Another slice of life or is it a slice of me?

Voicemail:husband: Hey, hon, did you get the taxes ready so I can run them to the CPA?

In person:my dad: Now, don't think you have to come take care of us--you have your own life--but we love it when you come.

Text:daughter: Mom, can you send me the addresses for our family so I can get the wedding invitations done?

Email:colleague: Did you review that conference proposal? It would be great if you could revise it. I want to send it out next week.

Planning center:church: Would you play the offertory Sunday?

FaceTime:granddaughter: Grandmother, I love you.

In the car:me: I love you more than you can ever know.

My slice of life

"Hey, hey, #5!  Hit it hard."

Aluminum bleachers feel cool as I sit watching my eight-year-old granddaughter as she walks up to the plate, holding tight to her bat, with her blond braid hanging out from under her helmet.  She steps to the plate, lanky legs bent a little, wiggling her behind, (I wonder where she saw that?) and the coach pitches the ball.  She stands there, looking at the ball as it passes her by.   Four more chances -- is she going to swing?  Another pitch goes by, hitting the dirt.   I yell again, "Hey, #5. You can do it!"

On the next pitch, she swings and hits the ball hard past the pitcher and toward short.  I stand and scream as she takes off for first base. "Run, Addi!" Those long legs churn toward first base, getting her there before the throw -- she's safe!