Bees Baseball

It's inevitable.  If a boy is born into my family, he'll play baseball.  His daddy played baseball.  And his granddaddy (on his mama's side) played baseball, so he WILL play baseball. 

Luckily, there's been no mumblin' about it from the boy himself.  He LOVES himself a bat and ball.  Minutes after one particularly glorious game, muttered from the back seat, this mother heard these words mixed with a sigh of delight.  "Oh, I LOVE baseball."  (And then, "I love soccer too."  An athlete he is.)

So, it was like the icin' on the cake and the grass stains on the knees when the Bees won the tournament for their league.  And the best part?  The TROPHY!

We did this baseball gig 12 years ago - for quite a few years - but this time around I get to keep my eye on the game a bit more often because there are fewer youngin's runnin' around my side.  But this boy has the same coach his big brother had.  Daddy. 

Baseball is bliss.

And Seven is in Heaven