cory cory cory

David and I spent Fathers' Day weekend in Salina with dad (who claims to have "corresponded" with internet superstar, Dooce). I haven't written much about the weekend because. . . well, just because.

Cory hung out with us as well. When David first saw Cory, he was naturally scared and we had to go through the whole, "it's uncle Cory, remember, from last weekend?" Eventually, though, David warmed up to him. By Saturday evening, he was even saying Cory's name. Once, Cory went into his room and closed the door, and locked it, and barred it, and turned on the alarm, and David stood outside rattling the handle saying "Cory, Cory, Cory, Cory." Then he would wander around the room repeating his name.

On Sunday, we went to Cory's baseball game. David ran around, played with puppies, flirted with toddler girls, CLIMBED UP THE BLEACHERS, and had a good time. When a team arrived to prepare for the next game, they brought a three gallon bucket of balls and set it down by the bleachers. David was in heaven. He pulled balls out and lined them up on the sidewalk and threw them and yelled "ball!" and "beesball!"

Whenever Cory was up to bat, I would stop David and take him to the fence to watch.

***

Earlier this evening David and I were playing catch. He stood on the porch and lobbed the baseball down the steps where I stood. I would catch it and toss it back so that it rolled past him. He would fetch it and throw it again. Every time I caught it, he would laugh. Of course the whole time we are doing this, he is babbling his inane little babble about nothing in particular. Then, at one point, while chasing down the ball, he started saying "Cory, Cory, Cory."

later, baseball fans.