Softball! Aaaah softball, how I love thee. How if only I could play all
day until my muscles rebelled and I were forced to limp home in agony.
Well, maybe that part doesn’t sound so hot. That’s more or less what I
did after our first practice.

We had our first game last Thursday and actually didn’t stink! We lost
nine to six, but considering they were one of the best teams in the
league last year, that’s not so bad. I was happy because I actually hit
the ball when I was up to bat and didn’t embarrass myself in right
field.

Tonight was our second game and we lost again fourteen to four or
fourteen to six or sixteen to four or something like that. Apparently
last year they killed us thirty-nine to fourteen. I hear that we were
in the middle of the road last year as far as our standing in the
league, so we should be able to win here one of these days. Of course,
I’m so delighted to be on the team that I don’t really mind losing.

I don’t even mind playing outfield, which I usually hate because it’s
running here and there and back and forth and the other way. If I
wanted actual exercise in my sporting arrangements, I’d play basketball
or soccer (both of which I hate, although soccer is slightly better
than basketball)! Actually, tonight I played second base for the
first half, then got subbed out (we have tons of players on our team,
so half the team subs out mid-game), then got subbed back in for the
left fielder and that wasn’t really too bad either.

You know, my attitude toward playing outfield may be slightly colored
by the fact that I played outfield a little bit when I was a kid and we
had a massive, mutual dislike. My very earliest ballgame memories are
from my first grade tee ball team. I was the only girl on the entire
team (which I had actually forgotten until a team picture recently
resurfaced at my parents house), and I always got stuck in left field.

Since little first graders can’t actually usually hit into the
outfield, I pretty much spent the entire season doing ballet back
behind the third baseman. It was horribly dull. I think my parents have
home movies of this. Playing outfield as an adult is a bit more
interesting because the ball actually comes to you on occasion.

We had a big church game last week at camp, and I managed to strike out
two or three of the four times I was up and generally played abysmally.
After the game was over, our Coach graciously hung around so a few of
us could do batting practice, and I hit nearly every ball thrown to me.

Since I had half an hour before played like someone who should be
kicked off the team immediately, this was a mite distressing. When I
asked the Coach why I could do it now, he said I was thinking too much
earlier during the actual game. Well, that’s no good! We play GAMES in
the league. Hitting would be a plus.

After pondering this advice for a couple of days, we played another
pickup game and I got to practice my new anti-thinking strategy.
Whenever I was up to bat or pitch, I started singing in my head so that
then I was thinking about the song and not the ball.

It worked great! I
smacked every ball and generally played well. Phew! Apparently there
are some situations when be brainless is a big help. Of course,
considering the antics of many Major League ball players, this should
have been obvious…

This strategy continues to work well, and I
haven’t had any more batting problems during the games. Thank you,
Coach, for letting me monopolize more of your time than any one else on
the team and helping me not stink on the field!

Rachel

Happy Birthday to me
I live in a tree
I feel like a raisin
But at least I’m not thirty-three

Wow, that really makes no sense at all, now does it.
See it’s not supposed to be sung to one’s self. When sung to others,
you get the supreme joy of singing it like this:

Happy Birthday to you
You live in a zoo.
You look like an orangutan
And you act like one too

Or you could just call your friends early in the morning on their birthday and sing the song to their
answering machine in your best Marilyn Monroe voice like I do. This works particularly well if the friend you sing
it to is two weeks older than you, which means that they will forever
be known as “old and decrepit” in contrast to your eternal
youthfulness. On the downside to this approach is that it does tend to
make you mildly unpopular…. Ah well. Popularity is grossly overrated
anyway.

So that was all the excruciatingly long way of
bragging that my birthday is today (except apparently people over 29
don’t normally brag about their birthdays). I’m thirty-two (let’s see,
born in 1975, yep I’m 32!). Wow, whoopie. Do I get a medal for
miraculously managing to live through thirty-two danger free years?

Somehow birthdays themselves seem like an odd thing
to celebrate. It’s not like it took any supreme effort, rigorous
studying, or massive skill to make it to this age. On the plus side,
hello, presents!!! And parents and buddies who seem to view
this as an excuse to get together and go out to eat at yummy places
(like a Brazilian restaurant and a fondue place) and go shopping.
That’s better than a medal any day, and plus you don’t have to polish
anything. Hurray!

Actually, I managed to actually do none of that today. I went shopping by myself (Wal-Mart, Winco, Gymboree, Bath and Body Works), tried out a new dinner recipe that came out great, and bamboozled my parents into coming over and eating it with us and then hanging around to play cards. George and I are going out Friday, I think, and Mom & Dad are taking us to Brazil Grill with Jonathan and Joanna next week. My bud Amy is picking me up tomorrow for lunch at Gustav’s (mmmmm, fondue….) and large amounts of bumming around. Then our first softball game of the season is tomorrow night. Hurray! I’m so excited!!!

