So much so that I volunteered to take him to a movie, swimming for a week (assuming the temperature climbs back over that 70-degree mark), and even asked him to name his price – the price that would get me out of 18 holes of self-imposed torture.

I say torture because I know how difficult it can be to have more than two people playing putt putt at one time. The wait between putting would be treacherous, the kids couldn’t be counted on to keep their own score (oh, and yes – we would keep score), and I would lose all patience watching them hit a four inch putt with the velocity of a line drive.

My excuses and bargaining chips all dried up, I was able to put off the trip until late in the afternoon. When we entered the gates, I had a gathering of little ducklings aged 16, 9, 8, and 6 for a grand total (including my admission) of $25.

Putters in hand, we set off for the third of three 18-hole courses. Our choice? The Miracle Course. Because it would take a miracle to get through it.

As I wrote everyone’s name on the scorecard, my daughter discovered that the youngest two had chosen the same color ball as me (red).  That would never do. A few minutes later, all of us had a different color golf ball, and I was left with the white one.

I spent the first three holes yelling at all three of the younger ones.

“Come back here!” “Wait your turn.” “Stop.” “Just go.”

Then the 9-year-old hit a hole-in-one. Followed by my hole-in-one – then my daughter’s.

Then more chaos. Because the next hole required the ball to hit the water, where the current would carry it down to the grates and the putting would ensue – except that leaving the ball in the water and letting it make this little trip totally went against the grain of being a boy. Which is when they all piled into the stream to retrieve their balls.

From there, the putt putt seemed to putter out. My daughter and I urged the youngest of the group to just put the ball next to the hole after he’d taken 27 shots. Unfortunately, he missed the shot.

It was probably about that time that the rain started. For a minute, I thought I’d heard thunder. Maybe even seen some lightning.

No such luck.

By the time we hit the 18th hole, roughly two hours later, one of the kids had decided to practice. He’d made his second hole in one – game over.

The rest of us weren’t so lucky. In fact, the littlest among us tallied up one of his highest scores on that hole. While he was busy putting, the others discovered the ball recepticle, astonished that the ball hadn’t really disappeared after all.

“Just drop it in the hole,” I finally said.

We had bigger things to do. Like tally up the scores. Which Hannah did on her cell phone calculator. (I tried to tell you, some of the scores were really high…)

As she announced the scores, my name headed up the leader board with a score of 48 – only 10 over par (and some of those holes were really tricky).

My victory had almost made the whole misadventure worth it. Needless to say, I’m ready to go back. This time, we’ll play the first of the three courses. It has a volcano. And I’m always up for a challenge…

-Liz

Enjoy your Coffee Break!

You see, my son plays for a fairly average baseball team (coached by my husband)…they aren’t the best and they aren’t the worst.  They sit very comfortably in the middle of the league rankings, a league which has 25 teams, each  made up of around 13 players.  That’s a grand total of about 325 boys his age playing on the city teams.  (That doesn’t even count the boys on the traveling accelerated teams…gonna keep my opinion to myself on that one.)  They’ve racked up more wins than losses, and most importantly they’ve had fun.

So the end of the season rolls around, and the top 8 teams are automatically selected to go to the state tournament, and then through a series of city games, 2 more teams are chosen.  My son’s team was sitting right on the cusp of being one of those 2 teams.   It all came down to the last game…if we won, it was off to state and more baseball, stretching clear into the middle of July.  If we lost, it was a fun and good season with lots of happy memories.

Here is where I have to make a confession.

First let me say, I feel like I am a good mom.  I try my best to support all of my kids in their sporting events, dance recitals, rock band concerts, and other hobbies.  I have seven kids…that makes me a very busy mom.  And I love it, I truly do, but as I sat at that last city game, I found myself torn between hoping for my son’s team to do their best, and  secretly thinking of how nice it would be to just be done with the season.  I wasn’t actually hoping for a loss, but I also wasn’t praying for a win either.  I mean it is summer after all, time to relax, vacation and take a break from schedules.  If we won, it would mean weeks more of practice and games.

Well, we did win that last city game, we did have 2 weeks of practice, and we did go to the state tournament.   It’s the middle of summer and we are eating, sleeping and breathing baseball.   No time to cook or clean the house.  No time to watch my fav TV shows all recorded and waiting for me.  No time to go to the pool.  Double-headers every day. On the plus side, it’s kind of nice to have an actual reason for falling behind on the chores…you know, instead of having to come up with excuses on my own.   Hee hee.  In fact, we now find ourselves entering the last day of tournament play.  There are only 4 teams left!  Who would have thought?  Certainly not us.  And let me tell you, this state tournament is serious business and not for the faint of heart.  In the last few days I’ve seen screaming coaches, angry moms, yelling dads, and crying players.   Really folks???  These are nine -year-old kids playing a game and having fun…at least our team is anyway.  We’re just happy to be there, and are surprised to find ourselves still in the running to be the champs.   We may not be the most skilled team with the most aggressive coaches, but we are having a blast.

I’m cheering for the team, truly I am…but here’s the thing, what if we actually by some miraculous fluke win this thing? I’ve heard rumors that the winner moves on to some other sort of tournament…Geez!

~Kate

Enjoy your Coffee Break!

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Since Colton was old enough to walk, he’s carried a hockey stick. Watched hockey movies. Pretended he was a hockey player. My dilemma was two-fold: no ice rinks with hockey programs for toddlers, and no money for which to pay the astronomical ice rink dues even if such a program existed.

About six weeks ago that Colton brought home a flyer for a local inline hockey program. There was nothing to consider, nothing to talk about, nothing to second-guess. We’d sign him up for hockey.

It was affordable, as well, especially compared to ice hockey fees. Oh, sure, the fact that he’d never been on roller blades in his young life could’ve proven problematic. But it didn’t. He took to it as if he’d been born with the skates on his feet.

I guess the fact that there are no hockey stores within a 600-mile (maybe more) radius could’ve set us back too. Instead, places like Hockey Giant and Hockey Monkey became our best friends on the internet.

We even did a fairly impressive job of ordering correct sizes. The only thing I had to exchange were the elbow pads. With equipment in bag, we headed out to the first two outdoor practices in the freezing cold and blustery winds on the highest spot in the county.

We’d jumped through every hoop, dotting our i’s and tied the skates.

Then spring break hit. No practice for two weeks. In the week following, I waited for a call from the coach, thinking surely they’d have practice before their first game, whenever that would be. Nothing.

Yesterday, I decided it would behoove me to call the organization’s director to get any information I could.  This is where I point out the fact that persistence pays.

There had been practice – two nights earlier. In fact, Colton’s coach had been in town during spring break and held practices for all who could come. Everyone should have gotten an email.

Suffice it to say “everyone” did not.

I obtained the coach’s phone number immediately and called to extend the ol’ olive branch and explain the situation, mortified that of all the kids on that team, the one who in my humble opinion has the biggest heart for the game (at least for his age, ok?) had almost missed the boat.

Thank goodness I called the organizers today. The first game is tomorrow. Needless to say, I volunteered to help out with future emails and calls, and expressed my desire to be as involved in hockey as humanly possible for the sake of my child and his love for the game.

Thank goodness the coach didn’t fire us both on the spot, but was instead apologetic concerning the whole ordeal. It looks like we’re finally back on track, or the rink… whatever.

I’m gonna put this little episode behind me right now. We have bigger fish to fry and games to win. Let’s play hockey!