhood, Corduroy, The Tale of Benjamin Bunny for Matthew, and a dessert cookbook that has something to do with Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. As I am shoving in a John Feinstein book that I think Bob will enjoy, my bag starts to tear giving me the cue that it is time for me to go, otherwise I could very well spend the day there.

When I arrive at home it starts to rain hard even though the sun is still shinning. Bob approves of my book choices for him and starts to flip through the beginning pages of the Feinstein one. Matthew snuggles up next to me with a Thomas the Tank Engine book that I knew he would have picked out himself. On the inside of the front cover there is a handwritten note, “Dear Ryan, Merry Xmas 2004! Your cousins…” Yet another reason I love library books sales, for the little surprises of owning a book secondhand.

Aside from being bookworms our family has other pastimes, namely sports. We took Matthew to his first professional baseball game, Worcester Tornadoes vs. the Brocton Rox, in the evening. Matthew held our hands in the parking lot but once he heard the crowd cheer, we arrived at the first inning, he let go to clap his hands too. When we sat down in our seats, he looked at the field and said, “Baseball cards?”

I would need to remember the cuteness of that moment to center me when he later drove his matchbox fire tuck through a melted puddle of ice cream on the ground and then licked it.

“So who won the game?” A co-worker asks a couple days later after I mention, well, shamelessly brag that that Matthew stayed through all nine innings of the game.

“Umm…” I can’t remember.

What I can remember is that it was the night that Matthew learned the baseball chant, “Charge!” I also remember that it started to lightly rain in the ninth inning but the fireworks show scheduled for after the game still went off without a hitch. That night Bob, Matthew, and I sat in the rain on a warm summer night watching fireworks in the distance.

I would have to say that we won the game.

Delightful Summer

At first we only see their shadows zipping across the baseball bases, which are drawn in chalk on the driveway. Above us black and blue dragonflies circle our heads like little helicopters.

“I catch them!” Matthew shrieks and chases them up and down the driveway.





We planted a vegetable garden and pumpkin patch. To decorate we washed off the rocks that we dug up and painted them to look like bugs.

In early July our town library hosted a “truck day” and Matthew had a ball. He got to sit in a real fire truck, repair line truck, and a police cruiser.

We picked fruit from a local farm all summer, eating almost all the blueberries that we picked during the drive home each trip.

I also became fanatical about a cookbook called The Toddler Café. I learned to cook with all sorts of new-to-me ingredients like nori sheets, beets, um I meant “rocks from outer space” and hoisin sauce. On one night that I was preparing dinner Bob misheard me say hoisin sauce and thought that I said poison sauce.

We got to swim in lakes, the ocean, and my godmother’s pool, which is neat because it’s shaped like a kidney bean.


Bob surprised me with tickets to RENT for my birthday in July. It was the best performance of the show I had ever seen, and yes, I say that every time.
We have a toad living in our backyard, and find him sitting the same old tree stump nearly every day. I named it Old Green Thumbs with the hope I’ll become less frightened by it by summer’s end.

“Mama?” Matthew asked me very seriously one quiet afternoon that we were outside eating popsicles on our deck, “Do peacocks poop?”

We started a new summer tradition of taking a bike ride each morning after breakfast. With Matthew strapped into the toddler seat, I peddle us through the quiet and busy streets of our town and together we count the cars or birds that pass us by.
And now;

“Look at me, Mama!” Matthew holds his arms out the side like wings, and runs along the driveway with the dragonflies still swirling overhead. A true summer delight.

Practice Makes Perfect

Written By Bob:

“We're talking about practice man, we're not even talking about the game, when it actually matters, we're talking about practice.” – NBA star Allen Iverson, May 2002

This past Thursday, Matt and I made the trek to Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots, for a training camp practice inside the stadium. For most people, watching a football team go through drills at half speed is mind numbingly boring. Matt has annually attended this event since he was three months old, but Laurie stopped coming after she was bored to death the first year. But with game tickets nearly impossible to get, practice is the only way for most fans to get into the stadium and see the team up close. A father/son bonding day at a game would be great, but practice is the next best thing.

