It has come our attention that we have neglected to teach our daughter how to catch.

So while our four-year-old can crack an egg and whisk it to souffle perfection, she is probably not the partner you would want  for an egg toss.

The other night Hungryman fired up the grill and came into the kitchen to teach Ava how to toss something other than a salad.

“Ava, come outside with me. Let’s play catch.”

Ava bounced off her stool and headed for the door.

“Mama, where’s my bubbles?”

“Ava, honey,” Hungryman repeated. “I want to go outside and play catch with you.”

“Mama, are my bubbles downstairs? Do you know where my bubbles are, Mama?”

I stopped chopping apples to answer the girl hopping by the door. “Ava, Daddy wants to play catch with you.”

“I know.” Ava said with a sigh that comes from the exhaustion of having two parents that clearly don’t have a clue. “I need to find my bubbles so I can blow them and then Daddy can catch them.”

The events unfolded exactly as you would imagine. There was a whole lot of tossing and blowing and not a lot of catching. Neither party had any interest in participating what the other one was planning. By the time the pork was ready our lawn was littered with wiffle balls and bubble wisps.

I signed her up for t-ball today.

I predict there might be some dissapointment when she discovers that the pitcher isn’t a giant bubble dispenser and the bat is something other than a wand.