The Rock Collector

He's playing teeball. It's pretty cute. He whacks away at the tee, hard enough to make the ball hop off the tee and bounce past the pitcher's mound. Then he prances at an ever-so-non-chalant speed while his entire family roars from the stands, reminding him that he's supposed to be in a hurry...
Once he arrives at first base, which is nothing short of miraculous, considering his not-in-any-kind-of-hurry shuffle step, he decidedly hops onto the base as if to say "Safe..."
Then he proceeds to kick at the white chalk markings on the ground sending clouds of powder into the opposing team's dugout.

He plays in the outfield when the other team's at bat. The waaaay outfield. There he may watch an airplane as it crosses the wide blue yonder - or he may find an incredible rock. He has kicked at the ground so consistently that he created a crater. I have watched him trip on his own crater. He has now decided that hole-digging is best when done off the ballfield. So cute he is!

It is everything you think of when you think of having a boy. Dirty cleats. Grass stains. Miserably cold bleachers too early on a Saturday morning. Screaming your son's name at the top of your lungs, knowing the sense of pride that wells within you is even louder than your voice.
I love him. I love being Momma to my boy!

A boy is...
Trust with dirt on its face,
Beauty with a cut on its finger,
Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair,
and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.