Little Slugger

Noah took his first really good spill yesterday.  He was running around in the cul-de-sac and fell.  He ended up with a little cut above his lip and a skinned knee.  Amanda said that he was a bit less stoic than usual, which is certainly understandable.  But he still ate a good dinner and was in fine spirits when I came home from class.  He was in bed singing and I came in to tuck him back in.  He greeted me with an enthusiastic "Hi, Daddy!"

You just can't put a price on that.

Plus, he was laying in bed doing Tom Hamilton home run calls.  I kept hearing him say "Waaay back....gone!"  He loves to dream about hitting home runs and will ask me to set up a situation for him, so I'll say something like:

EVERYbody on their feet at the corner of Carneigie and Ontario.  Hafner at third...Peralta at second...Indians trailing 4-2 with two down at the bottom of the ninth.  Rivera sets.  Checks the runner.  Now the 2-2 pitch to Pook...


Swung on and BELTED.  Deep to right.  A-waaaay back......gone!  It's a game-winner.
(long pause)
A three-run walk-off home run for Pook.  And Pook...about to get mobbed at home plate.  The Indians win, 5-4.


He'll make me do that over and over and over again.  I'm more than happy to oblige.