As we got on the highway to go in the opposite direction that we usually take to go home, Matt seemed very confused. “Home? Home?” he asked repeatedly, which eventually turned into a whine when it became clear that we were not going home. “Don’t you want to go to Patriots?” I asked. “NO!” He probably just didn’t understand the fun he was going to have. At least we saw enough trucks and buses on the highway to make the hour-long ride go by quickly.

We were meeting up with my brother Mike, who Matt affectionately refers to as “Monkey.” On the way to the stadium, Uncle Monkey called no less than four times to find out how far away we are, including twice within the span of 3 minutes. Mike is one of those people who genuinely enjoys watching a football practice and dissecting the details.

When we finally arrived at the stadium, it was dinnertime. As we headed to a concession stand, Matt grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the field. “Aren’t you hungry” I asked him? “No, other way!” he replied pulling me towards the seating area. Matt was so excited to watch some football that he was willing to bypass greasy fried food! I knew he would love this after all!

We settled in to seats at the 30-yard line, about 3 rows from the field. I was most excited to see the return of Tom Brady from his knee injury.

Matt’s interests, however, were a little more simple…

--- The Minutemen clad in their Revolutionary War era garb shooting muskets. Matt’s initial reaction each time was shock and fear at the loud bang, followed by “Again?”
--- The coaches’ air horns and whistles, signaling the switch of practice drills, gave Matt a good chuckle each time
--- The football of a boy sitting near us, which Matt kept trying to steal. His father was not amused; I think he was using his son to get autographs for him.
--- The music over the PA, which Matt seemed to think was coming from out of nowhere, as if somewhere up in the sky AC/DC was playing. “Singing?” he wondered as he looked around for the source of the music
--- The vendors walking up and down the stairs, hawking their food, which reminded Matt that he was hungry after all.
--- And last, but not least, kickoff practice. Matt seemed quite confused why they were not kicking it towards him. After all, he had his arms out ready to catch it and was saying “Ball! Ball!” Usually when that happens at home, a ball ends up in his arms. He may not have paid much attention to offense and defense practice, but his interest in kickoffs clearly indicates that he has a future on special teams!

To be honest, Matt was very good. He sat and watched practice (OK, mainly taking in the atmosphere around him) for almost an hour without fussing, definitely earning himself something good to eat! Matt’s healthy dinner that evening consisting of french fries, M&M’s, and a bottle of water. He also sneakily stole a few sips of Monkey’s soda but didn’t enjoy the bubbles. Oh, and he ate an onion ring which definitely didn’t belong to us. I have no idea where that came from.

While Mike continued analyzing the Patriots two-minute offense, Matt and I took a walk to the Pro Shop. Last year, he got a really cool Patriots toothbrush. He loved it so much, that he threw it in the toilet the next morning. This year, I really wanted to get Matt the infamous Belichick grey hoodie, but the smallest was a size 8. We tried it on, but I didn’t feel that a grey Patriots floor length dress looked good on him. Instead, Matt chose a Patriots truck, which I’m sure he will love much more than a sweatshirt. He was so excited about it, that he ran to the door with it and set off the security alarm. My son, the kleptomaniac! Matt played with his new truck while we waited for Mike to meet up with us. Later, the three of us took a stroll around the new Patriot Place outdoor mall with the intention of getting ice cream at Baskin-Robbins. The line was out the door on this beautiful summer night, so we had to settle on stopping at a convenience store later on for a Yoo-Hoo and candy. But this was after sitting in traffic for an hour, where we all got a little punch drunk and started repeatedly saying “Peacocks! AHHH!” to the cars stopped in traffic next to us.

The traffic finally started to move, and we made our way up the highway around 10:30PM, well after Matt’s bedtime. As we got further and further away from the stadium, Matt began sob. He was so upset at leaving the Patriots that he couldn’t contain his emotion anymore! (Or perhaps he was just incredibly tired, but there’s no way to really know). Just like his dad had in the past (see Super Bowl XLII vs. the Giants), Matt was now shedding tears over the Patriots! What a bonding moment!

I don’t know how much fun Matt truly had, but I would like to think he enjoyed himself. Either way, we will be continuing our annual tradition next year!