If I measured our 4th of July weekend fun against how exhausted I am on July 5th, then let it be said that we partied like rock stars. Apparently, Hubs and I believed that we were college children again this weekend, which went hand-in-hand with believing that we could keep up with a hypothetical twenty-year-old, as we bounced like popcorn from one activity to the next and then to the next… and then to the next.
We partied like we were twenty again, but we’re not recovering like we were twenty. I think it has everything to do with the simple fact that the over-forty body can no longer function without ten hours of sleep, its reading glasses and a solid multi vitamin, instead of a second helping of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Lasagna.
Our Fourth of July weekend pictures will have to wait, because they’re still on my camera, and I don’t have what it takes to actually get up from the computer to retrieve my memory card. But what I DO have for y’all tonight is just a big heap o’ snapshots of our LAST THURSDAY events (which are already downloaded to my Big Mac computer), when I piled my two boys into the Suburban and drove them out to the golf course to play nine holes. This actually turned out to be a whoppingly wonderful afternoon, due to the fact that it was a refreshing 78 degrees on Thursday. We had dark, cloudy skies that promised rain, and a light breeze blowing, which warded off the pre-menopausal symptom of IT’S SO HOT, I JUST NEED TO HAVE MY OWN FOLDING CHAIR IN THE GOLF COURSE’S WALK-IN FREEZER.
(The female body, post-forty, is an awe-inspiring thing of quick mood changes, with the ability to sweat inside an igloo at the North Pole, when it’s 47 degrees below zero.)
THIS is what 78 degrees looks like in Small Town, USA… in July. I wanted to stand to my feet and give the Good Lord an enthusiastic Praise Clap for those cloudy skies and the cooler temperatures. That dark sky gave us all renewed hope, after baking at 100 degrees for the past couple of weeks.
Sweet mercy, but are they ever cute! I’m constantly telling God that He showed off a bit when he made them.
Thing 2 tends to play a sport on the golf course that is closer to hockey and lacrosse, than it is to actual golf. He also only needs half of a nanosecond to line up with the ball, before he plows it with his club.
Every. Single. One.
“This one is gonna sail, people. I’ll just go ahead and point in the direction of right field, left field and that green over there, because I could land this ball in any one of those spots.”
“Okay. I lied. It wasn’t actually in the upper deck. It’s in the tall grass, where the snakes and dragons live. I’m a little scared of the dragons, because they breathe fire and hide in my bedroom closet, so I’ll just ask Bubbie to help me find my Nike ball.”
He talks a lot.
And by a lot, I mean EVERY SECOND, OF EVERY MINUTE, OF EVERY HOUR, OF EVERY DAY, OF EVERY WEEK. He uses approximately 9.4 trillion words PER DAY.
By the end of the 8th hole on Thursday, the boy grinned and said, “Mom, this is going to be my very best score on nine holes. I’m about to set a new PR for myself.”
I asked him how many shots he had to take on the 9th hole to achieve his personal record.
He told me, “I have to get less than eight shots, and I’ll have my best score for nine holes… EVER!”
I asked him if he could sink the ball in less than eight shots. He looked at me and said, “Mom, it takes me four shots, most of the time, to finish the ninth hole.”
The boy teed off, and hit a gorgeous drive down the fairway.
His next shot went awry, and OOPS! The ball landed in the trees.
The next shot smashed through tree branches and landed four feet in front of where the boy had originally played it, because branches create drag, and drag prevents balls from sailing.
The next shot sailed like a rocket…
… until it hit a tree…
… bouncing backwards…
… causing the boy to actually lose yardage.
In the end, the boy’s personal best on nine holes didn’t happen. He needed to beat eight strokes to achieve it…
… and it took him thirteen shots to get onto the green, three inches away from the hole, which is when…
… HE FLAT OUT QUIT.
After he refused to sink his last putt, he loaded back up into the cart and announced, “Well, my four-year-old brother just shot Hole Nine better than I did today! I was out-golfed by a preschooler.”
And then we both burst into laughter. We laughed so hard, we couldn’t breathe. We laughed and we laughed and we laughed, as the boy kept saying, “I think I was TEN the last time I golfed this poorly on a hole!”
And then we laughed some more.
In the end, the boy didn’t beat his personal record for nine holes, but he didn’t golf badly at all, and I enjoyed my afternoon COMPLETELY with my boys. I simply loved being with them and watching them both smack a little white ball around.
And the temperature was 78.
Did I mention that?