I guess it stands to reason that if I’m obsessed with Starbucks, then my boys are obsessed with baseball.

Really obsessed.

So much so that during our ‘family baseball games’ in the backyard, we now begin them by standing around a miniture American flag that my four-year-old stuck in the mulch while singing the National Anthem. Hey, it’s the little things. The kid has memorized every detail of the game, including driving his motorized Gator tractor up and down the back yard to ‘prepare the field.’

Their obsession led us to a Cincinnati Reds game over the weekend, where they handed free jerseys to the first 10,000 kids inside the gates. Despite leaving early, we found ourselves stuck in traffic just outside the stadium, and I worried that we wouldn’t get that jersey I had my kids dreaming of the night before.

So, Momma was on a mission.

I told Greg to go on and park the car, grabbed the boys hands, and we ditched the vehicle at a stoplight, dodging traffic and making a beeline for the gates, knowing full well that we did not come all this way to be the 10,001 fan to walk through the turnstile.

We made it.

Translation…trip to the gift shop AVOIDED.

It was a fun time, the stuff memories are made of, and with that, here’s my top 10 list of things overheard at the ballpark:

4-year-old: ‘Why is there a girl mascot? Ewwww…I do NOT like girl mascots.’

Husband during the Kiss the Cam feature: ‘If it lands on us, I’m totally sticking my finger in my nose.’

4-year-old: ‘Mom, why is the pitcher a girl? Me: It’s a man, Hayden. He has long hair. Hayden: Oh.

Oldest son, chanting: ‘We need a pitcher! Youngest: Not a broken ladder!’ (A little confused, obviously.)

4-year-old’s response when I asked him about his favorite part of the day: ‘Singing the National Phantom.

4-year-old: ‘Mom, I decided I don’t wanna be a trash man for Halloween. I wanna be a baseball player instead.

8-year-old, after seeing Greg lean over to kiss me: ‘Dad, that’s disgusting.’

8-year-old, leaving the ballpark: ‘That was the best day, EVER.’

Walking back to the car, a man asking us if the Reds won. (They lost.) Once he heard the news, he shouted ***k, in front of our kids, no less. I told the kids to keep moving and not to use that language. That only prompted my 4-year-old to ask over and over for the next five minutes what bad word I was upset about. ‘Stupid? Did he say that? Shut up? What was the word, Mom?’ I should have kept my mouth shut.

And finally, my favorite. Once home, I ran to the grocery with Hayden. Leaving the store, I heard ‘I love you Mom…a whole lot,’ from the back seat. I reached for his hand and he grabbed mine, when I realized he was still wearing his Reds batting glove.

Batter up.

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