Page 35 of Mom Ball

“I appreciate it.” I smile at her, then focus on the other parents and kids coming toward the gate.

Ethan holds it open for them to enter. Georgia squeals when her heel sticks in a cow pie. She tiptoes toward the edge of the field and rubs her foot against a tall patch of grass. When it’s almost off, she looks at Aniston pitifully. “I am so sorry I made you shovel manure last year.”

Aniston snorts and smiles. “Welcome to the dark side.”

Georgia perks up a little at her approval. It’s probably to her benefit she stepped in poop, since she and her son are dressed like they’re attending the US Open, or maybe playing in it.

Tami’s girls are picking weeds that resemble flowers, and Maribelle’s kids are running circles around her.

“Is that kid wearing a cape?”

“Appears so.” Aniston laughs.

Oh shoot, I said that out loud.

The last few people enter and Ethan closes the gate.

“Thank y’all for coming, and for being flexible with our, uh, venue.” Morgan cuts side-eye at me.

She told me before everyone arrived that she’d have it out with Jeffrey later. I can’t decide if I want to be there for that. I witnessed enough of his craziness during Toy Bowl when I helped coach cheerleaders.

That, I signed up to do.

“We’ll get an idea of where all your kids are in ball.” Morgan scans the group.

So do I, and I don’t like what I see.

“I brought all my kids’ supplies in case some of y’all don’t have gear yet.” Morgan nods to Ethan. “That’s my oldest. I’ll make him throw to them and stuff.”

Everyone looks back at us with blank stares. Except for Georgia, who raises her hand.

“Yes, Georgia?” Morgan sighs.

I nudge her, and she clears her throat.

Morgan doesn’t care for Georgia since she caused Aniston so much trouble last year after she moved back to take care of her niece and nephew. After lots of fights—verbal, then culminating in physically fighting in a bouncy house—they finally called a truce. However, Morgan isn’t as forgiving as the rest of us.

Maybe if my husband left me and our four kids, I’d find it hard to forgive too. Of course, I’d first need a husband for that to happen.

“I bought Herrington a bat and glove.”

“Lemme see.” Morgan motions her over.

Georgia grabs a golf bag and drags it toward us. I assume this means she didn’t buy a bat bag. “Here.” She hands Morgan a bat, then a glove.

“Uh, sorry to tell you, but this is a T-ball bat and a first baseman’s mitt.”

Georgia’s eyes widen.

“Don’t peel off any stickers and you can return them.”

Georgia blinks. “But I had them personalized.” She flips the bat to show initials engraved on the end. A matching monogram is embroidered on the thumb of the glove.

Morgan offers her best non-verbal “bless her heart” face. “Maybe try eBay?”

Georgia nods, then packs it all back into the golf bag.

“Okay.” Morgan slaps her hands together. “We can discuss equipment and uniforms and such in our group chat. For now, let’s practice.”

---