Megan is unassailably cute in her softball getup. The seat of her pants is appropriately saggy, and the rest is very professional-looking, her back pockets and occupied belt loops below a tucked-in jersey, her visor and Under Armour cleats, and – best of all – her game face. I have never felt more hopeful, charged, anxious, and blessed than I do watching my kids in a batter's box. If that's misguided, so be it; at least I'm honest. I love it. I love them. And I love softball and baseball. Of course, they are doing impeccably well in school and other things; we do have priorities.
As for Michael, he took the mound last night for the first time this season. He's a pitcher now, and a respectable one. He scattered a few runs but was sharp, pounding the strike zone with decent velocity. He's a horse of an eleven-year-old. Learning to leverage his height and heft is a big focus. He worked very deliberately from the stretch, staring down runners, and was warned by the umpire for working too slowly, taking too long between pitches. That's Michael. I love him fiercely and I'm proud; he's been putting in the hours, drilling and pushing to get better. Good man.
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