So, we decided to take the two boys (four, and almost two) to their first professional baseball game, so they could wrestle in public, and we could pay for the privilege.
We took the Metro into DC, which, as always, was the highlight of the trip for all involved.
Joel got to point and say "Choo-choo." Owen got to ride an escalator. Paul and I got to see two young men "crunking" in the aisle. We also saw an entrepreneurial gentlemen selling soap and essential oils.
He pitched, "I got sandalwood soap. No more Glade, no more Febreeze. Gentlemen, you can smell like Obama! Ladies, you can smell like Michelle Obama."
I had no idea that the president bought his sandalwood soap on the Green Line. Honestly, though, the salesmen had me at, "No more Glade."
We arrived at National Ballpark, home of your Washington Nationals (nee Senators). They were playing the Baltimore Orioles. Since I have no strong feelings about either team, I decided to go for the Nationals because one of their many mascots is Teddy Roosevelt. I mean, why not?
The stadium is beautiful and still spankin' new.
We sat down for dinner. I ordered a hot dog because that's what you do. This is what I got:
But I did what needed to be done.
I wonder, though, what this says about me. When I was still living in Arizona, we went to Alice Cooper's restaurant (yes, that Alice Cooper) by the Diamondbacks ball park.
I ordered a hot dog there called "The Big Unit." I got this:
I was young. Naive. Single.
Very, very single.
All I know is that I've yet to recover.
I guess my standards are more realistic now.
I'll figure this all out in therapy.
We left the game after the third inning. Joel didn't want to sit, and Owen was learning all sorts of colorful expressions involving the phrase, "Your mother."
As we drove home, I asked Owen about his experience. "What was the best part, Buddy?"
His response was quick: "Going in the big refrigerator."
"Oh," I replied. He was referring to a field trip to Papa John's Pizza back in February. He got to see the walk-in freezer on that mythical, revered trip. Since then, that's been the best part of all excursions.
As he snuggled against me, we listened to the humming of the train, and I smelled his sweaty little neck. Perhaps we'll wait a few years before trying this again.
Or maybe not.
Thanks to Unknown Mami for hosting Sundays in My City.