Uncle Pancakes

This is my child.

My wife let me sleep all the way until 7:33 for Father's Day, and made me my favorite breakfast. Toast. What a woman. So I felt right getting her the Happy Thank-You-For-Making-Me-A-Father 's Day flowers.

I spent the morning putting together some Father's Day/Retirement patio furniture together in my Dad's backyard (Ainsley's wonderful idea), necessary since A) he was going to be hosting a lot of people, B) he didn't need to spend the Golden Years breaking his butt on those plastic 4H club chairs and C) Ainsley demanded it. It only took me 3 hours to put everything together, so only about 245% longer than I'd expected!

Back in time to greet the extendofamily to head over to the local single-A baseball stadium for some cheap and simple entertainment. Only when we got there, we learned that they were just finishing up the 1st game of a doubleheader since there was a rainout the day before. So we watched the other team walk home the winning run (1-0!) and then had to stall for a half-hour while they recombed the baselines and rotated the air in the bases or whatever they did.
The second game was about as dull as the first, with the too-occasional hit not letting Ryan learn much about the game. He just lay down on Grandad's leg for a few innings with a hat over his head, sometimes popping up to munch on a pretzel or go say hit to the mascot "Uncle Slam", whom my relatives kept on referring to as Grand Slam. Must not have had a very good breakfast.
But at the end of the game (thankfully only 7 innings), the kids got to run around the bases, so Ryan and I got in line while I told him what to do (basically: follow everyone else). I was a little worried that he'd freeze once he got into the great expanse, but when it was our turn I let him down and he darted towards first...a little too far to the right of first, so someone had to guide him back to the base. "Go, Ryan, go!"
So he started running diagonally towards the pitcher's mound.
He was again pointed in the right direction, while I heard my family cackling in the stands.
He was so adorable, huge grin on his face, a leisurely hop and skip in his step almost, and he looked so little way over there in front of second base (he wanted to stick to the grass). It occurred to me that this was his first time doing this, but he seemed to be in the moment. He cut off the route way in front of third, and then hesitated about halfway home. Uncle Slam encouraging him along the way.
"Ryan! Touch the plate!" I'm pointing.
So he started looking for dishware in the infield. Because of course that's what a plate is to a 3-year old.
"No, Ryan, that!" Uncle Slam and I pointed. I was going to say "that Pentagon" but it's not really a Pentagon, more a rectangle with a hat, and I didn't want him to learn bad habits. A little girl crossed the plate. "Run to that thing that girl just stepped on!"
So he ran to the plate...and stopped.
Three kids crashed trying to avoid stepping on him, and I finally got him to run to me before Uncle Slam pulled him off his blue furry self.

Highlight of the week for me.

Spent the evening over at Dad's with BBQ leftovers and a couple pizzas, while Uncle George played ball with Ryan and Erin, careful not to drop his cigarette on any of them. We then watched the digital equivalent of old home slide shows (thanks, Tim!) and made fun of Grandma's -- their mother's -- pastel clothing and hairdos, while we all lamented the loss of our youthful bodies.

I must have only weighed like 35!