Archive for May, 2009

I wanna Rock!!!

May 30, 2009

Most people don’t select a vocation in life until quite a ways down the road. It used to be your senior year of high school; then it became during your sophomore year of college; now sometime around your mid-life crisis you finally pick a path to settle in on. Like me for instance, I’m about to embark on another career adventure after 21-years of being a Marine. If you asked me what I wanted do as far as a career the best answer I can give you is “something that pays the bills and keeps us in the life style were accustomed to“. How‘s that for ambiguous? Mack doesn’t have that problem. He has all ready decided what he wants to do with his life and he did so at the tender age of five. What does he want to be you might ask? Mack wants to be a “Rock-God”- who’s also a professional skate boarder.

Connie and I aren’t about to crush his dream so for the past 6-months we’ve been shelling out money for guitar lessons. We’ve also encouraged his skateboarding career. For example recently I started construction on his very own grinding rail- something I knew nothing about until I started researching how to build one. Come to find out it’s a piece of skateboarding gear engineered to increase the total number of trips parents make to the emergency room by 600%. Was I deterred? Hell no, I‘m here to make dreams a reality- that‘s why they named me Dad.

Mack has done his part to ensure he meets his goals as well. He idolizes Elvis Presley, practices his guitar, dresses flamboyantly and has giant hair. He has also delved into song writing- which is really what this post is about.

The other night as I sifted through the rubble that is our children’s’ playroom I found one of Mack’s future hits titled “Rock and Roll Monster“. Here are the lyrics:

Rock and Roll Monster hitting the road at the dead of the night

Oooooo, Oooooo, Oooooo

Everybody is rocking and rolling in the dead of the night

Woow, Woow, Wooooow

I’m not sure if this is an original- but I don’t think the lyrics will be found in any of our John Mayer or Jack Johnson CDs. Sort of sounds like death-metal- except for the “Wow” part. I don’t recall Judas Priest, Iron Maiden or Metallica ever using lyrics that included the word “Wow”- it just doesn’t sound apocalyptic enough. But in Mack’s world the word “Wow” adds just the right amount of rock and roll zip needed to sell millions of records. Regardless, I’m glad he didn’t use the word Friggin- I would have had some explaining to do.

The only other lyrics on the page were penned by Cayden. I could tell because his hand writing is much more precise than the “Rock-God’s”. Cayden’s lyrics consisted of two sentences.

Run for your life!

Run for your life!

I’m not sure if Cayden meant this to be part of the song or he was simply warning anyone within earshot to “no-shit” run for their lives. It really could go either way if you live in the Groah household.



 News Flash “Gorilla-Man still at large, Police baffled”

This is a “no shit” headline from the local metro news rag that I grab each morning before boarding the train. You can only imagine my excitement when I read that a “Gorilla-Man” was roaming the seedy underbelly of the Baltimore Metro area. If you’ve known me longer than a minute you know that I have a less than healthy fascination with giant primates. Can’t get enough of them- can’t explain why it’s always been so. And this head line really captured my attention because the author labeled the beast a “Gorilla-Man”. Had it been a run of the mill Gorilla escaping from the zoo the author would have referred to it as such i.e. “Run of the Mill Gorilla escapes zoo- eats cab driver and flees”. See the difference? Gorilla-Man offers so many more possibilities. Could it be that the missing link has finally surfaced? In Baltimore no less? Maybe it was a Sasquatch? I for one never gave up hope that those things were colonized somewhere in the Rockies just waiting to reclaim their rightful place at the head of the food chain. Friggin awesome, I’m camping out with the kids until we see this thing first hand- Connie where’s my binoculars?

Come to find out it wasn’t a “no kidding” Gorilla creature- instead it was a regular dude dressed in a gorilla suit. But I wasn‘t completely disappointed because at least this joker was original. Come to find out the guy would throw on the gorilla suit, run into a grocery store and go straight for the bananas. Reports indicate that on several occasions he actually snatched the entire Chiquita display and then hauled ass out the front door. The news paper wrote that “Surprisingly, witnesses were reluctant to apprehend “Gorilla-Man””. No Shit! This isn’t so friggin surprising to me. I would imagine that most people who witnessed the robberies did one of two things:

a. Shit their pants because the gorilla suit was so realistic that they actually feared they were about to be eaten by a giant, rampant primate.

b. They were too busy rolling on the floor laughing to interfere.


c. They stood frozen with envy because they hadn’t thought of doing it first.

