April is so mine now.

Ben has a T-ball game every Saturday morning at 8:20. This information came as a very unpleasant surprise to The Man, whose typical bedtime is between 2:00 and 3:00AM. He even went as far as to say that they should have put a disclaimer with this information on the registration form.

Because of the early hour and Clara's less than accommodating to game-watching personality The Man and I have been alternating taking Ben to his games. I love the early games myself, the sneaking out of the house at 7:30 before the rest of the house awakens, and the one-on-one time with Ben. Clara usually wakes up around 8:00AM and it is of utmost importance that we don't wake her getting out the door or chaos ensues. We just leave the monitor on for The Man and make a break for it. It's amazing how just having one child with me can feel so liberating.

Yesterday was my morning and we made it out the door in peace and attended the game. Three-year-olds playing any organized sport is a lesson in comedy and this time was no different. Ben and I chatted it up on the way home about his wonderful t-ball playing skills (he managed to run the actual bases this time instead of just randomly around the infield) and he decided he wanted to forgo our regular stop for coffee & muffins. His aunt had brought him a movie he was itching to get home and watch. I was really disappointed. Sitting across the table from my boy, listening to him prattle on and marveling at how he can seem so big and still so small, is my favorite part. I figured, however, it would lose some of it's charm if he was whining the whole time, we headed home.

When we walked in the door, I knew there was a problem. The house was dark and no, "Hi Mama!" greeted me from the living room. In fact, no one was IN the living room. I walked into the bedroom and found Shane snoozing away in bed, and my heart sank. I must have turned the monitor off when I woke up that morning out of habit. It was 9:45AM. Clara had probably been screaming her head off for nearly two hours. I ran to her room and heard nothing. I went in and found her, red-faced and tear-stained and passed-out. She must have eventually cried herself back to sleep. It's been bothering me all weekend, thinking of how confused and mad (the girl has a temper) she must have been. And I have been feeling, uncharacteristically, guilty. And thankful that we didn't stop for muffins.

And even more thankful that she is never going to remember this particular screw-up.