Saved by the Boy

Yesterday afternoon will go down in KC baseball history as one of those, "Where were you when....?" moments.

"Where were you when the Royals rallied in the 8th inning of game 4 of the ALDS and beat the Astros 9-6?"

Since it started right smack dab in the middle of the day, most people were at work. And if you were one of the lucky ones at home watching it, you had to make the tough decision to either let your kindergartner walk home from school for the first time (hoping he/she finds their way before dark), or peel yourself away from the screen, be a responsible parent, and pick them up.  

And then there were people like me. Ok, I was probably the only one like me.  

I was busy till about 1, and then had some more running around to do.  So I asked Siri periodically what the score was.  It wasn't looking good.  

David was stuck in meetings in Philadelphia so I texted him around 3:00 to say we were losing 2-6, complete with a crying face and a baseball emoji.  

By this time, I was asking Siri about every 52.8 seconds what the score was.  I'm surprised she didn't get snarky with me.  

My next 2 texts to David were about 6 minutes apart: 4-6 and Tie ballgame!

At this point, I said to heck with my errands, thanked Siri for her helpfulness, and dashed home to watch it on the big screen.  

I flew in the door, tossed the groceries on the counter, hunted for the remote (which I eventually found in the dog toy basket...that's another story).

Pressed the power switch...and some weird error message appeared.  

I'm only going to embarrass myself with this next part, but this wouldn't be much of a story without it, so here goes:

I have no idea how to work our TV. There. I said it. And it sounds even more ridiculous in my head as I type it. 

It's not even a new TV or a new cable company.

I just never sit down to watch TV by myself.  Ever. The kids have taken it over and one of them always has a death grip on the remote or is guarding it like a precious stone. Either that, or it's lost. Its' favorite getaway is snuggling deep into the lining of our couch. Sneaky little fella. I certainly have days I wish I could hide in the couch lining for some alone time. 

If the kids aren't in control of the TV, David is. And he could probably turn on the whole system and get to a specific channel with his eyes closed. I have no doubt he'll at least try it when he gets home after reading this.  

I was thrilled to figure out how to delete his iPhone from our Toyota and connect mine this week so I could listen to my phone music through the speakers.  When I excitedly relayed to him my success, however, he said, "That's great honey...it only took, what, 8 months? I thought it'd be a solid year at least." 

It certainly doesn't help matters that we have 3 remotes (that I know of) for this TV. And one of them is about as big as my index finger. Whoever invented Apple TV did NOT have kids. They couldn't have. They're probably a bachelor who keeps a pristine apartment and has a little basket especially for remotes. And the remotes actually stay in that basket when not in use.  

Don't ask me anything about Apple TV. Just...no. I don't know what it is, or why it works, but it's magical. The kids can pull up all sorts of movies and shows. 

So when I first turned on the TV yesterday and got the strange message, I remembered we'd watched a movie on Apple TV the night before. I panicked. I had no earthly idea how to get it back to regular TV.  

"No. I can do this. I'm a college graduate. And I can do this," was my feeble attempt at a pep talk.  

I started unplugging wires and plugging in other ones. I finally got it on "TV" and there was just snow.  

David texted to check the score and inning number, and I had to confess I couldn't get it to show up. He suggested I try the downstairs TV. Of course!

Down the stairs I flew, turned it on, same thing. I finally got a show to come on. But when I tried to change the channel, it said that it couldn't be done in that mode.  

I pleaded with Siri to give me the score one more time and we were up 7-6! 

Then...I waited.  

It was around 3:30. School would get out in 10 minutes. Some of the longest 10 minutes of my life. The girls both had after-school activities so it was up to Tate.  

I finally heard the front doorknob turning and screamed, "Tate!" as I ran toward him with the remote in my outstretched hand.  "Fix it! Fix the TV!"  

He sensed the urgency of the situation, dropped his bag, and quickly raced to the living room.  

As his fingers flew furiously over the buttons, he began sweetly explaining my errors. "Mommy, you had it on 'TV', it has to be on 'HDMI'."

When he switched it to the correct setting and it still didn't come on, he looked perplexed for a minute.  He gave all the components a once over then said, "And Mommy, you have to turn this box on." 

The heavens opened, a bright light shined down on the TV, and beautiful Disney channel characters appeared.  (Some of that may have been embellished for dramatic effect). 

But we weren't there yet. I have no idea what any channels are. All I know is 688 plays Full House reruns on weeknights.  At this point I grabbed the remote from him and started going through all the channels. All bazillion and 20 of them.  Where are the days of just 4, 5, 9, & 41?

Finally, after multiple screenfuls of channels, Tate yelled out, "MLB! I see MLB!" 

I clicked it and could have kissed the screen. I've never been so relieved to see the boys in blue. For some reason the picture only took up about 1/3 of the screen. I didn't even care. Tate and I collapsed on the couch with our eyes glued to that little picture.  

And Hosmer walked to the plate.  

The crack of the bat against the ball, the camera angle showing it go up...up...within the foul marker. I reached out my hand to grab Tate's leg and the ball disappeared!! We squealed and I released his leg to text David about Hosmer's 2 run homer!

"I'm SO glad you made it home to watch this with me, " I told Tate. 

"I'm glad I made it home too, to turn it on for you!" he said between handfuls of chips. 

Thankfully, Wednesday night's game is in the evening. We have 3 different practices that night and I'm helping Drue sell candy grams at conferences, but we should all convene at home around 8 to catch the rest of it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to search technology classes for dummies.  And perhaps a support group as well. 

"Hi, I'm Kristen, and I can't work our TV..."

In Sickness and in Super Powers

As the kids have gotten older, our conversations have evolved from, "If Cinderella's slippers fit so well, why did one fall off?", into deeper, more meaningful topics such as the one that follows:

They decided the best place to display this fun book order poster was our refrigerator.

As the girls and I were milling around the kitchen after dinner,  Reese pointed to it and asked, "If you could marry any of those Superheroes on there, which one would it be?"

I was pretty sure she was just trying to redirect my attention from the fact she wasn't helping with the dishes, but decided to see where this conversation would go.

"Ummm...your Dad?" I answered as a question.

"No," she corrected, "One of the guys on there!", she reemphasized.

Still thinking this might be a trap, I continued, "Don't I have to say your Dad?"

"No. Not for this," she said authoritatively.

She took the lead and answered herself, "Like I'd marry either Captain America or Thor.  They're cute."

Drue chose Captain America or Arrow.

(I saved my parental lecture about not marrying someone based solely on looks, etc.  But it will resurface.  Trust me.)

And I forced myself to consider my Superhero husband prospects.

"Hmmm...well...Captain America is way too young for me..." I began.

Both girls snickered and said, "What?! No he's not.  He's like 100 years old!"

And while his old-fashioned gentlemanly ways do appeal to me, I pointed out, "Yes, well, he was preserved a little too young for me!"

#imnotacougar

"Hulk's temper creeps me out a bit," I continued.  "Soooo...I'm gonna have to go with Ironman."

This appeased them both and they went on their merry way. Sneakily dodging dish duty altogether.

Still feeling a bit guilty about even considering marrying someone else, I hastily hollered out, "Don't tell your Dad!"