Rated PG-13 - For Some Mild Crude Humor

For those of you familiar with softball ratings, this brief tutorial will be unnecessary: Softball ratings are used to determine each individual child's skill and ability which allows for players to be evenly distributed among teams. This is so that all of the best players don't end up on one team and all of the...well, you get the idea. It's softball roundup season and Boy-Child#2 (along with every other boy in the valley) was in attendance. They were scheduled from 5-6:30pm and we arrived just about 5pm on the nose. The line was long but not awful. It was, however, moving at a snail's pace. No matter! I had the foresight to bundle us up because it was on the cold side, breezy, and foggy. WTF was with the fog? I'd made sure that everyone used the bathroom before we left so we were good to go. Or wait. Whatever. At 6:30 we finally reached the head of the line and retrieved Boy-Child#2's number and pinned it to his back. "Will he be playing with his jacket on?". "No" I answered. We'll have no inhibiting of the skills, thanks. "Then he'll have to remove it so that I can pin this to his shirt". So we do that and we're told to "go over there and they'll call your name". Oh. They mean over there with a million people huddled in a disorganized fashion. Sweet. We found some friendly faces to chat with and wait. And wait. And wait. And....wait for it...wait some more. You know when you wait too long for something and then you start to doubt that you're actually doing what you're supposed to be doing because it's taking too long for it to be the right thing to do? We did that. So I took one for the team and approached another group of friendlies and asked if we were supposed to have the boys in some designated place or where we supposed to just hang back. "Have they been put in a group yet?". "Group? I don't think so". "They'll put them in a group." "Oh." So I go back to the sign up table and ask about this "group" thing that everyone else seems to be hip too and they tell me to just wait and his name will be called. So I came back to our little area bringing exactly zero useful information. They took a vote and ruled that I was stupid then demoted me to team mascot. It was right around this time that Boy-Child#2 mentioned that he might have to use the bathroom. And then there you are on the heels of a dilemma. You know the one I'm talking about. We've been standing there waiting f-o-r-e-v-e-r and you know the second you leave to make use of the facilities is when they'll call your name. And you're absent. So I suggest we wait a bit on that - just in case. Of course, now you can guess that we did some more of that waiting thing. By now it's almost 7pm and with the cold, the fog, the crowds, the wind, and the kid who needs to pee; I'm thinking that if you threw in some rain and a tunnel I could declare it Hell. They FINALLY call his name! And put him in a group! And then they waited. And waited. Boy-Child#2 did the pee-pee dance. And he really can't go now because he's next. Someday. Eventually. And I'm feeling like the worst mother in the world for making him hold it. The guilt is setting in and I'm fretting that he won't perform well because of the whole having to pee thing (and I was worrying about his jacket being a factor?). Then the kid behind him decides that he's going to play keep away with Boy-Child#2's glove. So I march over there and say "I think you should give that back to him, like right now". I said it much meaner than I'd meant too and I'm now hoping that he won't be on our team. I also open my mouth with the intent to ask my son if he wants to just go to the bathroom; and then closed my mouth quickly. You can't just go ask a boy in front of all those other boys if he has to go pee-pee! For the love of GOD woman! I came this close to opening up a giant can of humiliation on my boy. So now I'm just standing there. And I'm all awkward because I'm trying to send messages telepathically and he's not receiving. He finally had his moment and did quite well despite his obvious (and I do mean obvious) handicap. He hit, pitched, caught, and threw all without pissing himself. Next year? I'm planning on showing up at 7pm. I mean. For real.