Confessions From the Bench - Life as a Baseball Wife

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Nothing makes you feel special like the sight of spinning, twirling, flipped-out dogs who are obviously very excited to see you pull in the driveway after being gone all weekend. 
 
You know you're really special when they get so excited they lift their leg and pee on the lawn mower.
 
It's nice to have a nice welcome home.
 
We just got back from a great relaxing weekend at the lake, just in time for the sun to go down. And why is that important?
 
Matt wanted to get home before dark so he could go work on the baseball field.
 
Baseball starts tomorrow.
 
It's like watching a little kid who is waiting for Santa to come on Christmas Eve. I don't think he'll sleep at all tonight.
 
In fact, before we left town on Friday, he was out spreading bags of fertilizer on the field..the same bags of fertilizer that have been sitting in our walk-in kitchen pantry since before Christmas. The same bags of fertilizer that are the exact same size and shape as the bags of dog food...also sitting in our walk-in kitchen pantry. You could see how that could make me nervous.
 
I was so sad to see them go. I'll miss the smell of nitrates in the morning.
 
After he left for the field, I made plans to take my luggage upstairs to unpack so my darling can start the laundry later tonight. As I made my way up, I started noticing a strange odor the closer I got to the top of the landing. Rubber? Leather? What was that smell?
 
Oh. My. Gosh.
 
Shoes. Shoes sitting on top of the vent in the middle of the hallway floor. Shoes that have been turned upside down with the tongues and soles pulled out. Shoes that have been sitting there since before we pulled out of the driveway to leave for the lake. Shoes that have been sitting there all weekend long. That was the smell.
 
Don't get me wrong. I totally understand the need to wash your shoes after fertilizing an entire baseball field. A muddy field. A soupy, mucky, we've-had-too-much-snow-and-now-it's-melted-and-sogged-the-field field. A field that when you step on it, you immediately sink ankles-deep into sludge and have to come home and wash your brand-new Under Armour baseball shoes so the cakey, red-clay mud doesn't dry them into what looks like a kindergarten pottery project.
 
I also understand the need to have them dry by time practice starts tomorrow, and I know that throwing them in the dryer is not a good option for a fantastic pair of brand-new shoes (dryers break down the rubber and can cause the soles to split, in case you were curious).
 
But now the entire upstairs smells like a Foot Locker.
 
Fantastic.
 
But, believe it or not, I had more important things to worry about.
 
I am proud to announce that the three Christmas wreaths hanging from our three second-story windows are officially down, which concludes the taking down of all of our Christmas decorations.  
 
I knew I would get to it after the snow and ice finally melted off the roof. I knew I would get to it after my neighbors reminded me for the 1000th time that they were still up there.
 
I knew I would get to it sometime before March.
 
And I did.

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