We love baseball. It borders on obsession, actually. I come by this honestly, as my family regularly scheduled summer vacations to coincide with baseball games we could go to along the way, major league or minor league--it's all good! There's a tape of me singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" as a very young toddler. Peter joined the frenzy sometime during our courtship, possibly as a way to keep me.
I am a lifelong St. Louis Cardinals fan, but came to enjoy the Boston Red Sox when I was in college in Massachusetts. When Peter and I moved to Connecticut, we lived in a town with divided loyalties--half Yankees and half Red Sox. Peter adopted the Red Sox at this point, some 9 years ago. Everyone likes them now, of course, but he likes to brag that he's been on the bandwagon since before it was a bandwagon. So now we're a family that simply likes baseball, preferably teams with red as a color (Memphis Redbirds, St. Louis Cardinals and Boston Red Sox).
Needless to say, April is a welcome month for us. After the long, hard winter, hope springs eternal in the form of soft green grass, bright white balls and steroid-infused hitters. For each of our daughters, their first professional baseball game has warranted at least one spread in the scrapbooks that have become our family's history books. Amelia has now been baptized into the Church of Baseball, as we trotted out one chilly night two weeks ago for a Memphis Redbirds game.
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