T-Ball With Kaden

Kaden at t-ball

I forgot to mention one tiny little event that occurred on my recent visit to Virginia. My son had pulled into the parking lot for my grandson's t-ball game. The tiny parking lot was surrounded by trees, so I was having a hard time imagining where the field might be. All I could see was a port-a-potty, other cars, and a bunch of trees.

It had to be behind the forest preserve, I reasoned. And it was. Unlike any t-ball field I've ever seen, this one was down a very l-o-n-g, steep trail that led to an open field. I was huffing and puffing by the time we got to the bottom of the mountain. The other team forgot to show up though, so we had to leave.



The weekend after my first visit to this field, I would return with my son's three children, because he and his wife were on a white-water rafting trip. With the help of GPS, I found my way to the parking lot and managed to get the ball, the bat, the cap, the helmet, the drinks, and the kids down the trail and on to the field. YAY! I could finally sit down.



Midway through the second inning (out of only three), Kaden came to me to tell me he had to go to the bathroom.

"Really? Now? You're going to make me hike all the way back to the parking lot where the port-a-potty is located? You can't wait? You'll miss half the game!" 



But he really had to go, so I asked Taylor to watch Zac while I trekked back up the mountain to the outdoor potty.



Out of breath and realizing I didn't have any tissue with me, but unwilling to hike back to the fields, I opened the door to hell and watched Kaden walk in. He froze in sheer panic and started to vomit. He had made the mistake of looking inside the port-a-potty.



"I can't do this!" he cried. 



"Just do it quickly," I suggested. "Don't look."



"I can't. It's too disgusting. It smells too bad."



I wanted to say I'd stay inside with him, but I couldn't. I know. I'm a horrible grandma, but I was almost vomiting too; the stench was that bad. 



We argued for a while: 

"I have to go!"

"So go!"

"I can't."

"Then what do you want to do?"


"I want to go."

"So go!"

"I can't."



After I realized the conversation was forming a circular pattern, I offered Kaden the ground outside the port-a-potty as an option.



But I had no toilet paper with me and Kaden was really concerned: "What if somebody sees me?"



So we decided he would tough it out. He hobbled back to the game, holding his stomach the whole way, and throughout the rest of that game and the next worked through the pain.

What a trooper my little Kaden was. If he ever has bowel obstruction problems, though, I'm blaming the people who are supposed to be in charge of cleaning the port-a-potty.