I had done it, again.  I was running late, again.

I looked in the closet for the right pair of pants for church.  There were none to be found.  All of my khakis were in the laundry.  I let out a sigh.

Then I remembered, we go to a casual church.  Jeans would be just fine.  Crisis averted.

Responding to my first sigh, the sigh associated with a perceived pants shortage, my wife checked in to see what had been bothering me.

I indicted that there were “No worries.  I thought I had a ‘Pantalage Situation,’ but I remembered that I can wear jeans to church.”

For a brief second, my bride considered what was worse, my poor memory regarding the church dress code or the fact that I had just made up a word.  In her mind, there was no contest.  Coining the word “Pantalage” was an egregious language related offense, whereas I forget stuff all the time.

Agreed, but give me a break.  “Pantalage” was certainly appropriate for the moment and if the pants fit, wear ’em.

Tired from a day full of baseball, I stood at the kitchen sink doing dishes.  Looking beyond the soap bubbles, I viewed the backyard where my boys were playing.  They were playing baseball.  Still playing baseball.  They had begun with the sun rising and were still playing baseball as the sun set.  They were happy.  They were smiling.

Yes, I was tired.  Yes, the lawn still needed to be mowed.  The laundry was in need of attention.  The Easter decorations were still proudly on display in all of their pastel glory, just reminding me of how they needed to head to the storage room.  Yes, plenty needed to be done, but I had spent my day doing something better.  I had helped make my boys smile.  Now, that’s a check on the To Do List worth noting.

Preparing for tomorrow’s Pitchball Opening Day, I sat down to draft the batting order.  Since I only know three of the twelve kids on the team, skillfully crafting a lineup presents a challenge.

I figured I would dig deep into baseball history for guidance.  The 1929 New York Yankees were the first team to wear uniform numbers and they simply wore the number of where they batted in the lineup.  Babe Ruth, number 3, usually batted number three in the lineup.

Ha!  Turn it on its head and I have my answer.  If the kid’s number is 2, then tomorrow they will bat number two.  Problem solved.  Near genius, I’d say.

Did not turn out too bad for the Yankees, they came in second that year.  What’s that, you say?  Look closer at their 1929 season.  Oh dear, it appears as if their manager died toward the end of the season.  Ugh and I was so confident with my strategy until that morbid turn.  Damn Yankees!

Hurrying from work to activity to activity to activity, I found myself watching my son’s baseball game from just beyond the left field fence.

Pausing.  Seeing my son in the field.

Absorbing the beautiful Spring evening, I smiled.  Everything was going to be okay.  Breath deep.  Relax.

Yes, my other two boys were there, as well.

One had just finished his math homework.

One had just discovered a huge ant gathering on the sidewalk.

Looking around at the simple beauty of life that surrounded me, I realized something.  Everything was going to be better than just okay.  Life was already good.

The world was at peace and everything was right, just beyond the Left Field fence.

Now for today’s “Unnecessary Exclamation Point” winner!

#HowDoesTheChickenFeelAboutThat

The boys have fallen into a morning routine.  Breakfast and then loud wrestling.  Sort of unpleasant to be around, but they sure look happy.

Walking away, looking for a quiet place, I grinned.  Their behavior is annoying, yes, but it’s temporary.  For now, they are happy.  They are enjoying each other.  They are being brothers.

Small price for me to walk away for them to grow close.  Keep it up boys, be happy, I’ll be hiding in the bedroom.

Our kitchen counter developed a new chip.  A significant chip, where it must have been hit with some force by something.  Perhaps something dropped.  Certainly would have been understandable.  Certainly forgivable.  Most likely just a simple mistake.

Sadly, we shall never know.  Since no one is talking, since no one is coming clean, we are left to assume the only remaining option.  The poor counter is spontaneously chipping.  A horrible ailment that I hope is not contagious.

“Quick kids, wash your hands!  Especially, if you happened to be around the counter at ‘chipping time.'”

The trap has been set.  Now sit back and watch who scurries quickly to the bathroom sink.  What a clever dad am I.

Having just dropped off my car for service on its breaks, I began my walk to work.

It was a crisp morning, the type where a walk rests on the border of “Refreshing” and “It’s Too Cold for a Stroll.” A nice fifteen minute jaunt to work.  Brisk, but bearable, although well short of enjoyable.

Getting ready to cross a busy intersection, I spied something that saddened my soul.  My car.  My car, that I had just dropped off, driving by.  The mechanic testing its brakes or running a few errands, who knows.  Regardless, picking me up would have been nice.  Down right kind thing to do.  There it was, however, driving by.  Moving on without me.  Could have tested out the brakes, while dropping me off at work, you know.

A lonely tear slid down my face and froze against my chilled cheek.

So I toddled along sad and cold, a man in transit via foot, his auto being driven by another.  Not the way life should be.  Not right, at all.

When you find yourself drying your wet undergarments on the hood of your car.

#SomeThingsJustTakeTooLongToExplain

When I log in to update my blog, there is an option for seeing search terms used to find my web site.  Usually, it shows terms like “cookies” and “Dave.” Big surprises, right?

Well today, it showed (sit down for this)…  “sexydad.” Yep, probably on the eighteenth “o” of Google, the result for “sexydad” led someone to my web site.  I can only imagine that poor soul’s disappointment in finding me, instead of say Tom Brady or Brad Pitt.

Then I got to thinking (always a dangerous thing), if the internet says it, it must be true.  I’m a sexy dad, it’s Google certified.

Sure I’m taken, but feel free to enjoy your stay at CookiesbyDave.com.  I am truly flattered and appreciative of your search, now go find Ben Affleck, I’m sure he’s waiting.