Tate and I actually do have a fun organized game of catch we play with a plastic ball. He pretends he's catching the game-winning touchdown. I'm his quarterback throwing the perfect pass across the living room. Unfortunately our game was cut short last night when he passed it back to me and it landed in the fireplace, which happened to be all lit up with a warm, cozy fire.
Tate and David are certainly fine tuning my catlike reflexes. Dare I even ask for someone to hand me a water bottle from the fridge? Depends on if I'm feeling confident enough to catch it when it's hurtled across the kitchen.
I'm sure I've probably raised an eyebrow or two, when we're peacefully sitting in a restaurant booth, and Tate or David happen to innocently reach up to scratch their head. My arms automatically go up defensively thinking a sugar packet is about to fly across the booth.
Today was a looooooong day filled with activities. We were on a high after Reese's basketball team played a superb game this evening. Even though it was a bit late when we got home, we decided to watch one show as a family just to sort of wind down. I was reclined on the couch, feet up, dog in my lap, not really paying attention to the show, when I heard Tate say, "Mommy, catch!"
"No...no...no," I responded. "It's late. I'm tired. I'm not catching anything right now. Just. Don't. Throw. Anything."
Tate looked confused and said, "Huh? Are you talking to me?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "You said 'Mommy' didn't you?"
By this time Reese decided to come to his defense and said, "Mom, he said 'cats'!" And she pointed to the TV.
I turned to look at the screen just in time to see a man surrounded by 5 or so feline friends.
Awwww. They were cute. I'm just glad we don't have one. It'd just be one more thing that would probably get thrown at me at some point.
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