The Baseball Game

This weekend, my husband and I took the kids to a Tampa Bay Rays baseball game.

Before arriving at the stadium, we stopped and got a quick lunch at Wendy's. Dispensing ketchup into tiny paper cups is a privilege that my older children have abused in the past. Until I say otherwise, none of them are allowed anywhere near the condiment counter.

The restaurant was crowded when we entered and, as a result, we were forced to split into two groups. My husband took Cameron and I got the other three. After delivering the food to my offspring, I made my way to the vat of ketchup and waited patiently for my turn. By the time I returned to the table, all of the food was gone, including my own.

"Who ate my hamburger?" I asked.

Everyone feigned ignorance.

"You just left it there," one of my children said.
"It didn't seem like you wanted it," said another.

My husband told me to go buy another combo meal. I chose the higher road and decided to be a martyr.

By the time the baseball game started, I was starving and super cranky.

"You're going to ruin this experience," my husband said with fear in his voice. "I can tell."

During the first half of the game, I left my seat on average of once per inning. Cameron puked on me twice; in the third inning, he had a different kind of accident.

On my third trip up the stadium steps, a fellow spectator leaned into the aisle and tapped my arm.

"You win the prize for the most ups and downs," she told me.

Ten minutes later, I solidified my title by making the journey again...this time with all my kids.

Outside the restrooms there just happened to be clown who was twisting balloons into the shape of strange animals and giving them to children for free.

"Can we get a balloon? Please?" everyone cried in unison.

I gestured to the line of 37 people standing in front of the clown.

"Do you want to stand in line for a balloon for an hour or do you want to watch the baseball game?" I asked them.

Everyone wanted the balloon.

"Wrong answer," I snapped.

My husband ordered me to get something to eat.

I held off until my surliness ruined another inning.

"Can I have a bite of your sandwich?" Cortlen asked, licking his lips.

"If he gets a bite, then I get one," Kellen piped up.

"And me," said Camber.

Cameron made his desires known by sticking his finger through the bread.

My husband responded by making everyone switch seats. I moved to the end of the row and he moved into the seat next to mine. Using his body as a barrier against the sea of grabbing hands, he assured me that the coast was clear.