I'm Trying to Get It.

Happy Monday, world!

I have  a post up at Laugh Out Loud about my experiences living just minutes away from a Nuclear Power Plant. 

Nothing says funny like nuclear energy. If we can split the atom, we can split your sides laughing.

Em...yeah.

I think it's best if I move on.

***
Over the weekend, Owen had another tee-ball game. Owen views the game as a wonderful opportunity to fill his cap with infield dirt and occasionally watch a ball roll by. He's four, after all.

However, at this particular game, Owen was the catcher. He spent most of the time holding hands with the base coach (in tee ball, there is usually one adult per base) and, of course, kicking the fabulous dirt.

Sadly, the duty of putting the ball back on the tee prevented him from making his customary dirt Taj Mahal.

Additionally, Owen had the job of tagging the last runner out. In tee ball, they don't keep score and the last hitter always runs the bases. This provides ample opportunity for the kids to get the ball, pick their noses, throw the ball in the wrong direction, sit down and cry in the outfield, and eventually roll the ball to home plate.

When Owen had the ball in his hand, he jogged towards the runner, prepared to tag him out. He had the eye of the tiger, the fire in his belly. He was ready to do his job.

He tagged this child with the ball.  Right in the gut. And, he, um....knocked the wind out of the kid and made him cry.

I was concerned about the kid. Owen was oblivious. Owen's coaching staff, however, was quite impressed.

His coach came up to me, his eyes bright, and said, "Owen tagged the SNOT outta that kid!"

Another coach said, "Wow, Owen, way to go! Way to be aggressive."

This, once again, demonstrates that I don't get boys or sports at all.

If I was the coach, I would have cautioned the boys to be more careful and would have made Owen apologize to the other kid (who recovered quickly, by the way). I would have suggested a high five, or perhaps a hug.

I told this to my husband, and he rolled his eyes. "Really, Nance?"

Like I said, I don't get it at all.

I recognize that this is just the tip of the iceberg as a mother of sons. Although I do think farts are hilarious and I've been known to throw worms out the window on the way to preschool, there are things about my sons and husband that I will never, ever, get.


The awesomeness of boobs.
The allure of peeing through PVC pipe in the backyard.
The Deadliest Catch. 
Tee-ball thuggery. 


Ladies: What will you never, ever get about your husbands/partners/sons?

Male Readers: (Both of you.) Help me get it.