I just wanted to not suck at my tournament on Friday!
This past Wednesday I joyfully walked my son to and from his first partial day of school. He got to meet his new teacher and his new classmates at what will be a new school. I have a tournament on Friday; but too bad for me there are no summer camps in late August (except those that cost an arm and a leg) for me to squeeze in a practice round or a driving range session. My son is no stranger at all to the golf course so I pledged to take him with me a couple times this week for nine holes and maybe an hour at the range, all so that when I get up at 6:30 in the morning on Friday to go play in a tournament I don’t completely suck.
After Wednesday’s school orientation we went to the local coffee shop to meet friends. I hate spending cold hard cash on stupid things like bagels with butter that I can make at home for part of the cost but I like the idea of being social so I said yes. I ordered two bagels with butter and a blueberry muffin which my little boy woofed down most of. He then attacked his friend’s food claiming to be starving and ate most of a plate of homemade mac and cheese followed by the grease-soaked lettuce it had been sitting on. I just shook my head and made excuses to my friends; he’s tall, lanky, and lean like his Dad so I can only attribute his apparent greed to some sort of pre-1st grade growth spurt.
He said he was still hungry.
I said okay but I wasn’t going to buy any more food and when we stopped home quick for my range gear I would pack a bag full of snacks. In the car on the way to the golf course he drank all the juice and water I had brought before we even got there. What the heck?
I was ecstatic to get to go to the driving range; my set up has been a bit fluky lately causing my arms to do weird things mid-swing to properly connect with the ball. Let’s go to the bathroom, I said, I need to put some sunscreen on first. He was fidgety despite using the potty. Then he demanded to fill his water container and was acting impatient and uncomfortable. After drinking a few sips he made it two steps toward the door before…. His face told me what was about to happen. COME WITH ME, I commanded. We raced into the bathroom for him to make it to the floor next to the stall. It stank of mac and cheese.
Vomit was everywhere and getting tracked all over the bathroom with our shoes. I am one of those people who CANNOT see or smell it without the same happening to me. What a comical mess. I was gagging and giggling. “Why are you laughing, Mommy?” ”Because I am trying not to do the same thing.” I called the pro shop who said nothing about helping and then I ran into our accountant who told me they have a cleaning lady and no janitorial staff. I had no idea how I would bear the smell but I finally realized it was my kid and so my mess to deal with. I walked into the pro shop to request a bucket and mop and the Pro refused to even look at me. My boy was scared and hid because he thought he would be in trouble. I gave him a very stern look: You did nothing wrong, I said, and smiled and kissed him (on the nose). I then gave my boy my iPhone to watch cartoons on Netflix and then held my breath …..
When all was said and done I still wanted to go the range and even my boy, who felt much better now, wanted to know why we were leaving. I toyed with the idea of staying to work on my game but the stench of vomit was still in my nose and my mood had gone south. I was hot and my mind and body were not happy. I could have stayed to get a practice in but as a veteran golfermom I know well enough by now to stop while I’m ahead.♣