Unfortunately, it wasn't long before I was choked.
I heard the familiar crack of plastic as Ethan made contact with the whiffle ball. He had slammed the pitch into a near perfect line drive.
Too bad that line drive was interrupted after just 3 feet of flight . . . by my nose.
|pic compliments of brady bunch shrine|
It was my own personal Marcia Brady-like moment.
After copious amounts of snot and blood and swelling, Ethan tiptoed over to me and whispered in a gush, "I am sooooo glad I didn't kill you."
Even though I knew that it would restart the blood and snot cycle, I couldn't help but laugh.
Death by a whiffle ball?
I love that kid.