Papa Bear's T-Ball Fears

Mama Bear and I recently signed up Junior Bear and Peanut Bear for an instructional t-ball league with the local little league. At first I was very hesitant to do this because all you are hearing about nowadays are horror stories about how parents are going psycho at their kid's sporting events.

I played organized sports my entire life, and for the most part enjoyed every experience. Sure, there were jerk coaches and nutty parents that I not only played against, but also for. I never let those people bother me too much. I just went about my business and tried to enjoy myself. Although, I did tell my mom that if she ever acted up at a game, I would quit playing sports.

Now as a parent, it is those nutty people who scare me the most. The last thing I want is for my children to have a poor experience doing something I used to love to do and I believe helps mold you as you grow.

So to try and overcome my fear I have volunteered to be an assistant coach for my kids’ team. I didn’t feel I was ready to have the responsibility to setup practice schedules and do all the work that goes into being a head coach because of my work schedule (not that there is a lot at the t-ball level), but I felt that being an assistant I could help make the experience enjoyable not only for my kids but for everyone. I think as the kids get older, I will take more of a leadership role, if not for the only reason to try and keep crazy parents in check.

Anyway, our team had our first parents’ meeting this past week. Overall I think it went really well. Almost all of the parents, including the head coach, are going through this for the first time and I think this is going to be a good time for the kids and parents.

After the meeting I got really excited and began looking forward to the season. So this weekend, with Gamma and Pop Church (my parents) making a visit and the weather reaching the 70s, we went out and bought the kids their first gloves, baseballs, bats and a tee.

When we got back from the sporting goods store the kids couldn’t wait to get started. I had a catch with Junior and Peanut for a couple hours and we had a blast. To do anything with a pair of 5-year-olds for more than a half hour is incredible, so to have a catch for a couple hours was remarkable.

Cookie Bear also got a little glove and ball, but it’s hard to have a catch with a 3-year-old when she has a glove in one hand and a purse in the other. She’s very girly and I don’t think t-ball will be for her -- I think we’ll be signing her up for “instructional shopping” not instructional t-ball when she is their age.

Anyway, when we first started having a catch, Junior and Peanut could barely catch the ball, were getting hit in the chest regularly, were throwing off the wrong foot and had me running all over the yard for errant throws. By the end, Junior was making Rickey Henderson-like snap catches (okay, it wasn’t technically a snap catch, but he was confidently snagging the ball with one hand) and Peanut was throwing the ball with some pop.

By the way, I quickly learned it can be very dangerous to have a catch with a pair of 5-year-olds at the same time, especially when they each have a baseball and they decide to throw the ball at you at the same time. Papa Bear’s “boys” got a scare a more than a couple times.

Honestly though, I couldn’t have been happier and more proud. I know this sounds corny, but I have been looking forward to this day since I found out my wife was pregnant (not the part about getting baseballs thrown at my balls, but rather the having a “real” catch with my kids).

I can remember when we went for the ultrasound to find out what sex the kids were going to be.
The ultrasound woman said, “Twin A is a boy.”

And as she went searching for Twin B (that what the doctors refer to twins as before birth - Twin A and Twin B) I immediately had the following conversation with myself.

“Yes! Awesome, someone I can have a catch with… Now, if the other is a boy that will be great. I can have double the catches. I can teach them how to throw, catch, hit… No, wait. If the other one is a boy, they won’t need me. They will be able to have a catch with each other and I won’t be needed. (Panic sets in) I will be a father with two boys and no one to have a catch with. That is so depressing. I need to be able to have a catch with someone. I hope Twin B is a girl. Please be a girl, please be a girl, please be a girl…”

And like the ultrasound woman knew what I was thinking she said on cue, “Twin B is a girl.”

“Yes!” I shouted. “I will have someone to have a catch with!”

After the confused look from Mama Bear’s face settled, something dawned upon me, it was only one word but it quickly had me wishing I didn’t have someone to have a catch with -- WEDDING. I was going to have to pay for a wedding!

So you can imagine my reaction two years later when we were in the same room finding out the sex of our third child and the woman said, “You’re having a girl.”

Papa Bear: (sigh)

Mama Bear: “What now?”

Papa Bear: “Awesome. Not only are we going to have to pay for three kids in college at once, now we get a pair of weddings.”

Anyway, getting back on point, I’m glad the kids are looking forward to t-ball, and I hope that I don’t turn into that crazy parent I fear.

Although after reading this over, I think I already am a “crazy parent.”

PBM Hits Facebook

Papa Bear is not too tech savvy, but after a few hours of horsing around finally figured out how to open a Facebook page. Friend Papabear Memoirs to get updates sent to your Facebook page on when posts are made and also get some misc. thoughts and ramblings throughout the day.

