Kickball

We went to Connor's birthday party Saturday night. He turned 10 and is a punk. But, his mom, being used to being around kids on sugar highs, had a kickball party for him.

Being the athletic aunt and uncle we are, we showed up ready to rumble and waited on the fence to be picked for a team. Flashback to grade school when I was also the last one to be picked for a team. Clark reminded me that his dad and Millie were picked after me, but STILL... His dad is, well, OLD, and Millie is Connor's mom. No bother. I was ready to whoop up on some 10 year old kids.

The kick ball had gotten popped before the party started, so somebody's dad came back with a soccer ball and we used that. No big deal really. Kinda hurt a little more when you got hit with it, but no one cried.

I had a few good kicks but never made it home for a run. Our team lost but at least I can say that I got Connor out and played the best I could without cheating. That's what sports are all about right?

Today, Clark and I are hobbling around. This from playing kickball for a little more then an hour. No bike rides this weekend, nothing but stoopid kickball.

Perhaps we have this exercise thing all wrong. Maybe bikes aren't the way to go. Maybe we would be in better shape if we showed up at the field to kick a few balls, throw it at people, and run around a little.

Some punk kid was asking Connor what kinda party he was gonna have NEXT year. I am kinda interested, so maybe I can start practicing up so I can be ready and annilate some 11 year olds.