That big boy of ours golfed twenty-seven holes of golf yesterday.
He and a friend walked eighteen holes at one golf course in town, because the young ‘uns don’t really mind the depressing heat, apparently. He came home at 6:15 last night, exclaiming, “I just played awesome!”
His middle name is Humble.
Then, let me illustrate how much our kid LOVES THE GOLF. He walked in the door at 6:15 last night, grinning from ear to ear about his score, and then boom! He chose to skip dinner… SKIP… EATING… ALL THE FOOD!!!!… so that he could shower, smear on some new deodorant, change clothes, shove a ball cap on his wet hair, and have time to get out to the second golf course in town, where he was meeting our cute neighbor boy and another friend, for a game at 7:00.
They rented carts at 7:00 and drove nine holes, because DARK APPROACHETH and also because I’VE ALREADY GOTTEN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND STEPS IN ON THE FIT BIT TODAY.
Lord, bless the youth and their young legs.
At 9:15, when I had figured if the boys were still golfing, they must’ve been using glow-in-the-dark balls, a text came through to my phone. It said, “I just golfed THE BEST SCORE of my entire life!! I birdied four out of nine holes!!”
And because I’m the mother of a golfer, I’ve learned my terminology. I no longer have to look at Hubs and ask, “Is a birdie one under par? Or two under? What’s an eagle?” No, ma’am. The birdie is one under. Clearly, I’m ready to start scoring PGA tournaments for the professionals.
I used all of the emojis on my phone to text a nice, clapping party to the boy. Thankfully, I was still able to fall asleep promptly, even with all that low score excitement amidst the popping champagne corks.
Lord, bless the elderly and their inability to remain awake beyond 9:30 in the evenings.
I’ve taken a ton of pictures in the last couple of weeks, and I’m failing miserably at blogging them in a timely manner.
One night last week… at least I THINK it was last week, but I can no longer be sure, because all of my summer nights are blurring into a wonderful haze of WHAT DAY OF THE WEEK WAS IT?… we had dinner with the cousins at Grammy and Papa’s house.
Thing 2 discovered a foam rocket on Grammy’s sun porch, that he was thrilled to try out. Cousin W showed him how to put the rocket on the end of the hose and then how to jump on the little air bag to schedule a nice launch time.
Cousin W only had to hold the rocket’s hose in place for fourteen thousand, six hundred and eighty-one launches, before Thing 2’s attention gave out, and he moved on to something else.
Thing 2’s rocket launching career came to a close; the pond called him to it.
Thing 2’s relatives know that once the tractor rides start, it will be hours before they are released from their labor to pursue something more interesting, like fresh-from-the-oven brownies. Thing 2 doesn’t anticipate tractor rides EVER ending.
Thankfully, Miss A caved. She fired up the riding lawn mower, attached the trailer to it, and off she went.
They drove all the way to Southern Mexico and back, before Thing 2 dismissed her from the driver’s seat.
And then, as often happens at Grammy and Papa’s house, the kids gathered up the squirt guns and the long pole with the soup can nailed to one end. They gathered up jugs and cups and whatever else could hold water…
… and then they charged one another.
This is always great, because there really isn’t anything better than stuffing sopping wet children into your car when it’s time to head for home.
There is really no mercy shown in water fights at Grammy and Papa’s house. Miss A is the only girl, and she’s just eleven, but those boys make sure she’s good and soaked before the squirt guns are put away. They plan ambushes against her, so of course the grownups always cheer HER on to victory. We clap every time she gets a good shot in on the big boys. And Thing 2 might be only four, but he fights like he’s a fifteen-year-old Viking warrior with full horns on his helmet, so the big kids don’t give him any head starts, either.
Our family’s water battles show no mercy for the weak.
He was determined to get a shot of the hummingbirds that kept zipping over our heads all evening.
Thing 2 slept for ELEVEN STRAIGHT HOURS that night.
We LOVE Grammy and Papa’s house.