Last night I beheld my daughter with her battle scars. After a night of traveling softball she came back to me with a fat lip and bruises all over her legs. I did not freak, or get all mushy, I just looked, asked if her nose felt broken and continued eating my ice cream. I was at my son's game all night while she was away at another field with my husband. She seemed mighty proud as she stood before me, daring me to have a fit over her face, and I didn't go there. After all, what mom wouldn't freak just a little?. According to the coach of the pitcher who damaged her, the only way she was going to get on base was by getting hit with the ball. I guess they really wanted her on that base, but they shouldn't have spoken so soon. She was able to bang one back at the pitcher and I am happy for her. Hopefully as she graduates and sings the Star-Spangled Banner this Friday night, she won't look like Quasimodo and ruin her own pictures.
Update: They won the whole championship, she slid into almost every baseman for the rest of the season. Crazy...
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AND, my husband had to shave his beard and mustache, the other coaches had to shave their heads... Unbelievable, I think he should have shaved his legs instead, I like the beard and mustache...
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