Potential recruits for professional sports teams are often streamed live as they await the call. You’ve seen the videos—I’ve seen the videos—the whole family perched on the edge of the couch. And then the news hits: they leap to their feet, hugging, drinks spilling, dollar signs flooding the room with that million-dollar contract.
Awaiting this morning’s ultrasound results feels similar. Only… different.
Do I have cancer? That’s my biggest fear—however unlikely. Or will I get the call-up to the big leagues of relief and peace of mind, knowing the ball can keep rolling on my dream of a long, healthy life?
Meanwhile, there’s been a bit of a sock fiasco around the homestead.
The standards for 4–6-year-old recreational baseball are steep—belt, socks, pants—on top of the $100 entry fee. Dave and I had our panties in a bunch over it. Like, who cares if they don’t look like professionals? Half of them are doing somersaults in the outfield, running to the wrong base, and overly-focused on the after-game snack anyway.
We found a belt for cheap at Goodwill. The mustard-yellow socks, though, we initially skipped—opting instead for black leggings over the full uniform look.
But in the eleventh hour, I sprang into action. Could I dye white socks? Acrylic paint was a no, but the internet reminded me of natural dyes—turmeric, specifically. Years ago, I knew a rug maker who used herbs and plant dyes, and suddenly I was envisioning a full cauldron moment.
Now, three pairs of socks are draped across the front porch railing, dyed a rich yellow. They even smell good—earthy turmeric overpowering any hint of vinegar. And Evelyn will be looking spiffy for her very first T-ball game and team pictures.
One lesson I’m glad she got today is about value. After saying no to a $70 helmet at Academy Sports and making two Goodwill runs, I laid out the seven items we got for $20 and compared them to that one helmet.
“Oh,” she said, pausing, “this is way better.”
So yeah—life’s grand.
I ran 4.7 miles today at my slowest pace ever, in the heat. It was miserable. I questioned everything. But I did it. Supposedly, slow running with a low heart rate builds endurance in a deeper way. Something about expanding capacity. We’ll see.
With that, I bid you adieu.
See you tomorrow.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 