Cheering for Daddy

There is never a dull moment when my sweet little Chasey is around (I know what you are thinking, isn’t he too big to be called “Chasey?”  Well, depends on who you ask.  If you ask Cory, the answer is yes.  If you ask me the answer is no.  If you ask Chase what his name is, he refers to himself as “Chasey.”  So Chasey it is and Chasey it will stay until his boss feels that “Chasey Revermann” doesn't seem professional enough for his business cards.)

Last night at Cory’s softball game, Chase and I participated in our usual routine; park the car, find what field Cory is playing on, plop down our belongings onto the chilly metal bleachers and race to the concession stands.  We purchased many treats that I always think will last us the entire 7 inning game, but of course they only last through the top of the 1^st inning. (Is anyone impressed with my sports lingo? Because, frankly, I impressed myself a little bit there.)

I have been working on teaching Chase to cheer (well to cheer appropriately.)  All day we practiced Chase yelling, “Go, Daddy!”  We went through different scenarios when Chase should cheer and he was doing great.  Well, at least he did great at home.  When Cory got up to bat, I encouraged Chase to cheer for him, thinking Chase would yell, “Go, Daddy!” I was half right.  Chase took his ring pop out of his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Go Daddy, spank your butt. You like to do it!”  I should also add that Chase was spanking his own derriere as he was yelling this.  And I did the only thing I could think to do... I skedaddled over to the concession stands and bough another Snickers.  I then spent the rest of the game trying to distract my tot from cheering for his Daddy. 

Luckily, for me, Cory’s softball season is almost done.  Every game I pray that Cory's team will lose so I don’t have to live through yet another embarrassing moment.  Sadly, Cory’s team is pretty good.