Soccer season has become baseball season.  This means we have switched out the soccer cleats, shin guards, soccer socks, and soccer ball in the back of the car for baseball cleats, a batting helmet, a baseball bat, a mit, and a baseball.  Luckily we play with the same group of boys (and one girl) so our practices are still on Tuesday and Thursday nights.  That's one less thing to try and squeeze in to our already busy schedule. 

Our first baseball practice happened at the same time as a migraine headache.  I took my medicine.  I took the kids to practice.  I unloaded all of the equipment and a stroller, took the kids, equipment, and the stroller to the field for practice only to have to move way across the park because that particular field was reserved for someone else.  So we hike to the new field. 

While I have a stroller, Reagan refuses to ride in it.  There are two things I don't understand about Reagan's distaste for the stroller.  1.  If someone would push me around so I didn't have to walk, I wouldn't complain.  2.  She doesn't want to ride in the stroller, but she doesn't want to walk either so exactly what is she trying to accomplish here?  I carried her, the equipment, and pushed the stroller to the new field for practice.

Halfway through fielding practice Reagan was sitting nicely and playing with her brother's batting helmet which I gave her so she would quit eating spilled Cheerios out of the dirt.  She began putting all sorts of things - flowers, grass, and dirt into her brother's helmet.  The helmet was keeping her happy and keeping her happy (and by default, quiet) was buying me enough time to get the migraine meds to start working.  All was right with the world. 

Until Wilson's turn to bat came. 

He took the batting helmet and put it on.  He immediately screamed and yanked it off.  He kicked the helmet as though it were a soccer ball. 

"Something hurts!"  He yelled.

I looked in the helmet.  I looked at Reagan.  She started laughing because while she is only 15 months old, she understands and appreciates chaos.  What I thought was a pile of dirt was actually a fire ant mound.  She had spent a great deal of time throwing fire ants into her brother's batting helmet.  Wilson is the sort of kid who won't play in the grass if he thinks there's a fire ant nearby.  She would have been hard pressed to find something worse to do to his batting helmet.  I checked her over, but she didn't have a single mark on her.  Wilson threw his helmet down a few times to knock out the ants but in the end he decided to borrow someone else's for practice.  I told him I was sorry about that.  I told him I'd never let Reagan be the equipment manager again.  He said "At least she didn't have my cup."

I suppose he's got a point.