Root, root root for the home team

Last night Pedro revisited Fenway, expecting to blow away his inexperienced opponent Josh Beckett, only to have his most suck-ola outing of the year. The hype was big enough that Ben and I decided to eat in front of the TV. the only way to make this fall within our no-food-in-the-living-room-or-you-die guidelines was to make it a picnic on the floor, on a huge beautiful Lands' End beach towel that I actually didn't buy, but that his employer got him at some sort of staff retreat. Anyway, we had pizza, we had beer, we had fun. And then I had more fun when I read Wall Ball Single's hilariously raunchy metaphorical descriptions of the event. Much more fun than the night before, when I had to pick up both girls, which takes an hour and a half due to the locations and traffic, and then tried to collaborate with Ben on an overly elaborate yet pressed-for-time dinner when all I really wanted to do was eat cold cereal, and then for some reason we decided to be hard-line about Sarah not getting any special food other than what was on the table, resulting in an extended bout of tearful hysteria (and Sarah was kind of upset too -- HA HA!) and then I broke an oven dish and had to retreat into the living room while Ben bathed them thank God. Yes, working full-time is SO relaxing on weeknights! When the HELL are the cook and maid getting back from vacation? I can't be expected to make my own gin and tonics forever.

It was also nice that the kids are getting to be Red Sox fans despite their tender ages. But they'll have to prove their fandom, including extensive knowledge of the game's rules and history, plus a vastly improved attention span, before we get a second mortgage so we can go to Fenway as a family some day. Tonight is our "date night" which I think we will spend in a, eating and drinking establishment well equipped with HD TVs so we can watch Schilling vs. Glavine and chat briefly about our lives between innings. Some day we will have lives, I just know it.