If you scroll down to old posts, you’ll know that I’ve been waking up at 6:30am to practice baseball catching with Elijah every morning.
Kind of. Sort of. For two days, at least.
Last Saturday morning, I shook Eli awake and gave him the “let’s go toss a rolled up sock in the basement” pantomime. It’s a pretty complicated pantomime.
He rolled over, all mop topped and sleepy and said, “Dada. I thought we could make baseball practice a weekday thing and take the weekend off.” I should have flipped him off his bed right then and there and dragged him downstairs. But at 6:30am it seemed like the greatest logic in the world. So I let him sleep.
Then came Monday morning. I awoke to Eli shaking me this time. He whispered, “Dada, let’s go play baseball.” Oh no. I had an 8am meeting. Which thankfully my son woke me up for. But at the expense of our agreed upon baseball practice.
“Ooh, sorry man. Dada has to go to work. We’ll have to do it tomorrow.” If you think the look on his face would be disappointment, you don’t know Eli. He bounded back to his bed and crawled in for part two of sleep.
But I couldn’t let this go on. I couldn’t let our baseball practice end. That child had to learn how to catch. And I had to teach him. It was a promise. And if I go back on this promise, how many other promises would I go back on for the rest of my life?
So I forced our nanny Hannah to do it. Elijah now has baseball catching practice every day with Hannah while Luca takes his nap. Which is supplemented by my baseball practice in the mornings when Elijah’s incredibly brilliant arguments not to practice don’t work.
In other news, Diana suggested Eli take guitar lessons. Just in case this whole baseball thing doesn’t work out.