Summertime is baseball time at my house and not just because I have an August Blaze with a major league manager. We watch a lot of baseball—from major league to little league—and critique games, plays and coaching decisions on an almost daily basis. The sounds of cheering ballpark crowds and the crack of a bat on a hardball are as rooted in our summer family memories as the scent of barbecue and cut grass.

Even the pace of baseball is suited to summertime. With one hundred and sixty-two games in the regular season, the sport is spread out over time so that we don’t live or die by the outcome of a single game. Win some, lose some is a given attitude, though obviously we want the win column to boast the better number by the time all is said and done. Games are long and languid, with plenty of downtime as pitchers kick the dirt around and batters adjust their gloves. That leaves me enough time to order a beer and a bag of peanuts without missing a beat.

I like the friendliness of baseball and its players, too. The tradition of batting practice allows fans to see their favorite players up close before game time. The ability to catch a foul ball or a home run ball gives everyone in the park a shot at returning home with a free souvenir. Also, the accessibility of tickets means you can afford to take the whole family to a game without taking out a second mortgage, the way you might have to if you want to catch the NFL live.

So summer and baseball go hand in hand for me. I’m already planning a trip to watch the Reds beat the Pirates in Pittsburgh the first week of August. But I’m not just going to root, root, root for the away team. I’m going to savor a family tradition with my glove in hand in case any balls are fouled off in my direction. And with any luck, maybe I’ll lay eyes on a player who inspires the sequel to Double Play…

***As I make a list of what to bring to on my road trip to see the Reds, I wonder what road trips you’ve got in mind for the summer. Water park for the weekend? Picnic at a friend’s camp? Chat with me on the boards about your summer day tripping plans and I’ll give one random poster an advance copy of my August Blaze, Double Play.

Being a girly girl of sorts, I was a little caught off guard to end up as a mother of sons exclusively. Well not surprised, per se, since my husband comes from a family of seven boys and one girl. I kinda expected the Y chromosomes would be plentiful. But my education in sports and cars was sketchy, having spent my childhood orchestrating extremely well attended tea parties (my stuffed animal collection rivaled the best on the block) and testing out exotic nail polish colors on Barbie’s barely existent toes.

So I’m intrigued to watch these boys of mine grow up. Their world and their experiences are so much different than mine. Take sports for example. Their father is a bit sports-obsessed, but all the boys have great interest in any arena that requires athleticism and skill, so their dad isn’t exactly leading them anywhere they don’t want to go. From broom ball to stick ball, hockey to hoop, these kids have played every game imaginable, making up their own from rudimentary materials at hand when they lack the proper court and equipment. Trust me, not five minutes passes in my house in which one of them doesn’t challenge another in some sporty test of skill. Whether it’s seeing who can be first to the dinner table or who can stick the landing on a handcrafted backyard mogul, my boys are extremely competitive.

You might ask what this has to do with the making of a Blaze hero. Well, I’ve decided I must be somehow engaged in the process as I raise three strong, smack-talking competitors with relentless drive to be the best. I mean, I added in some manners wherever I could—they’d better hold those doors open me or face dire consequences—and I’ve nourished and encouraged their innate intelligence wherever possible. But all the rest of who they are seems to come from pre-scripted he-man DNA that has nothing to do with me. Other than the fact that my husband famously claims to have married me for my ability to palm a basketball (something I didn’t know I could do until he placed one in my hand), I don’t think I had much to do with the development of these soon-to-be men.

Still, I’ve got to smile. Between the muscles they’re dead set on building and the quick wits they’re forced to develop from the non-stop verbal sparring, I can’t help but see signs of heroes in the making.

***So I’ve got to ask the moms… do you feel like you’ve influenced your kids to a great extent? Or are you continually amazed at what uniquely different personalities you encounter in them?? Hop on the boards to tell me what you think and I’ll be glad to share a copy of SHE THINKS HER EX IS SEXY with a random poster. ***