It's 60º and cloudless outside, and you know what that means. Break out the shorts! Where's my mitt? It's a great day for dingerball, let's play two!
Except, no. I am marveling at all this joyous cloudlessness from the inside, and posting about my disconsolate son who won't leave the apartment.
This was supposed to be Tee-ball's Opening Day. Robert would dress in his new uniform (with pants!) and lead his Angels into battle with the Mets as a capacity crowd of dozens cheered them on. But even though this is easily the best day of weather we've had in '08, Opening Day has been rained out because the new sod, which was laid three days ago (?), is too waterlogged.
As a consolation, we thought, we could go meet the coach and collect Robert's uniform. But the hat and jersey weren't ready because the printers hadn't finished stenciling on the sponsor's logos. So far, this Little League operation is running like a Swiss watchband.
And now my boy, who an hour ago begged me to take him out to see the new ballyard and would have swum the East River to play his first-ever game of tee-ball, is idly sipping lemon-lime seltzer and drawing pictures of car crashes.
I am grumbling, it's true, but not that loudly. I can use a little rest after last night's karaoke night that was hosted by the ridiculously hott founders of Cool Mom Picks. Three hours became four, and three drinks became more, and I learned the valuable lesson that mimicking Michael McDonald is a true test of human mettle.
Thanks to everyone for a great evening that was replete with laughter, booze, and -- gulp -- flashbulbs. If you're trolling through Flickr or something and come across several pictures of an earnestly handsome man holding a microphone, eyes shut and mouth open, that's Pierre. I'm the better-looking one next to him.