I know I said two, but the third option is kind of personal- I‘m probably the only one who would experience these types of emotions when faced with similar circumstances. Admittedly, I’m a little jealous. Not only does this guy have a gorilla suit but he also has a great sense of humor and most likely a shit ton of stolen bananas. I don’ t think he’s a criminal- I think he’s a friggin super hero, just a tad bit misguided.

When I got to work I immediately called Connie to tell her what I read. Not sure if this is something that occurs between other married couples but when I read something about Gorilla creatures the first thing I want to do is share it with my spouse. Connie was a little “ho-hum” about the whole thing but she did give me some food for thought. After I ran through the details she told me that you better be careful if the police read your blog they’ll probably call you in for questioning (reference post- “Go-rillas and Heat Stroke”). I hadn’t thought about that one- who knows my post may have been the Gorilla Man’s inspiration. Maybe I should be more careful what I write about in the future…


I’m at the VA Hospital this morning and there’s at least a 75-year deficit between me and the next youngest person in the room. I’m sure that all these other guys are vets but I can’t decide if they’re veterans of the Civil or Revolutionary war. In fact one of them asked me if I was here to visit my grand-pa. I told him I was retiring from the Marine Corps and I was here to be checked out- he made a “Hmmmmph” sound and walked away. When I opened my lap top to chronicle his abrupt dismissal a bunch of his buddies gathered around thinking my computer was a television set. When I failed to produce re-runs of “Murder She Wrote” they got angry and walked away too. I’m not sure why I’m getting such a warm reception? You would think that veterans would be slightly more receptive to one of their own- even if that person is several generations younger than them. Perhaps I’ll be the same way in a few decades- all angry and cantankerous, but I sure hope not. Why waste all that energy?

The less-than-friendly reception from the waiting room crowd didn’t do my mood any favors. Life is stressful enough right now without having to put up with the random “shitty-ness” of complete strangers. Connie and I have a lot going on; I’m retiring, searching for a new career, Connie’s busy season is upon us, the kids, the economy, green house emissions, Lindsey Lohan’s break-up with Sam Ronson- it’s almost more than one guy can take?

Whoops, gotta run, one of the doctors just called my name.

First appointment of the day showed me that I’m more of a mess than I thought I was. It seems I can’t reach portions of my body that I should be able to (like toes for instance) and this is a sure sign that all the damage I’ve done to my spine hasn’t magically healed itself. Oh well, at least he didn’t feel the need to examine my prostate. If I can make it out of here without having to suffer through that humiliation I’ll be pretty content- but I have three more appointments so what are the odds? Just you watch, my last appointment of the day will probably be dedicated to a 45-minute full-on prostate “examination extravaganza“. God I hate physicals.

Appointment number two was with an audiologist. If he had asked me to remove my pants in order to check my hearing we would have had words. Instead, he slapped a pair of head phones on me and ran me through a series of exams comprised of beeping high pitched tones. I’m not good with beeping high pitched noises- it’s very hard for me to identify them over the constant high pitched ringing in my ears. For my follow-on test a very uptight dude with precise enunciation came over the headphones and demanded that I repeat the last word of each sentence. I know it was a recorded voice, but I found myself disliking his pompous attitude the minute he started with the whole “Say the word artichoke” thing. Adding to his arrogance, the words were so random that there was absolutely no way to guess what he was saying when I couldn’t hear his condescending tone- how are you supposed to win this game? Later when I told Connie about the inequity of the exercise she reminded me that I was getting my hearing checked and that I wasn’t a contestant on “The Price is Right“- I guess that makes sense. Any way, after 30-minutes of annoying exams the doctor was able to determine beyond a reasonable doubt that I can’t hear “shit“- sheer genius. The remainder of our time together was spent discussing all of the advances that have been made in hearing aid technology and how no one would ever know that I’m wearing them. I declined, not out of vanity, but because I don’t want to hear what most people have to say in the first place. If it’s something important they’ll repeat it over and over again until I acknowledge them- work’s for my father-in-law and he‘s a really smart guy.