A Slight Misunderstanding

When Junior Bear and Peanut Bear were just over 2-years-old, I was in need of finding more and more creative ways to keep them in one spot when changing their diapers or pull-ups. As many of you know, it can be extremely difficult to keep them from getting up and running away, especially when you have to make the transition from the dirty diaper to the clean one. That’s nothing new or unique to my situation.

So what I did was to start playing with their belly-button. I would press on their belly-button and say, “ding-dong.” We’ve all done it; we pretend that the belly-button is a doorbell.

I would say, “Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!”, and press on the stomach, making them laugh.

It was simple yet brilliant for this simpleton father. I would have to do this like four or five times before starting to change their diaper as they laid on the floor and a couple other times after I took the dirty diaper off. They would have fun during this and, as a result, would stay put as I transferred to the clean diaper.

I was so impressed with myself. I came up with a solution to a problem without turning to Mama Bear. See, I usually turn to Mama Bear as she is a teacher (a very good one might I add) and she often has the answers for me when dealing with the kids. Whether it’s coming up with the punishment that fits the crime to dealing with temper tantrums to sounding out words (for me not the kids), I would be lost without her.

Anyway, again, I was pretty happy that I came up with this solution and a sense of pride came over me. I felt that I was finally learning something after two years on Daytime Daddy duty – until my parents came over one Saturday that is.

My parents came down from North Jersey for the day. I can’t really remember what we did, but I vividly remember what happened shortly after dinner that night.

We had just got up from the table and getting ready for dessert when the twins needed to get their diapers changed. I left that chore up to Gamma Bear, as there’s no need for me and Mama Bear to have all the fun all the time. So, Gamma Bear was having the same problem I was having, she couldn’t keep the kids down and before we knew it, both kids were running around naked.

Needless to say, I was enjoying this. It’s fun to watch Gamma struggle and it soon reached all new heights as it was at this point one of the funniest things that I can ever remember them saying came out.

The twins ran to the steps and Junior Bear shouted to the family, “Daddy touches my ding-dong when he changes my diaper!”

Peanut Bear quickly echoed her brother’s words and I broke into hysterical laughter knowing what they meant. However, not everyone in the room got the joke.

“What?!” yelled Gamma Bear as her jaw hit the floor.

Pop Church (my dad) nearly choked on his coffee and gave me a look I had never seen.

To prove that I shouldn’t get arrested, I asked the kids to point to their “ding-dong.”

They both pointed to their belly-button at the same time and we all shared a good laugh, but it was at that point I had to stop pressing their “ding-dong” when changing their diapers.

I’m glad it came out then and not at the preschool. I probably would have been asking the twins to point to their “ding-dong” from behind bars if that happened.

Picture Days Will Be The End of Me

Here's a follow-up to Hairy Picture Day story for you...

So I dropped Cookie Bear off at preschool today and the teacher says to me, "So you're the only one who filled out a form."

I was lost, thinking she meant a book order form. So I asked her what she was talking about.

"Today is picture day," she says with a big smile.

"Really?" I respond, thinking Mama Bear is going to kill me not only because I didn't do her hair special and I never removed the washable tattoo from her hand she asked me too. So now she will have crazy hair and a tattoo. (Boy I hope that photographer is going to hide that tattoo).

"Her hair is horrible," I tell the teacher.

"Oh don't worry about it," she says confidently. "This photographer is really good and will do her hair really nice."

Yeah, but she doesn't know my luck. I'm thinking I better just move a blanket and pillow to the couch right now.

How come I can't win with these picture days? I'm either screwing up hair, dressing the kids backwards or forgetting all together.

I have a feeling that if I end up taking the escalator down instead of up when my time on this earth is over, everyday is going to be picture day.

And this just in from the "It Just Keeps Getting Better Department": When I got to work this morning I had an email from Junior Bear's and Peanut Bear's school, tomorrow is Spring Picture Day at their school.

AWESOME! Let's see what I can mess up next.

Papa Bear's Dirty Little Secret

I have a problem.

I’m an addict.

There, I said it. You happy?

I’m addicted to fantasy sports. But guess what? I like it! I’m not looking to get reformed. I’m not looking for help. I’m here to tell you, I’m a fantasy sports junkie and no intervention is needed.

Like millions of others in this country, my vices are fantasy football and fantasy baseball. Just to clarify, I’m not an addict in the sense that I join dozens of leagues and drop thousands of dollars. Actually, in recent years I have averaged only two baseball and three football leagues per year, which is about the average amount of leagues for most fantasy gamers I know.

However, the leagues I am in, I go in 100 percent and become completely obsessed – most times to the point where I physically lose sleep at night. The picture above, I drew that about 10 years ago as the logo for my fantasy teams. I know, I know, I'm a loser. I’ve toyed with the idea of asking my family doctor for a medication to help overcome this, but I have shied away from that -- for now.

