My kids are back after a week with my parents. I missed them, but now I miss the quiet that I had before. It was nice not to play referee for a week. They didn’t waste any time getting back into form. We met my mom in Des Moines on Tuesday, stayed the night and then got back home early yesterday afternoon. By late afternoon I was having the following conversation.
Cameron: “Mom?”
Jennifer: “Yeah?”
Cameron: “I’m sorry but I hit the golf ball into the garage.”
Jennifer: “What?”
Cameron: “I was aiming for the back yard but I hit it into the garage.”
Jennifer: “Where did you get golf clubs?”
Cameron: “I used yours.”
Jennifer: “Put them AWAY!”
Cameron: “I did.”
Jennifer: “Did you break anything?”
Cameron: “No.”
Did I mention that my parents took the kids out to play some golf? On a golf course. I really didn’t want to think about how it was logistically possible to be aiming for the back yard and end up hitting a ball into the garage. After hearing nothing was broken I forgot about it until getting ready to leave later.
I discovered later that, a.) he had not put my golf clubs away as he had said he did, and b.) there was a golf tee in the front yard right next to the driveway about 15 feet from the house. Now I’m no Tiger Woods (thankfully) but the only ways I see that would be possible to hit the back yard from that spot would be to take a sand wedge and loft it at about an 85 degree vertical angle to go up and over the house, which would be a feat for even Tiger. Or he could aim for the side of the house and a wicked slice would maybe bend it around the corner. But I think that would require Harry Potter wizardry rather than golf prowess.
So I’m glad he had fun with the grandparents but they apparently forgot to teach basic golf etiquette that states you should not be whaling away at golf balls anywhere near your parents’ or neighbors’ breakable and expensive windows, vehicles or children.
Sunflower Girl 