Appointment number three, not sure what that doctor was all about- but he wasn’t wearing rubber gloves so I was pretty happy. The extent of this joker’s medical exam was a half-assed field sobriety test: walk heal to toe, close your eyes and touch your nose, say you’re A,B,C’s backwards. When I told him I couldn’t say my A,B,C’s the regular way let alone backwards he accused me of sand bagging and got angry. I in turned asked him why he was so damn concerned about my A,B,C’s in the first place- I was here to get a medical exam not to prove the inadequacy of an Ohio elementary education. I think that kind of pissed him off because he turned his back to me and started rooting through his medical cabinet. I thought maybe he was searching for rubber gloves so I excused myself and never went back- a prostate exam is one thing, a prostate exam from an angry physician totally another.

From there I headed to my final appointment. The first doctor wanted me to get x-rays of over 90% of my skeletal structure (told you I’m all jacked up) so I headed to the lab for some quick films. I got news for you, no such thing as quick films in a VA hospital- at least that’s the story on the angry faces of the people who had made it there before me. This is when I met “Hal”. Hal is the guy who shuns cultural norms regarding speaking to people who don’t want to engage in conversation. Hal speaks- that’s what he does, and he does so loudly without pause or apology. I ended up spending an hour and half being subjected to the story of “Hal”- where he was born, what he does for a living, his favorite color, his fear of prostate exams (okay, I did engage him on that one, happy to not be the only one with that particular phobia). Hal never shut up. By the time I got called in for x-rays I was so exhausted from listening to him flap his face that I almost immediately fell asleep on the x-ray table. The technician did a great job, I think- like I said I was sound asleep. But when she woke me up and told me I was free to go I felt completely liberated so as far as I was concerned she was the high light off my afternoon. As I skipped out of the exam room I noticed Hal had taken a whole new group of patients captive. Every single one of them looked as pissed off as the group that I had been waiting with. Then it came to me, they weren’t mad because they had to wait, they were mad because they had to wait with Hal.

After a full day of VA Hospital fun, and the thought of three others all ready penciled in on my calendar I’m not feeling very cheery. I guess that’s what happened to all those cantankerous old soldiers I met in the waiting room- they were probably “hella” good guys before they started their retirement process, I’m friggin doomed…


Last weekend I had some alone time with Cayden and as a special treat I took him to get his first Slurpee. I figured what could be the harm- I loved those things as a kid. So I walked him through the door and stood him right in front of the machine that put 7/11 on the map. I even allowed him to pick out the flavor and the size just to make it an extra special event- you can probably see where this is going. Cayden chose a 48 ounce Mountain Dew Slurpee- again what could be the harm, right?

I know all of the mega-parents out there who spend hours reading labels for artificial sweeteners and whose children’s lips have never touched a carbonated beverage are probably choking on their organic carrot sticks right about now. But my generation ate green M&M’s, Pop Rocks and drank from the life giving spring known as the Coke-a-Cola bottling company. My generation lived without fear and trusted that the FDA was doing their job and wouldn’t dream of placing dangerous items on our grocer’s shelves. Of course that was before the realization that just about everything on the menu causes cancer, hair loss, melanoma’s (I love the way that word sounds), dwarfism, joint pain or erectile dysfunction. Who would have known? I guess that’s the curse of advances in medical science- we’ve learned that every thing we enjoy will cause irreversible harm and will most likely kill us. How’s that for a pleasant thought?

Regardless of the Surgeon General’s warning against the evils of Slurpees I went ahead and dropped a $1.99 on the counter, slapped my boy on the back and said “suck it down buddy you only live once“. Now, I don’t know if Mountain Dew Slurpees cause any of the heinous afflictions that I listed above, but I do know that if you suck down 48 ounces of ice without taking a breath you’ll likely throw yourself into a coma. I know this as fact but I got so wrapped up in thumbing my nose at society, a society that seems hell bent on sucking the fun out of life, that I forget to provide Cayden any guidance on moderation. Tragically, Cayden did exactly as I instructed and in 5.2 seconds he had completely drained the entire thing- 48 ounces of frozen Mountain Dew. I started questioning the strategy of my mini-rebellion.

For a minute no one said a word. The clerk witnessed the entire thing and stood ready to call for a life flight if required. I prepared to rush Cayden to the bathroom where I figured I could thaw his head with the assistance of the hot air hand blower located in the men’s room. Then he moved. Cayden lowered the cup, licked his lips and smiled. I allowed myself a brief glimmer of hope- maybe Cayden doesn’t have a human brain, maybe he was born with several extra layers of skull insulation, maybe the slurpee wasn’t that cold to begin with? Cayden’s delayed facial expression dashed all of my irrational hopes.

