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Playing Catch With My Husband
I am not a very coordinated human being. I have trouble walking in a straight line and while I’d love to blame my lack of hand-eye coordination on my terrible eyesight, I know it’s actually just me. I also don’t have very good fine motor skills, but that’s a different story.
This story is about how, as a grown-ass woman, one of my favourite forms of exercise is simply playing catch with my husband.
There’s something very special about going into the backyard on a sunny day to the sound of lorikeets and myriad insects. The oversized pink tennis ball is rough and a little deflated but more than serves its purpose.
Our backyard is multi-levelled, so each time we play catch we take different places. I have the high ground, someone will inevitably joke. Or I’ll sing You’ll take the high road and I’ll take the low road. Sometimes as we play I try to throw and catch differently too — using only my left hand, tossing overhand, catching one handed. I’m bad no matter what, but I’m getting better, and it’s so satisfying to level up this minor skill.
We laugh so much as we play. Funny fumbles, witty banter, and the sheer joy of being together. Mostly the laughter comes from the fact that I get so proud of myself for good catches and clever throws that I’m grinning from ear to ear, and that makes my husband laugh. So I laugh too…
