Game Face

Steffi is really into softball. She can hit, she has an arm, and on occasion, she can field a ball hit to her. In all fairness, she is brand new to the game. Her first practice she took off for third instead of first, and the other night she was the catcher but told me later that she really wanted to stand next to the pitcher in the field but forgot what the position was called. I'm trying to help her out, while also realizing that she's playing because she likes to try new things, not necessarily to try and be the next Jenny Finch. The other night I was driving her home from practice and giving her tips...which base to throw to in different situations, when to charge a ball, which way to hold the glove...I frankly could have circled the block ten times and kept talking. I looked back and she was slumped in her seat staring out the window. I asked her if everything was okay. She said, "Yeah. I just hope Jesse likes what I got her for her birthday." I think that perfectly summed up the phrase, "it's just a game."

The Allowance

This conversation took place between Stef and I in the car:

Stef: Could you pay me $20 if I don't whine for a week?

Me: What if instead you helped mom around the house?

Stef: What about $10?

Me: I'm sure if I stood by the TV when it's time for bed, I'd win the bet. I'd rather you help mom out around the house; I'll give you an allowance.

Stef: Yeah, but I'll get like 25 cents a day just to set the table; it'll take me 4 days just to get one dollar.

Me: Maybe, but when I was a kid I didn't get an allowance at all.

Stef: Yeah, I don't get one either.

Me: (silence)

The Dance

Jess and I went to our first daddy-daughter dance this weekend. "Dance" is a very loose term for the night, which should more appropriately be called, "Hold my soda and chicken nuggets while I run around the dance floor with my friends," but I think that's too many words to fit on an invitation.

I was happy to go because it was all Jessica could talk about the last couple of weeks, and both she and Stef love the concept of getting all dressed up for a night out. She wore a little black dress because 1) she thought she looked grown up and 2) she is little. Accompanying the little black dress were high heels, a necklace, a bracelet and a ring.

In between the inevitable running around and the DJ getting frustrated at his broken bubble machine, she tried to teach me to dance to Cotton Eyed Joe and I tried to teach her how to slow dance. By the time the Miley Cyrus and Cheetah Girls sing-alongs by five year-olds gave way to 30-and-40 something men singing along to "Livin' on a Prayer" both Jess and I knew it was time to go. In the end, we both had a great time. And I get to relive the experience again in 2 weeks with Stef.