In other news, camp last week was great. I played
like a maniac and was a total zombie for the first three days of this
week, but it was absolutely worth it. Two afternoons of softball, one of volleyball, lots of twittering around on the beach burning my shoulders (the ones that are now peeling), and monster quantities of Dutch Blitz until wayyyyy too late at night (technically the wee morning hours). Hmph! Isn’t that the entire purpose of coffee?

The kids had a great time, and Handsome Hubby made
a nifty little video vignette with Georgie when he wasn’t busy playing volleyball, golf, or puttering around himself. As soon as he gets it online,
I’ll post a link to it. That seemed to keep them both entertained for a
couple days.

This was the first year the older two kids were allowed to bop around camp more or less on their own, and they both did excellent. Georgie got a walkie talkie and was perfect about keeping track of it and answering right away when called. Trinity got one too, but after losing it the first day (we found it later that night) she decided she didn’t want it anymore (we weren’t too unhappy…).

It turned out to not be too big of a deal because the big camp bell rings ten minutes before each meal and each chapel. She made it to every meal and chapel on time without anyone ever having to track her down, and every time we checked on her she was doodling about with the other little girls at camp. She and Georgie were both old enough this year to go to the softball and basketball clinics, and Trinity particularly did well at both.

The guy who ran the basketball one said she did the best of all the kids that were there (there were three other little boys there including Georgie). Trini spent the rest of the week asking when she was going to play basketball again. That child is a pretty natural athlete! I really enjoyed watching her and Georgie doing the sports activities. Anika will be old enough next year, and I think she’ll like that. She handled not being able to participate extremely well though. I was quite proud of her. They had activities for the younger kids too, and she did all those so that took the sting out of it.

The weather was ridiculously nice for the Oregon coast. I don’t remember being to such a gorgeous Family Camp (usually it’s rain with drizzle and more rain), although everyone claims that there was a nice one seven or eight years ago. That would be either the first one we went to when Georgie was a baby or the one we missed because I was almost nine months pregnant with Trinity.

Well, I’m off to bed. Big day tomorrow and my throat is a bit sore, which is NOT COOL! That better go away overnight (**growl, growl, other threatening noises**).

Ciao!

Rachel

Busy week over here! Anika got the cast off of her
arm this morning, which she was hugely excited about; tomorrow we’re
going over to my parents house for dinner and to see how their
remodeling is going (they’re getting ready to sell the house I grew up
in. It will be weird to see what they’ve done); and then Saturday we’re
leaving for our church’s Family Camp at the beach and won’t return for
a full week.

Needless to say, the rest of my week has been filled
with exciting things like packing and planning the packing. I have this
gigantic master packing list just for my Family Camp packing that I use
every year. It’s eight pages long (one page for miscellaneous stuff,
one clothing page each for myself and all five of the kids, and one
page for food).

I told Handsome Hubby Tuesday that I printed off
the list and was going to get started, and he couldn’t figure out why
it might take me so long and seemed shocked when I told him I had eight
pages of packing lists. His packing consists of throwing a few things
in a duffel bag. Hmph! He did sound sympathetic, however. I packed all
the clothes Tuesday night and yesterday, which is usually the most time
consuming part of the job. Today I schmoozed Kathy, my SIL, into hanging around for a couple hours so I could get some food prep done. THANK YOU, KATHY!!!

A couple years ago there was a tsunami
warning while we were at camp, which apparently made a big impression
on the kids. The other day they told me that they were going to leave their
favorite toys at home so that if there was a tsunami, they wouldn’t
lose their toys. Georgie did decide to bring his new prized chess set
though, explaining that if his got washed away he could always go to
his Grandmother’s house and borrow hers. Since we got bought it for him
on sale for $4, I told him I thought we could probably buy him a new
one if the ocean eats his first one (I didn’t tell him how much we paid
in the first place).

So, I started doing summer school with
the kids last week. I swear that is going to be the cause of death
listed in the coroner’s report when they find me keeled over in two
months.

“How did she die, Doctor?”
“Death due to educational poisoning, Detective.”
“Don’t see much of that anymore.”
“No, now it’s mostly educational deficiency; but that’s more of a
childhood disease than the poisoning, which mostly strikes teachers.”

Somehow between the workbooks, music
class, Bible class, and penmanship copy work (I sort of made up
curriculum for those last three), we’re doing a very solid two to three
hours of school every morning from nine o’ clock to around noon. Then
it’s lunch and after that it’s at least another hour of Mommy this and
Mommy that. By that time my ears usually hurt from all the racket and
I’m about ready to lock myself in the bathroom (which works
depressingly badly). They seem to be having a great time, but I’ve been
utterly exhausted for two weeks now.

Overall
I’m happy with what we’re doing for summer work. It’s keeping them
occupied, and I have yet to hear the dreaded “I’m bored” complaint yet;
however, that could be because when they do try that one out, I usually
say something like “Oh goodie! I needed someone to go clean out all the
toilets, sweep the floors, empty the trash bags, fold all the laundry,
and vacuum.” At that point they usually recant and run away as fast as
they can. I think they’ve only been “bored” a couple of times…. Hehe.

Rachel