The First Ballgame

Before he got his first hit. Before he got the 'player of the game' ball for a spectacular, if not accidental, catch and toss at second base. Before he struck out, or learned the solitude of the bench. Before he picked flowers in right field, and before he stood at the pitcher's mound fielding (and not fielding) balls. Before he got a fly double or an RBI or a high-five from his teammates...

...there was a first game for this boy, who has never been more excited. He made me photograph a bunch of different stances, as if he were posing for a series of baseball cards. There was the energy of the first game, the nervousness of first bat, the confusion of what to do in the field. He loved it all. We went to Nemo's for a burger afterwards, the city's de facto homebase for legendary Tigers and their fans. The perfect place for this Tiny Tiger to celebrate his first win.

Cranbrook and My Boys

So much has happened between then and now -- birthday parties, first soccer games, weekend getaways, school plays, camping trips -- and as I get ready to welcome our little baby girl into the world, I'm taking stock of those memories when it was only the boys. They've been amazing little creatures to introduce to the world, and as over-the-moon ecstatic as I am to be a mother to a girl, I'm already getting a little nostalgic about being a boys' mom. A mom of just boys. Scrappy, joyful, intelligent, kind boys. Boys who collect sticks and rocks and insects. Boys who wrestle and hug with equal fervor. Boys who run so fast and with so much abandon they fall headfirst into the grass for no reason at all. Boys who have persistent scraped knees. Boys, who I'm sure, will teach their sister that nature is for exploring and collecting, especially when there's a lot of dirt involved. They will be excellent teachers.

This year for Mother's Day, if I can stretch my recollection that far back, we all went to Cranbrook. We never know exactly what we're going to do there: turning up giant rocks, picking up sticks, staging a play on the outdoor Greek theater, smelling flowers, skipping stones, climbing on backs of statues of mythical creatures. I've spent so much time at this place with the boys, it feels like ours, and on this day, a little on the chilly side of May, I could not have been happier. It may have snowed briefly, but the trees and flowers were blooming defiantly, and we didn't encounter another soul. Unless you count the ducks and geese and swans we watched from the side of the lake. At the end of our aimless wandering, Ryan played imaginary baseball with the boys on an empty field, and I thought about the first time we brought Cass. He was a baby, and we strapped him in a stroller, which was such a silly rookie thing to do, and eventually, he got out and toddled across the red bridge in the Asian Garden, and we took approximately 375 photos of him. And now, seven years later, we're crossing another bridge. Less photos, it's true. Less time. But I'm learning to keep better track of spontaneous, special moments in my head and appreciate the good days, because now I know exactly how fast they go by. I may never get to document any of it, but I'm certain this little girl will have a happy life, if her big brothers have anything to do with it.