the bowling gene

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

I am a perfectionist.

I am also the world's worst bowler.

I'm not being self-deprecating to be cute or ironic.  I am really bad.

I'm actually OK with this.  Surprising, for a perfectionist.  But I find that when you bowl like once a year, you can stink it up with impunity.

*     *     *     *     *

Durel has also accepted how bad I am at bowling, though he marvels at the sheer crappiness of my game.  He's pretty good.  He's just really athletic, so he's good at stuff.

I switch things up by going from the left gutter to the right.  Every now and then, I get a freak strike. It's like when the really drunk person at the bar sinks the eight ball.  Just the universe playing a little joke on you.  

*     *     *     *     *

Jack appears to have inherited Durel's bowling gene, not mine.  This is good news.

We bowled the other day with one of Jack's buddies.  Team Bernard represented well, no thanks to me.

Universal Truth:  The shoes are a lot of the fun.

Sneaking up on it, as we do.

Go, bowling ball!  Be free! 
A spare!

It's like Uptown Funk meets bowling alley.

Hope you get a spare in the game of life today.

Talk soon,
Heather

little wreckers

Friday, May 15, 2015

Yesterday, I had a Plan.

Get up.  Take Jack to school.  Go to gym, with Sawyer accompanying me.  Have lunch.  Take Sawyer home to nap.  During Sawyer's nap, dominate things like my email inbox.  Cook delicious, Whole 30 dinner.  (OMG, Whole 30.  More on that later.)

Unbeknownst to me, Sawyer had other ideas.

Since I am taller than him and had the car keys, we did get to the car.  We even got on the road to the gym.  Then, I heard a cacophonous baby snore from the backseat.

Shit.

Sawyer's had a cold or an ear infection for like, ever.  I am not at the mercy of random car naps, but I could tell that this was serious sleep, which I respect.

So, I pulled over and did email on my phone.  (Heeeey, data plan.)  He sniffled and snarfled himself awake after a while, and looked at me with those eyes, as if to say:

"Hey Mom.  What are we doing just sitting in the car?"

Sure. 

Back to the Plan.  Back on the road!

Then, I heard a cacophonous baby dissent from the backseat.  

Hunger.

So, we went to one of the closest delicious food serving establishments, Torchy's Tacos.  (You are my true love, TacoDeli, but you weren't around.)  I got Sawyer a kid's combo of fried chicken strips and fried avocado pieces. It's called the Little Wrecker.

Indeed.

You thought we were going WHERE?
No.  We were always coming HERE. 
You have done well.

I love my job.

Since I'm taller than him and still had the car keys, we went home after that.  He napped. 

I can't believe I ever thought I was in charge.  Little Wrecker, indeed.

Hope you find David and Goliath analogous to something today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

the bowling gene

I am a perfectionist.

I am also the world's worst bowler.

I'm not being self-deprecating to be cute or ironic.  I am really bad.

I'm actually OK with this.  Surprising, for a perfectionist.  But I find that when you bowl like once a year, you can stink it up with impunity.

*     *     *     *     *

Durel has also accepted how bad I am at bowling, though he marvels at the sheer crappiness of my game.  He's pretty good.  He's just really athletic, so he's good at stuff.

I switch things up by going from the left gutter to the right.  Every now and then, I get a freak strike. It's like when the really drunk person at the bar sinks the eight ball.  Just the universe playing a little joke on you.  

*     *     *     *     *

Jack appears to have inherited Durel's bowling gene, not mine.  This is good news.

We bowled the other day with one of Jack's buddies.  Team Bernard represented well, no thanks to me.

Universal Truth:  The shoes are a lot of the fun.

Sneaking up on it, as we do.

Go, bowling ball!  Be free! 
A spare!

It's like Uptown Funk meets bowling alley.

Hope you get a spare in the game of life today.

Talk soon,
Heather

Friday, May 15, 2015

little wreckers

Yesterday, I had a Plan.

Get up.  Take Jack to school.  Go to gym, with Sawyer accompanying me.  Have lunch.  Take Sawyer home to nap.  During Sawyer's nap, dominate things like my email inbox.  Cook delicious, Whole 30 dinner.  (OMG, Whole 30.  More on that later.)

Unbeknownst to me, Sawyer had other ideas.

Since I am taller than him and had the car keys, we did get to the car.  We even got on the road to the gym.  Then, I heard a cacophonous baby snore from the backseat.

Shit.

Sawyer's had a cold or an ear infection for like, ever.  I am not at the mercy of random car naps, but I could tell that this was serious sleep, which I respect.

So, I pulled over and did email on my phone.  (Heeeey, data plan.)  He sniffled and snarfled himself awake after a while, and looked at me with those eyes, as if to say:

"Hey Mom.  What are we doing just sitting in the car?"

Sure. 

Back to the Plan.  Back on the road!

Then, I heard a cacophonous baby dissent from the backseat.  

Hunger.

So, we went to one of the closest delicious food serving establishments, Torchy's Tacos.  (You are my true love, TacoDeli, but you weren't around.)  I got Sawyer a kid's combo of fried chicken strips and fried avocado pieces. It's called the Little Wrecker.

Indeed.

You thought we were going WHERE?
No.  We were always coming HERE. 
You have done well.

I love my job.

Since I'm taller than him and still had the car keys, we went home after that.  He napped. 

I can't believe I ever thought I was in charge.  Little Wrecker, indeed.

Hope you find David and Goliath analogous to something today.

Talk soon,
Heather
 
site design by designer blogs