Sunday, Sunday, Sunday! The team won the game yesterday and today and moved up in the rankings. The coach won his 200th game with the university and this is a very big deal. Maybe the guys will get the sofa back in the locker room or perhaps the WIFI will be turned back on. Either way, it is a good victory.
Of course, LW closed the game for the win, and I am sure that my son is not only salty but belligerent. He sees the guys doing what he wants to do. He wants to be out on the mound, mowing down the opposition. He wants to spit onto the ground, use salty language, and scare the batters. Unfortunately, this scenario is only played out in his mind as he daydreams in the dugout. Honestly, the kid has to be patient and work with the professionals. Once he is throwing again, there will be no stopping him. But for now, he has to grit his teeth, spit, cuss, and stand in the back ground.
We had a conversation about his house next year. Yeah, that's right...no more apartment living for this guy. He is moving in with Dog, California, and OC. They will all have their own bedrooms, a porch for their ping pong table, and an outdoor grill. Now, that is living....He was making plans for dad to rent a van, help him to move his furniture, carry the clothes, and drive across town. My reply to his logical plan was "nope....not going to happen..."
"Huh?" He responded.
"That's right...not gonna happen. You guys are athletes and have trucks. Your dad is (excuse the expression) a middle aged man. No way is he going to help you guys to move. In fact, I want you to move without even telling him. Show him that you are a guy who now wears big boy pants rather than under roos and no longer need your dad to help you to move." Got it?
I believe I saw his eyes glaze over as he secretly made a plan to include his dad on the move without letting me know the details. However, there is a flaw in this plan, 'cause his pop tells me everything. He would not disappear for a day and not tell me where he is going. So, my son, it is time to take the sofa by the arms and hoist it over the second floor balcony for the Dog to catch. Then you can carry it on your back and put it on California's luggage rack, but dad is not involved. Get it? Got it? Keep it!
Ok, 'nuff said. I have dinner to make and pour a glass of wine. It's happeee hour!