Sunday, June 26, 2016

A Day at Cub Country

I was pretty lucky to get to spend at Cub Country with Curtis. Though it's been almost 30 years since I was last there, it was just like I remember it.

First stop: The Trading Post. Thanks to the $10 Grandpa gave him, he was able to score a sweet rubber band shooter and a bear tooth necklace.

Then on to the obstacle course. Curtis was on his way to the record-setting time when the tires got the best of him. He was the first kid in the troop to scrape a knee; by the time we left, just about every boy was covered in band aids. 

The boys listened intently as the squeaky-voiced teen showed them how to shoot the BB guns. (I was mesmerized by his super-sweet teenage mustache.)

Finally, the moment came that he Curtis had been waiting for. He became a marksman. 

All that shooting makes boys hungry.

Curt was kind enough to pause for a photo with his biggest fan. 

And then it was back to business. 

Like roping fake calves. 

And learning how to fold the flag.

God bless Cub Country. 

Saturday, June 11, 2016

Tuesday, June 07, 2016

Belated Birthday

Curtis, we're happy you had a great party at the trampoline place. Sorry it was six weeks after you're birthday. Your parents struggle sometimes.

Friday, June 03, 2016

My Dream House

If I were a rich man, I would have the following things:

--A lifetime supply of beef jerky
--A personal masseuse 
--A batting cage

I'm a simple man.

There's a house in my neighborhood with at least one of those things. And I'm more than a little jealous. 

Poking out behind their back fence is a full-size batting cage. And upon further snooping, er, inspection, I found there was so much more. 

The house is on a corner and basically sits on two lots. They've converted the second lot into a baseball field, complete with pitching mound, infield, and batting cage. 

All of the kids on Tate's baseball team live in our neighborhood. So what better place for them to practice than the backyard ballpark?

If only the owner were to invite the team over...

Sometimes you need to take matters into your own hands. One day Tate's coach just knocked on the stranger's door and said, "Can my coach-pitch team practice in your backyard?" And then he softly gestured to his adorable five-year-old, clad in his little baseball uniform and donning his big brown eyes. 

How could he say no?

So now the Owlz have their own private training facility, just like the big leaguers. 

They just have to clean up the dog poo before they start.