His eye’s slammed shut, his teeth gnashed together and his little hands curled up into fist. Then Cayden made this god awful “Whooooooooooo” sound that frightened the rest of 7/11’s patrons so badly that they dropped their Nacho’s and Big Gulps and rushed for the door. I’m not sure how long the “Brain Freeze” lasted- time kind of stood still. But I knew it finally passed when Cayden was able to tell me who he was, where he was and his mother’s name- “Mom”.

Did the experience scar him? I’m not certain it did, but when we picked up Mack later in the day Cayden was quick to tell him that “Mountain Dew Slurpees aren’t good- next time I’m getting a coke one.” Maybe there was some permanent “Brain Freeze” damage after all.

BTW, I would caution anyone who reads this about providing your 40lb child with 7-zillion grams of caffeine (about the same amount contained in a 48 ounce Mountain Dew Slurpee). I don’t think Cayden slept for three days and I’m certain his mouth didn’t stop running for twice that amount of time.



To get back to my blogs original intent I wanted to jot down a few factoids for each boy so that they’ll know what they were like as kids. I had Cayden on my mind after a recent post so I went ahead and started with him.

Hey Con, feel free to add things as you see fit- I tried to capture some of the basics.


Here is a list of some of your favorite things: Eggos with a lot of syrup; water (in fact you prefer it over milk); Sponge Bob, computer games, the color yellow, shoes without laces, sweat pants, tank tops (which is funny because you have the skinniest arms I’ve ever seen on a human being), fish sticks and any treat even remotely resembling a cracker. Just to prove my point, you once ate 12-pounds of gold fish in a single afternoon.

Believe it or not you also love school and some kid named Mario- who you lovingly refer to as “Super Mario”. Your academic skills are well above average. You have the neatest handwriting in our family- even if it does take you 20-minutes to write what you refer to as “a perfect letter C”. It’s worth the wait, it’s the best damn “C” I’ve ever seen. Your teachers adore you for more than your scholarly ability they also like your hugs. If writing the letter “C” and giving hugs was an occupation you’d be bringing in bank.

Other stuff you should know: I can make you laugh by crossing my eyes. I often do this at the dinner table when Mom’s not looking and I would get away with it if you would just stop spitting out your milk every time I do it. As an aside I was the one who taught you how to cross your eyes. I taught you lots of other good stuff as well, like how to tie your shoes and the phrase “shut your Pie-Hole” both extremely necessary life skills. After dinner you routinely challenge me to a fight. I would put fighting your old man in the top five things that you like to do- the only way it could possibly be better is if I was made out of flour and tasted like a Triscuit. We only tussle about once a week because you have a tendency to stomp on my groin and it takes me 7-days to recover from the blunt force trauma. This is really the extent of your fighting skill, but what you lack in skill you make up for in physical toughness. You’re like a piece of leather- I can toss you around all day long and you’ll keep coming back for more. If I raise my voice, however; you’ll tear up instantly and bury your face in the couch- luckily, you don’t give me many reasons to raise my voice.

You want to be a big kid because you idolize your brother. You would do anything for him and routinely do. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been out alone and I offered to buy you a piece of candy and your first concern was that I get Mack one too. What kid does that? You’re only six-years old but you’ve all ready adopted a character trait that many adults dismiss out of hand- selflessness. I hope someday Mack realizes the pedestal that you’ve placed him on and becomes the mentor that I know he can be.

Oh, here’s another Cayden tidbit- you’re very concerned about equity. If you give Mom a hug you won’t rest until you track me down and give me one as well. You’re worst fear is that Mom or I will believe that you love one of us more than the other. Even when Mom is out of town you keep track of every hug and kiss that I get so that when she returns she can receive her fair share.

Lately you’ve been counting the days until your birthday and with each reminder that it’s coming you change what you want and how you want to celebrate. Last week it was unlimited tokens at Chuck E. Cheese, last night it was a five kid sleepover, tomorrow it will likely be something different. I would tell you what you want for a gift, but you won’t tell me because if you tell me what you’re wishing for it won’t come true. News flash Pumpkin-Butt if you don’t tell me it’s surely not going to happen, that whole keeping you wishes secret is for wishing wells, shooting stars and birthday candles- get it straight.

