Today is my grandfather’s birthday. He turns 80 years old. Yesterday, we went to my dad’s house for a party. All the “big kids” were outside playing what you could call football if you just wanted to. These are the same kids who pegged me quickly as the girl not to have on your baseball team because I stink at pretty much all sports. This time I was relegated to the sidelines to help with potty breaks.
We got the baby bundled up so he could go watch. With his hood up, he bears a startling resemblance to Obi-Wan Kenobi, except he smiles and giggles quite a bit more. He loved watching them all try to kill the man with the ball.
Then out of nowhere, my 4-year-old nephew turns and says, “Hey Baby, catch!” and throws the ball toward him. It sailed just over his head. After our hearts began to beat again, we had to explain that 4-month old babies don’t really catch Nerf footballs yet.
My step-sister shook her head and looked over to say, “Just be glad it wasn’t his brother who threw the ball. He hits what he’s aiming at.”
He’s two. Gonna have to keep an eye on him.