Right now I’m in full blown fantasy baseball mode. I’m in a keeper league with 11 other guys and I am itching like crazy to get started. I want to start trading keepers and acquiring picks. I just want to get going.

As this blog-o-mine progresses, you will find that my obsession with fantasy sports is a problem. Family trips used to be arranged around when lineups needed to be set (internet phone has helped that a little) and my mood is usually directly associated with how my team is doing. It’s a problem – I know.

There are also dilemmas I run into when I have to decide between my family and my fantasy, and as weird as this may sound, it’s not an easy choice. If you’re a fantasy gamer you know where I’m coming from. If you don’t, you’re not a true gamer. Like the Sunday when you need Drew Brees to throw four TDs to give you the win and you have to go to some great aunt's house that doesn't have a TV or your kids ask you to take them to the playground, knowing your reality team has already played.

Ask any hard-core fantasy gamer out there and they will all tell you that this is not an easy choice to make. Choose the party or the playground and you're miserable for not knowing what's going on, choose the game and, well, you know. It’s truly a problem we all run into.

Currently, for my baseball league I’m on a kick where I want to try and acquire all of my man-crushes and rename my team "The Mantasies." For those of you who don’t know, “man-crushes” can be defined as a guy you (as a male) have an affinity for. Right now, my man-crushes include Chase Utley, David Wright, Joey Votto, Ryan Zimmerman, Matt Kemp and Brandon Webb. I don’t completely know why I have man-crushes on every single one of these guys. Reasons vary from they play on my favorite team (the Mets) to I drafted them on my fantasy team the year they played really well and I developed a crush on them as a result.

It is at this point I feel the need to point out to you that I am a married man and add that many fantasy gamers have had numerous man-crushes through the years. I’m not the only on. I swear. If you’re denying it, you’re lying.

Why do I want to do this? I don’t completely know. Probably has to do with my obsession for fantasy baseball and hours I need to kill thinking about it. Who knows?

Did you think I was lying when I said I have a problem?

I have even managed to get my 5-year-old son Junior Bear into it to the point he knows how many points for every 10 yards rushing and how many points for a touchdown. I rationalize this to myself that I am teaching him basic math skills.

Me: "20-yard touchdown is worth what?"

Junior Bear: "Eight points!"

Ah, Papa Bear's so proud.

I also get him in on the decision making when I feel I'm in a rut, but that's a story for a different day.

Despite my joy and bonding, some family members fear I am creating a monster. I'll let you decide.

As we move closer to my draft and then into the season I will be sure to keep you updated on how my team is doing.

Snow Days: Fun on YouTube

The kids and Mama Bear were off from school Monday because of the snow storm and I worked from home, so we wasted some time on YouTube. Junior Bear is really into super heroes right now and we took time looking up theme songs of super hero shows. All three kids were into it so it was fun. You will come to find that whatever Junior Bear is interested in, Peanut Bear and Cookie Bear will also get into. Not really sure why that is, but I was able to come across some classic cartoon intros.





We also watched the trailers of all three Spider-Man movies, Superman Returns, and we caught up on some music videos to satisfy the girls. Then we watched Spider-Man 2 and 3.

An Uneventful Weekend

This weekend was pretty lackluster. Saturday we did some work on the bathroom again and no new stories there, as the kids were as “helpful” as usual, but things picked up a bit later on Sunday.

We went to a birthday party for a boy in Cookie Bear’s preschool class and it went really well. It was at a local zoo and was really a nice event.

Part of the party was the zoo staff showing off some of the animals. We saw a chinchilla and a parrot up close and then went on a mini tour, feeding goats and sheep and seeing eagles, falcons, foxes, wolves and other animals that just sat there on the cold day.

Nothing really funny happened. But I always cringe when the staff at these kind of events asks a group of 3-5 year olds, “Any questions?”

Anything can happen at that point. I’m sure we all have our funny stories that stem from that question. Here are a coupe highlights from today.

After seeing the parrot, one of the kids asked, “Why don’t carrots fly?”

And then there was Junior Bear, who I think had his hand permanently raised throughout the party. Although, I don’t think he completely understands what a question is.

When the chinchilla was out and we were asked if there were any questions he was called on a said, “Chinchillas have excellent hearing.”

Then, when on the outdoor tour after the guide told the group that a falcon was the fastest animal, able to travel at up to 180 m.p.h., Junior Bear felt a need to tell the guide how fast every other animal could go – even though he had no idea.

We saw some deer-looking thing and he said, “They could run 100 m.p.h.” to the guide. She said, “Close, 50 m.p.h.” To which he responded, “That’s what I meant.”
Repeat this story for the wolves, ponies, and the three other sleeping creatures we saw on a 30-degree day.

Well the snow is starting to fall here in the Philadelphia area, so I’m sure I’ll have some more stories from Monday as I’m sure there won’t be school.