A Very Serious Eighteen Holes Of Golf

I can sum up my entire day in two short words.

Flooded kitchen.

No.  It didn’t rain.  It would appear that while I was indisposed in the bathroom, Thing 2 climbed onto the kitchen counter and turned the faucet on, in his DEPRIVE MAMA OF ALL OF HER SANITY effort to be an independent toddler who needs no help with big chores, like getting his own drink and paying his own insurance premiums.  And then, because the male mind can only focus on one item at a time, and that item this morning was getting down off the counter with a very full glass of water, our son failed to shut the faucet off.

So the full-force water hit an enormous spoon, that is either used for stirring soup pots or feeding the Jolly Green Giant his breakfast cereal.  In the manner of IT’S ALL PHYSICS, the water hit the spoon, which acted like a catapult, and that is how I came to have fourteen thousand and six more gallons of water on my kitchen floor when my job in the bathroom was finished.

When I came into the kitchen, Thing 2 was standing on the floor, clutching a Big-Gulp-sized cup that 7-Eleven would’ve been proud of, full to the brim with water, to his chest.  He hollered at me, “Mom!  There’s a huge mess in here!  I’ve never seen a mess this big before!

And the real answer is that neither had I.  And neither had Noah, because both of our cats were standing shoulder-to-shoulder (which they never do, because they’re mean cats who don’t like one another), as they whispered to me, “We have a ticket to ride the ark.”

After going through all of our dry bathroom towels in the cleanup process and fantasizing about cigars that I don’t even smoke and vodka that I don’t even drink, Thing 2 looked at me and said, “You did a really good job, Mommy.  I’m so proud of you!”

I chased the morning flood recovery program with a trip to Walmart, where our cart was heaped so high, it tilted to one side.

In other words, today was a day of my favorite things.

Except the exact opposite of that.


… you know it’s been a busy weekend when OUR TODDLER sleeps in until 7:00 for two mornings in a row.  Do you know how I know this?  Because Thing 2 HAS NEVER SLEPT PAST 6 AM IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE!  And he just pulled it off yesterday morning and again today, because EXHAUSTION, people.


From all the goings-on.

Also?  Sleeping in until 7:00 for me and Hubs is the equivalent of other folks sleeping in until one in the afternoon, so we actually feel refreshed and full of potential.  Amen.

I have a ton of snapshots to blog, from a ton of different events, and I’ll get them all done… eventually.  Tonight, I’ll just go back in time to last Wednesday, when Hubs and I threw our common sense to the wind, rented a couple of golf carts from the clubhouse, and took our boys and Cousin B out to golf eighteen entire holes.

We picked up the Who from Whoville bright and early at 10:30, because incoming freshman have to sleep.  They haven’t seen the fat side of 7 AM since school let out in May.  In fact, they’re not even sure whether the sun is even up at 7:00 in the morning, because they still consider that time to be the middle of the night in July.

Behold!  Cousin B, the Who.

IMG_4402That one headband, with the sparkly, Independence-Day-themed antennae, set the whole theme for the day, which was THIS WILL BE A VERY SERIOUS DAY OF GOLFING, WHERE WE SPEAK IN HUSHED VOICES AND APPLAUD SOFTLY AND ONLY SWEAR IN OUR MINDS WHEN WE MISS A SHOT.

Because we take golf very seriously around here, y ‘all.

IMG_4213Our left-handed toddler, with his own set of right-handed clubs, got in on the action, too.  He tends to bring a little HOCKEY BRAWL and CAGE FIGHT and BULL STAMPEDE into his golf game, as he swings and removes divots the size of Ford pickups.

IMG_4412 IMG_4403Thing 2 talks to himself a lot during his golf game.

“Crud.  That was an awful chip.  I mean, seriously?!  FOUR STINKING FEET?!  What is this?  PRESCHOOL GOLF?  I’ve gotta get that cute three-year-old girl outta my head; she’s destroying my game with her adorable pigtails and crooked smile!”

And that’s when he’d just pick his golf ball up and throw it like a baseball pitcher across the fairway.

IMG_4404 IMG_4405Because sleeping in was more important than showing up thirty minutes before their tee time, so that they could hit range balls and warm up, Cousin B and the boy used Hole One as their warmup.

It involved hitting the ball back and forth, back and forth, in bounds, out of bounds, twenty-six feet ahead, three feet ahead, and BOOM!

Nailed it.

I think they both got a 143 on Hole One.

IMG_4414 IMG_4415 IMG_4411 IMG_4420 IMG_4421 IMG_4425 IMG_4427Thing 2 got par.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he threw his ball whenever he needed to, or that he picked his ball up and put it in the golf cart, so that he could just drive it to the next acceptable hitting location.

Even his putting was dead-on.

IMG_4428 IMG_4430The boys teed off at Hole Two, and GAME ON.  They both golfed excellently, smacking that little white ball as far as they could.

In the words of Crash Davis, “Man, that ball got outta here in a hurry!  Anything that travels that far ought to have a stewardess on it, don’t you think?”

