Oball

Recently we've noticed (much to my chagrin and Rog's excitement) that Teagan seems to take an interest in football when it's on TV. Some of my friends are aware that I dread football season for a couple of reasons. It means that Rog disappears into his man-cave on Sundays and it means that simply because I'm within earshot, I get to listen (ok, pretend to listen) to Roger describe certain plays that he found outrageous or fascinating. Roger may dispute this, but in the beginning of our relationship, I think I made an honest effort to take an interest in football. I sat through a few games and a couple of superbowls, but I found myself thinking that I would much rather be reading a good book or, I don't know, getting my teeth drilled at the dentist. I eventually made that pretty clear and I don't think that Roger entered into our marriage under any false pretenses.
I actually am happy that he finds so much joy in his Sundays during football season, and I almost always use the time to get other things done.
Last night was a bit of a different scenario. Roger was watching Teagan while I attended a cookie exchange. An hour or so into the party, I got a phone call from Roger, who was laughing on the other end. He said that he had taken Teagan and her toys down into the basement with him and turned on the game. Teagan grabbed a stuffed sheep, which is kind of in the shape of a football, and started swinging it back and forth, excitedly yelling "Oball! Oball! Oball!" ("Oball" means "football".)
For obvious reasons, it made Roger a very proud father.
Since then, I have been having nightmarish visions of someday being cornered in the kitchen by my husband and daughter and forced to listen to them rattle off stats and plays.