My husband was determined that I NOT cook on Mother’s Day. Many people operate under the assumption that cooking is a punishment, especially on that oh so hallowed day. So we went out to breakfast and honestly, it was pretty bad. Restaurants were busy, but not this one, because it was pretty bad…did I mention that? I can forgive a lot, but when the food is sub par and the service is sluggish at best, then I know I am way better off just staying home and cooking – so long as I don’t have to clean up. In fact, that is usually my preference.

So after laying around the house and doing nearly nothing for the remainder of the morning, by the time 2:00 p.m. rolled around, it was time for our annual kids vs. parents baseball game. We’ve been doing this for years and thus far, we parents had always walked away with the game, although last year was uncomfortably close.

This year was a different matter entirely. Not only did we lose to our kids, but we got our rear ends handed to us on a platter. Granted, we were lobbing pitches at them while they, in turn, were channeling Sandy Koufax. Still, I think you can only explain away a 17 point spread for just so long. I think we made a record of unforced errors – of actually catching the ball, then watching in horror as it rolled out of our gloves. It was amazing, and contagious, but only to our team. The kids were smack-talking and calling their shots, Babe Ruth style.

So of course, we parents stepped it up. Two dads hit home runs with bases unloaded, thank you very much. And the moms started hitting, fielding and running bases like we were being chased by middle age. After nearly 3 hours of humiliation, we sat down and refueled with chips, salsa, fruit, cake and Chocolate Chunk Cookies (thank you Pamela’s). We played another few innings and finally redeemed ourselves.

The next day, of course, none of us could walk properly. The smalls of our back and our hamstrings told us that middle age had, in fact, caught us. But I’m not going to let my kids know, although I think I may have tipped my hand when I asked them to fetch the TV remote for me which was three feet away…and my water at dinner…and my pride, if they could find it. Next year, I’m going to be in better shape, remember my sports bra and only take pitches from members of my own team.

But ultimately, to spend half a day playing baseball with my family and our extended family of friends was a great joy. Watching my kids gets stronger and taller was even better. I hope you all had a wonderful, memorable Mother’s Day. And I hope that if you received a less than tasty breakfast, it was at the hands of your own children.