The next week, I was determined not to let that #33 thing happen again, so 10 minutes before it was time to leave, I finally located Jack's jersey in the bottom of his laundry basket... where it had been for 2 weeks. Yes, I know, you're all thinking I had a week to take care of this, but as I have stated, I've been having a hard time getting it together for baseball. So as I pulled it out of the basket, I was overwhelmed by the smell. It smelled like a combination of wet dog, dirty socks and vomit! I put it in the dryer with a bunch of laundry sheets. Wet dog, dirty socks and vomit. I put it in a bag with dryer sheets and squished it around. Wet dog, dirty socks and vomit. I thought about washing it and hanging it out the window to dry on the way to the game, but that seemed like a lot of effort when we only had 5 minutes to spare at this point. So we left it in the bag until we got to the game. Poor Jack put the shirt on and said "What is that smell? Is that me?" "Well next time, you'll make sure your laundry is brought up." Wow, talk about a love and logic moment. Nasty. I could see the other kids on the team smelling their shirts to make sure it wasn't them. What a wonderful learning opportunity. At least that's what we all called it.... After he showered and we washed the shirt... twice.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
I know it may seem like I have it all together. The organized mom everyone else is jealous of... (ha ha ha ha, this is me laughing hysterically), but there are moments when I just can't get it together. For some reason, baseball has been one of those things this year that I can't seem to get it together for. A few weeks ago, we were all running around the house attempting to get ready for the big game, and I could not find Jack's baseball uniform. I usually keep all uniforms (or costumes as I always call them) in the laundry room so that we can avoid the last minute screaming of "where is your uniform..." Jack finally showed up in this #33 jersey. I'm so on top of things, I didn't even notice that it was last year's jersey. What kind of mother doesn't even know her son's baseball number? Well this one, I guess. I even went so far as to get a #33 painted on his face at the free face painting at McAlister's where kids eat free on Tuesdays. When we showed up to the game, I was immediately accosted by Jeff and all the rest of the team because it was the wrong jersey. I didn't see how it was such a big deal, but evidently they had to change the batting line up, blah blah blah. Besides feeling like a complete failure as a mother, it ended up just fine.
at 11:25 PM