IMG_4442 IMG_4448 IMG_4449 IMG_4450 IMG_4451 IMG_4432 IMG_4434 IMG_4435 IMG_4443 IMG_4445Thing 2 was a bit concerned about WHERE IS THE ENGINE IN THE GOLF CART?  Because apparently that is what boys are constantly thinking about… girls with cute pigtails and a good engine.

IMG_4458 IMG_4459 IMG_4460And then…

… it started to rain on us.  The drizzle came in, the grass got wet, the toddler’s sneakers were soaked clear through, and I was a shivering wreck of ARE WE REALLY IN THIS GAME FOR THE FULL EIGHTEEN HOLES?


Thankfully, the boys are made of much stouter stuff than I am, and none of them complained at all, because GOLF!  GOLF!  GOLF!!!

IMG_4462 IMG_4470 IMG_4473 IMG_4474 IMG_4475 IMG_4476 IMG_4482 IMG_4486Thing 2 had some words for his Cousin B, too.

“Dude.  I told you to choke up on the club, but you didn’t listen to me.  And now what?  Well, here we are, looking for a white ball in the tall grass in the rain…  No one ever listens to the caddy.”

IMG_4489 IMG_4487 IMG_4490Thing 2 had some words for his brother, as well.

“You’re using your putter?  YOUR PUTTER?  Because look where you’re lying on this green, Bubbie!  Get your driver out and smack that ball like you’re a big dog out on business!”

IMG_4494“Oh, B… everyone thinks that I’m just out here for my health.  Talk to the hand!  No one ever listens to the caddy!  He’s using his putter, when I suggested the driver.

IMG_4495“Yeah, Bubbie… that’s why this just became a three-putt game.  You didn’t use your driver.”

IMG_4496IMG_4503“Hey… if no one cares about my club suggestions, I think I’ll just give up and roll down the hill for a while.”


“Yeah, Ma!!  I know!  The grass is wet!!  I’m not a baby any more.  I can get my own drinks, and I can roll in wet grass without catching pneumonia.”

IMG_4505 IMG_4507 IMG_4510 IMG_4511 IMG_4514And that is when we finished nine holes and took our rained-on selves to the clubhouse for cheeseburgers that cost as much as a new Ferrari.

After he’d eaten every last bite of his $9.00 lunch, we recruited Mam to drive out to the golf course to collect our sopping wet toddler.  She took him to her house for a nap, which helped with his Grouchy Caddy attitude.

With one less player, Hubs and I set out as cart decor for the boy and Cousin B, while they golfed the back nine holes.

IMG_4536 IMG_4541 IMG_4546 IMG_4547 IMG_4549 IMG_4550 IMG_4555 IMG_4556 IMG_4558 IMG_4560They maintained a VERY SERIOUS game of golf, with no side-splitting laughter on golf apparel.

I, on the other hand, laughed until I nearly peed my pants.  It’s not every day that you get to witness an incoming freshman with sparkly bling.

IMG_4561 IMG_4577 IMG_4581 IMG_4582 IMG_4564 IMG_4570 IMG_4573 IMG_4575 IMG_4590 IMG_4592I believe the adjectives you’re looking for when referring to Cousin B are SHY… RESERVED… QUIET…

And then, the boys golfed their very last ball, because neither one of them thought to bring any extras along for eighteen holes.  Hubs and I cut them loose and let them TAKE THE CAR OUT ALONE.  We talked about hold grown up they’re getting as we watched them drive off without an adult.  They drove back to the clubhouse, armed with real American dollars, so that they could buy new golf balls to finish out the game with.

While I’m trying to describe how B drives, I need you to have a visual in your mind.

I believe this one will do the trick:

Cruella-De-Vil-Crazy-DriverI just gave thanks that I was still alive at the end of eighteen holes, after riding shotgun as Cousin B drove all day.

The doctor told me I didn’t even get a concussion when B jumped the ditch and I hit my head on the ceiling of the cart.

The boy, however, got to experience B’s driving firsthand on the way back from buying new golf balls.

IMG_4596 IMG_4602 IMG_4603The good news is that the golf cart is still intact, and we didn’t have to pay any insurance deductibles on our nephew.

No one got stitches or big white bandages wrapped around his head.

Someone needs JUST A TOUCH MORE PRACTICE before he takes his parents’ Suburban out on the open road, though.

And by JUST A TOUCH MORE, I really mean six years’ worth of driver’s ed, taught by someone with a current prescription for Valium.

IMG_4616 IMG_4618 IMG_4623 IMG_4620So we put another eighteen holes in the books.  The boys compared their scores and realized that Cousin B had won the first nine holes by three strokes, and that the boy won the back nine holes by two strokes.  I’m no math major, but I think that means B beat the boy by one point.


And also?  Well, it was a day for the memory books, for sure.  We laughed so hard, we cried.  We froze in the rainy drizzle.  We ate million-dollar cheeseburgers.  We laughed some more, until I snorted and wheezed in a most unladylike fashion.

When I’m old and gray and rocking in my chair at a nursing home, last Wednesday with these three boys will be one of the happy memories that I’ll enjoy recalling.

Y’all have a great Monday evening.

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