Our son has gone baseball crazy. He’s not so interested in hitting; it’s pitching that’s grabbed his attention.  Despite my insistence that he just learn to throw a basic overhand throw with good mechanics, he’s totally absorbed in the variety of pitches that pitchers throw.

Lad: What if I make it to the major leagues and can throw a curveball, a fastball, and a slider?
Dad: Then I will come to your games and cheer for you.
Lad: But what if I have a changeup, curveball, and a slider?
Dad: Well, you wouldn’t have a changeup without a fastball. But I’ll still cheer for you.
Lad: But maybe I’ll have a cut fastball AND a split finger fastball and a changeup?
Dad: Hmm, interesting. I’ll be very proud to cheer for you.
Lad: Maybe I’ll have the same pitches that Cole Hamels has? Wouldn’t that be good? He throws a circle-change, doesn’t he, Dad?
Dad: He does. You’re a righty and he’s a lefty, but you’re tall and lean like Hamels. Maybe you will learn to throw a fastball, changeup and curveball someday. But for now, just fastballs!
Lad: But what if I have if I have A KNUCKLEBALL?
Dad: That’ll be fun.
Lad: I think I’m going to throw a knuckleball. I need to see a knuckleball so I can learn how to throw one.

Continuing with the theme of math concepts, kindergarten style. We had a hilarious conversation this evening. As you’ll see, I really walked into this one:

Dad: Remember when we were at the garden store and we were picking up those big bags of dirt? How many bags of dirt do you think you weigh?
Lad: I don’t know.
Dad: You weigh a little more than one bag of dirt.
Lad: Like one and a half?
Dad: Not quite, but close. So if you weigh a little more than one bag of dirt, how many bags of dirt does daddy weigh?
Lad: Two and a half bags.
Dad: That’s nice, but it’s more than that.
Lad: Four and a half bags?
Dad: That’s closer. It’s actually over six bags.
Lad: Yeah, painfully close to seven.

I have to assume that the good teachers at kindergarten played some role in this little pre-algebra lecture from the lad:

This is very strong. It is twice as strong as you are. I’m using you as a kind of symbol for how strong something can be, and then I’m saying that this is twice as strong as that.

I’m really good at estimating. Did I ever tell you that?

I just got back from a few days of business travel. Lisa reports that this conversation with our boy took place this morning:

Mom:  I know you missed daddy while he was away. I missed him too.
Lad: Yeah, well, I missed him more than you. I cried you know, and that means something.

I was polled this evening by Zogby International.

Wanted to know if I was registered to vote in PA. (check)

Wanted to know if I was very likely, somewhat likely, or not likely to vote in the primary. (Whadda you think?)

Wanted to know if I was a registered D, R, NP, or other/minor party. (Whadda you think?)

Do I currently consider myself a Catholic? (Nope.)

Thank you. [Click.]

I was kinda surprised to not be asked my preference on candidate, but I guess they’re polling the Catholic vote.

The lad has been having trouble with anxieties around bedtime. While we’re working harder at winding down the day with relaxing activities, he’s coming up with some of his own ideas about soothing his jumpy nerves:

Wouldn’t it be great if we had a robotic version of you? Then you could just come in here at bedtime, and flip the switch on robot dad, and he could sing to me, and stay with me all night to watch over me, and you could leave. That would be so cool.

But who gets the goodnight kisses?

I wouldn’t have to hug or kiss a robot!

I take it that’s a feature, not a bug.

This was the conversation as he was getting ready for bed this evening:

Lad: I think that George Bush was worrying way too much about Iraq. That was his big mistake. It’s like he wanted to start a war. He should have worried about other things, and not started another war.
Dad: Wow, that’s a  serious thought.
[Beat.]
Lad: But now, I want to know who started the Vietnam War and why they did that.