Finally, your single most desire in life is to become a “Hershey Bar”. Not a bar of chocolate, but a Hershey Park Hershey Bar. See Hershey Park uses different candy bars as units of measure to determine which kids are big enough to get on what rides. Last year you were a Hershey Kiss and unable to ride the extremely terrifying, shit-your pants roller coasters that your father has no desire to ever get on. But during the off season you’ve been eating extra chicken nuggets, hot dogs and fish sticks because we’ve convinced you that’s the way to reach your goal. I’m really concerned that your going to make the mark and I’ll be sitting next to you this summer on some wooden death trap. You’ll be smiling- eyes crossed, I’ll be the one with his eyes slammed shut mouth open in a silent scream. God help me…

Gym Etiquette…

May 8, 2009
I love to work out- I’ve been doing it consistently for over 20 years. And in the past 20 years I’ve been in a hundred different gyms and just as many locker rooms. If you’ve never exercised in a public gym and you’re considering joining one allow me to offer you some sage advice on proper locker room etiquette. This applies to men’s locker rooms only. The only insight I have into women’s locker rooms is what I saw in the movie “Porky’s” and Connie told me that it’s not very accurate (there goes that male fantasy!).

So I came up with these locker room commandments from stuff that I see on a consistent basis at the gym I’m currently working out at. At first I thought it was just me who thought that some of the behavior lacked decorum- but it isn’t, several of my friends feel the exact same way. So without further ado “locker room Commandments”:

Thou shalt not attempt to engage in conversation while buck-ass naked drying in the breeze of a 6-foot floor fan.

Thou shalt not place one’s sweaty bare ass on the locker room benches- A cloth barrier between sweaty ass and bench is mandatory.

Thou shalt not comment on your buddy’s improved physical appearance while standing naked in a group of other men you have never met before.

Thou shalt observe the imaginary bubble, hence forth referred to personal space, at all times while inside the locker room- clothed or otherwise. “Close Talking” is frowned upon considerably.

Thou shalt travel to and from the shower with a towel wrapped around one’s waist. Wandering around the locker room aimlessly with a towel draped over your shoulder and nothing covering your man parts is creepy.

Thou shalt not groom theyself in front of the few available mirrors while naked- Rule of Thumb pants first, application of hair care products second.

Thou shall not burst into song while in the shower with 20 other men.

Thou shalt not ask one’s buddy to examine any type of boil, cyst or ingrown hair while naked in a public locker room.

Thou shalt maintain eye contact if conversation is absolutely necessary. However, most conversations (except possibly “Help me I’m on fire”) can wait until both of you are completely clothed.

Thou shalt not spend more time in the locker room than one did in the gym actually working out.

These are some basic survival tips to help the novice gym rat get started. Some may think this advice sounds homophobic- but before you start typing an angry comment about tolerance let me say that it has nothing to do with sexual orientation. The intent is to encourage people to exercise some decency, courtesy and respect- I think everyone can get behind that, but I’ve been wrong before…




Sports Illustrated…

May 2, 2009

 Just a couple of quick photos of the dudes in uniform.

 That’s Mack pitching- looks like a pro dosen’t he?

Here’s the dut dut- I cropped his cheese nips out of the photo to create an illusion of baseball toughness

Batter Up…

May 2, 2009

Baseball is in full swing for both of our boys. This is Mack’s second year of baseball but first year of kid pitch. Cayden’s brand new to the sport so he’s cutting his teeth in T-Ball. Connie and I, being the supportive parents that we are, have all ready reprogrammed our weekly routine to support this endeavor. It’s not easy, especially during the school year but we’re making it happen.

We‘ve been going at it a few weeks now so I figured it might be time to provide an update on their progress. Let me start with T-Ball, after all in the world of baseball this is where it all begins.

T-Ball- I’m pretty sure that the only reason Cayden is even remotely aware that he’s playing baseball is because we make him put on a uniform. At his current developmental stage concepts such as competition and winning are abstract at best. What mostly interest Cayden are the bugs and flowers you can find in center field and the collection of miscellaneous grown-ups sitting near the baseline yelling at his fellow bug collectors to pay attention. Cayden is also extremely fascinated by the stitching on the inside of his glove. I know this because I often see him with his face inside the pocket as if he just caught a human head.

