Baseball season is in full swing. The Scotts fill the bottom bleacher at every game and cheer for our Reds. It’s our family thing. In between plays, my girls waste their quarters on Big League chew.

The concession people love to see my three girls coming. (They don’t yet have their mother’s shrewdness.) I am purposely letting them drain their sparkly purses to teach them a lesson later. Their eyes are bigger than their stomachs, and their money supply is ample from Christmas relatives. They drop a nice sum at each game. But it won’t be for long, and I won’t loan them money later. They serve their appetites, not holding it for a better day, a better deal. They’re only 2, 5, and 7. The problem is, only some folks grow out of it.

The Reds have begun the season with four wins, zero losses. Two games were shut-outs. No wonder I love baseball. Actually, I don’t enjoy professional baseball, just Little League. There is more suspense in Little League. With the younger kids, when a pop fly goes to right field, there is a chance that the kid will drop it. (Small chance in the majors; likely chance in Minor 2.) You yell, grip your neighbor, and watch the ball sail through the air in slow-motion. There is no suspense in pro-ball. They always make the play.

Speaking of good plays, my son had a good second base play last night. He also caught a fly, stole home, and hit his first triple. He got a homerun due to an error two seasons ago, but this was a legitimate triple—no errors. (An error occurs when a runner advances due to a mistake by the fielder—usually an overthrow.) Even the ump was almost fair.

Yes, it is spring again. We should have some apple pie.