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...
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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