It must be baseball season, because there are cars parked up and down my street. But it can't be baseball season, because it is 47°. However, it is baseball season.
I loaded up the layers. A fleece under my coat, silk long underwear under my jeans. The bleachers are metal and my tush is always cold anyway (more than you wanted to know about me, sorry). Bug, one of the t-ball Owlz, had on a microfiber long shirt, a turtleneck and a baseball t-shirt. I packed a sweatshirt too, which he later needed. Pook, the bored audience member, added a sweatshirt and a winter coat. None of us brought mittens, not that Bug could have practiced ball with them on, but all of us had freezing fingers. And ears. Bug complained about cold ears. By the time we got home it was 37°. We gratefully sat down to a meal of 16 bean soup, simmering in the crock pot. Tomorrow is Pook's first practice as a Sand Gnat and we'll probably look like we're ready for arctic exploration.
I know some of you are living in cold climes. Many of you. But we're weenies down here and we don't do cold very well. Baseball is a spring sport and none of you northern folks have started your seasons yet. Hockey is at least indoors! Seeing the sunscreen in the bottom of the Kids Sports Bag improved my mood somewhat. By the end of baseball season we'll be sweating and sunburning while we're at the ballpark. Right now, it sounds great.
Yeah, 47 sounds pretty awesome to me. It was 12 when I got up this morning. And now it is 27.
ReplyDeleteBut, I am hopeful that the weather man was right. Tomorrow will be warmer.
It's all relative. These days, 27 feels reasonably warm to us. 47 is practically summer. And baseball? Is still a long way away.
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