Last weekend Aaron and I had the genius idea of taking the kids miniature golfing because nothing says love like miniature golf, that and we enjoy torturing ourselves.
Jake, being the highly competitive kid that he is, decided to get a hole in one, and then another one, and then just to really rub it in, one last hole in one. For an instant I was sure that Andrew might completely lose it and start going king Kong style right there at the kid friendly amusement land of family spending. I thought for sure he would start swinging his golf club around while banging his fists against his chest and topple the entire fake wooden city that is shabbily constructed on hole 6. That's how intense the laser beams of anger that he was aiming at Jacob were.
I had a flashback of 8 year old me at the bowling alley with my sister. My sister always consistently kicked my ass at bolwing. She managed to effortlessly and elegantly throw strikes. I always awkwardly rolled my ball toward the gutter. The only way I avoided the gutter was to completely humiliate myself by doing the granny roll between my legs with my butt in the air. Michelle had this obnoxious taunting dance she would do after each strike that involved a hip wiggle and a little hand jive. It took every ounce of will power for me not to chuck the ball at her freckled face. Oh, sibling rivalry how I miss thee.
My sister was always better at everything then me, she made the pom pom squad when I was unable to do even a cartwheel, she got a 4.0 in high school, she was 1st
singles on the tennis team while I was 3rd and lets not even discuss her massive boobs that developed in junior high while I resembled a little boy. I so understand Andrew's agony and was quietly hoping he would make a comeback that involved his own long drawn out victory dance. That comeback never came. As a result instead of experiencing the boomers commercial of smiles and giggles ours was a wretched, angry, and whiny round of miniature golf.
Aside from the hole in ones, miniature golf proved to be extremely frustrating for Amelia. In fact, Amelia lost it completely after Andrew's ball dared to knock hers out of position. Oh the agony! Her reaction was monumental. She didn't throw a simple fit, oh no, this was a spectacle full of sobs and those little gasp of air that people do when they are really upset. To make it even that more memorable, she did a little face dive onto the synthetic green stuff while kicking and banging her fists. It was quite the magnificent display.
Being the inappropriate parents that we sometimes are, and knowing that really there is no use in getting all uptight in these situations, Aaron and I laughed so hard that we had tears rolling down our cheeks. We were paralyzed with laughter for a good five minutes while the nice woman with her well behaved kid waited patiently for us to move on, their mouths gaping open, in utter astonishment at the circus that is our family.
Amelias little fits of outrage continued for the rest of our miserable game. I am certain that the story of our family's miniature golf experience will be retold during the thanksgiving dinner of the poor woman and her well mannered kid stuck behind us.
On the car ride home, Jake, after going on and on about how awesome he is at golf asked if we could come again in two weeks for his birthday. I don't think there is enough valium in the world for me to go through another boomers trip.
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