There Was Crying, No Baseball

Tuesday baseball practice has its challenges.  I have to pack our dinners in the morning, schlep Aaron's baseball bag downtown, leave work 90 minutes early (a killer when I'm on deadline, which is to say 110 percent of the time), get Jada and Aaron to walk a combined one mile before, during, and after riding a subway and a bus, get there just as practice is starting if we time all our connections right, get my dress shoes muddy throwing grounders, keep an eye on Jada as she toggles between homework, sandwiches, reading, and playground, repeat the transit itinerary home, and get the kids to bed way later than usual. 

That said, I am loath to miss practice because it's fun to have that time with Aaron and because weather and illness have already conspired to cause us to miss three weeks' worth of practices.  So yesterday afternoon brought me no small angst as the minutes ticked away and I realized first that we would be late for practice, second that we would be really late for practice, and third that we would be so late for practice that we shouldn't even bother going.

Genius that I am, I had scheduled my appointment with the YMCA for earlier that afternoon, to get oriented on Aaron and Jada's summer camp.  I figured that if I timed everything right, I could get back to their school after the orientation and be back on schedule for practice.

I didn't figure on my orientation meeting being 35 minutes late.  To make matters worse, as I left the Y, my bus pulled out right in front of me.  So, already running way late, I trudged the 10+ blocks to Jada and Aaron's school.  When I got there, I had to go up to Jada's floor three separate times - first, to find out that she wasn't there, second, to get her backpack, and third, when she somehow snuck past me back up there. 

When I got to Aaron, he was in tears, because he had skinned both of his knees in quick succession just minutes before.  Already regretting that I was running late, I immediately blurted out to Aaron that if I had been on time, we'd already be on our way to baseball and he wouldn't have hurt his knees. 

It was at this point that I mentally calculated that by the time we arrived at baseball practice, practice would be winding down.  As much as it pained me, I decided to just bring the kids home, give them a bath, wash Aaron's wounds, and feed them dinner.  I asked Aaron if this was OK, and, between sobs, he nodded his head; clearly, he wanted to just go home, too, so that made missing practice a little easier. 

When we got home, I sent the kids upstairs to get ready for baths and was about to send a quick email to Aaron's coach to tell him we weren't going to make it when my phone rang.  It was Aaron's coach calling to tell me practice was cancelled.  It turns out their practice field was overrun with a bunch of playoff games.  I guess being home instead of at practice was right where we were supposed to be.