Oh you dirty bird, this is not that kind of blog.
The verdict from yesterday? Mini golf. I took the kids and I mini golfing for the first time. Their first time ever, my second time since going en mass with friends in college while drinking cranberry vodka out of paper cups. Oh my, how I miss those days. Flannel shirts and hiking boots. Pear Jam and Speedy Subs. The Library and Fawley's Music Shop. Poli-Sci and Taming the Shrew. Walking through cemeteries to feel alive and scribbling in notebooks about the years of those reduced to memories and weathered headstone font, impermanent despite itself. Waiting in between classes under a tree large enough to hug me from the sun and small enough to welcome a cute boy with black rimmed glasses. I had a goth heart and a Pollyana face but I would never know the difference. Those beauteous days of yore...
What were we talking about?
Right, kids and making memories, I'm back to 2011, dammit.
Imagine the kids' surprise when we didn't pull up to Target. They were all, "Mommy, tell me where we are! Is this the garden we went to with Miss Sara? Is it? IS IT?!?"
Me: Nope, not the garden. Guess again.
The Grayson part of They: The water park we went to with Daddy last Tuesday? (It was weeks ago and a Saturday but you're four.)
Me: Nope, and lower your standards please. Guess again.
They: JUST SAY IT MOMMY.
Me: We are.........at the MINI GOLFING PLACE WAHOOOOOOO!
They: Where are we? (smiling- despite the general lack of terminology)
Me: C'mon, you'll love it. Let's go check it out.
And check it out we did.
Abby made it exactly 2 greens before she decided climbing trees was a better way to spend her time.
Grayson remained poised, however, and ever serious about learning the craft that is getting that little puckered golf ball into the hole in less than three strokes.
I told him he had four but three was his personal challenge because that child is his father's son when it comes to athleticism. He doesn't know it yet, but not everyone has the hand-eye coordination of a hawk and the patience to steady yourself at age four. I commend him for his prowess long before he even knows it exists. Shame on me if this kid does not participate in an organized sport this fall. He has already graduated from me as his coach and then some.
While playing our game, we got squeezed between a mom and her two boys in front, and a family of mixed generations behind us. Somehow, on the grandmother's watch, the little girl from her party ended up taking a turn alongside Grayson and by the time we finished they were permanently up in front of us, behind the mom with two sons.
I was plenty annoyed but didn't see the point in making a fuss since Abby was scaling retaining walls and climbing the backs of plastic swans. We were short timers anyway.
(Another Abby Cam shot. Apparently, I have a question.)
(Also? I left my *%$# purse in the car.)
We made it about 10 holes when Sister Meltdown commenced. She spotted a playground 900 yards away and had to be there right now let's go I want swing Mommy push me high Brubba please oh please can we go.
We went. Of course we went. It was only 12:45.
The rest of the afternoon went way less choreographed but well nonetheless.
Kids made their own lunches. This is new and it is grueling. A two year old does not belong with a jar of peanut butter, ever.
After lunch, I glanced at the clock just knowing it had to be almost 2:30.
It was 1:15.
I grabbed a cold coffee, a smile, and a football as we all made our way to the backyard. Abby interested herself in giving her baby girls a swim.
Looks like a tragic afternoon to me but I'm trying to be open minded.
Grayson and I had SO much fun with Abby's pink football. I think I was meant to be a linebacker. Or a kicker. Or some kind of person who throws footballs for a living because holy heavens, you guys, that is a good time.
There was even a football breeze, the kind that makes you hungry for Saturdays.
The autumn's on its way breeze you can smell right before people start hunting for pumpkins and Thanksgiving recipes. There is nothing better than the fall. Not even throwing a pink football to my kids in the backyard although that is a screaming second.
So, all in all, we had a DAY. All our days are capital days it seems. One afternoon, probably not too far off in the distance, I will look back on my time as their primary fun provider and wish for it all back. For now? I'm so freaking glad it's Wednesday.