We were definitely ‘that’ family the other night. You know, the one that gets up from the middle seats of the row twenty-five times.
In one inning.
Because popcorn, water bottles, and soft pretzels don’t walk themselves to the seats.
“I gotta go potty, Mommy.”
“Can you wait just a few minutes until the inning is over?”
“Nooooo.” Dance, dance, dance.
We sacrificed a sippy cup to the gods of the stadium (sorry, clean-up crew, for EVERYTHING), which bothered Guy very little since there were so many other fun things to grab and to hold.
Like the beer cup sitting in the holder behind my seat, belonging to other people. Which was perfectly within reach.
I had my own beer cup, of course. (Which was emptied quickly, don’t judge.) Nell thought it would be funny to put the empty cup on the shoulder of the person in front of us.
“I am so sorry,” Greg said.
“I didn’t even notice!” the woman replied. She smiled, and I really think she wasn’t totally lying.
I brought snacks as a diversionary tactic, however Nell only wanted things that required cash at concessions stands, and Guy was only interested in having an Oreo cookie, which he smeared over his face and hands like war paint.
“Oh my goodness,” the woman next to me said when she spotted him shoving the chocolate into (and around) his mouth.
“It’s okay. I have wipes,” I said. She smiled, and I really think it wasn’t all pity.
We made it through the 5th inning, at which point the kids’ eyes were starting to droop and their tolerance for three hard seats was definitely up. I carried Guy, and G carried Nell as we made our way out of the stadium. And as the two of them walked, she dropped piece after piece of popcorn behind him like a fairy tale trail.
A cop offered to take our picture as we were leaving.
Apparently, there was also a baseball game.