I’m sure it’s irritating for my son when an occasional baseball rolls by, interrupting what ever daydream he is currently fixated on. But he handles the interruption quite well- he simply gets out of the way and continues on with his mental journey. I don’t get upset with him- I can still recall Mack’s first two years of soccer when all he wanted to do was fly around the field pretending to be an airplane. Strangely his flight pattern never coincided with the path of the ball- go figure. The best thing about T-Ball is the kids get to interact with these amazing people called coaches who have three times the level of patience of a normal human being. Where they found these saintly parents is beyond me, but I‘m certain they weren‘t recruited from the 0530 metro platform crowd. Also no one ever loses in T-Ball. Everyone plays, every scores and at the end of the year every one gets a big honking trophy. Some parents complain that this method of organized sports won’t teach their kids one of life’s most valuable lessons i.e. if you suck someone is going to kick your ass and take all the rewards- but I’m fine with it. Let my kid learn those lessons a little further down the road- let them play, let them win, and let them all be champions for just a little while. All in all, a great experience for my kid. He’s learning some fundamentals (most likely by osmosis), meeting some new kids and with a little luck he should be pulling down a 7-figure salary right about the time I retire from my second career.

Mack on the other hand is in his second year of baseball- the 8-9 year old kid pitch league. Kid pitch is an entirely different sport than T-ball- these kids are actually in it to win it. I am amazed at the amount of development that occurs in just a couple of years. The pitching piece is a little crazy- you can count on a batter taking one to the grill at least once an inning- but those kids are tougher than a pair of woodpecker lips and shrug it off like nothing happened. Mack is focused and truly enjoys competing. I’m pretty proud of his ability on the field and the level of sportsmanship that he displays regardless of whether they win or lose. The biggest draw for Mack however is not the sport itself, it’s the fact that he gets to wear an athletic supporter and cup. Even before the season began he was pestering us to get him one, so Connie finally gave and made the purchase- I didn‘t know they had them that small- who would have known? Mack‘s enamored with his grape helmet- so much so that the minute he got home from the sporting goods store he threw it on and asked Cayden to test it‘s tensile strength by beating on it vigorously with both fist- mind you, while he wore it. He then asked Cayden to kick his junk repeatedly with, and without, shoes on. I finally stepped in and called a halt to the testing just as Cayden was about to head butt Mack’s groin- it was just slightly too creepy for me to allow. The trouble with this whole scenario is that once Cayden starts something he‘s hard to shut down. In fact for the next several days he would ambush Mack and smash his crotch to see if the cup could withstand the assault. Problem is after the first 24 hours of wear Mack placed it with the rest of his uniform and went unprotected while not on the field. More than once Cayden brought the poor guy to his knees.

The cup has become the centerpiece of Mack’s baseball experience this season for more reasons than just Cayden‘s research methodology. For instance, a few night ago while I was standing around flapping my face with a bunch of other parents Mack approached me with his hands crammed down the front of his pants. The group of parents I was talking to stopped what they were doing to watch what was happening. Mack reached in and with a good solid tug released the cup from it’s secured location and brought it out into the daylight. He then asked me to hold it for him for the remainder of the practice. I’m not squeamish- but I felt that holding my son’s sweaty cup for 4-more innings of baseball was a bit much. It’s kind of like having your elderly Auntie ask you to put her upper bridge in your front breast pocket for safe keeping- not going to happen. Undeterred by my response, Mack placed his water bottle on the ground and then put his nasty old hard hat right down on top of the nozzle. The other parents (I think there was about 6 of them) watched the whole thing unfold. They didn’t say anything but I could tell they were wondering if I was going to let my kid continue to use the bottle that the cup was resting on. I ended up giving him mine and spending the rest of the game walking around with his cup in my hand. Funny I didn’t shake a single hand after that- word sure does travel fast. Since then the cup has been lost about a dozen times and has replaced Mack’s baseball hat as the item we scramble to find before games and practices. You would be amazed where that thing turns up- next to the TV remote, kitchen counter, bathroom cabinet- I even found it on my work bench one time. I told Mack I’m going to staple it to his crotch so he won’t lose track of it- he thought that was cool.

Well that’s the baseball update. We have games tomorrow starting at 9 am- promises to be interesting because we have team pictures first. I should probably polish Mack’s cup he’ll probably want to wear it on the outside of his uniform- man that kid is strange.