My husband, Couponman, was on a mission. His discounts were about to expire. “Can we take the grandkids miniature golfing,” he asked. I called the GAP to enter a request for babysitting privileges.
“Sure,” she answered. “Where are you going?”
“Who knows. Could be in the valley, about an hour away. Maybe even a neighboring state. The coupon’s probably good for 50¢ off the regular price,” I laughed. “Wherever it is, it’s burning a hole in his pocket.”
So that’s what we did. Played games with a bunch of miniatures.
“I want to play the King’s course,” shouted the Bug, when he saw the five options to choose from.
“Well, I want to be first,” insisted the Worm. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”
So we played a “run-along, pick me up” version of miniature golf. I had a Mouse handicap. I held him at bay, sometimes batting a red golf ball with one hand or a Mouse tucked under the other arm. Otherwise he was running along the course trying to grab any colorful ball he could get his hands on. Usually it was mine. He learned quickly, grabbing the ball, and dropping it in the cup. No one complained when I took the complimentary birdie, until he threw the dimpled ball through a wrot-iron gate. It reminded me of the first time we took the Bug bowling. He was about two and a half. He caught onto the strategy of the game in record time, then took off like a rocket over to a distant ball return. Somehow he managed to drop the big black heavy ball to the floor and push it down the lane, all before we could grab him. The perfect stranger was good sport, and the Bug even managed to down a couple of pins.
Wrong way Corrigan
The next day we watched miniatures play beehive soccer, where all the little girls swarmed around the ball. It was the Worm’s first game. That too was a run-away game. For one instance I had a feeling she was going to do better in sports than her brother, the Bug, but it was short lived. She dribbled the ball running the wrong direction.
The Bug joined a pick-up game of kick ball. “Wanna play with us, Grandma?” he asked me. “She’ll be on my team,” he told the other players. I don’t think I’d ever been invited to be on someone’s team. Mainly captains got stuck with me.
I took my place on the mound and rolled the ball to the opposing player standing at home. The ball moved right over the plate at a pretty good clip. “That grandma has some power,” another player said, his jaw dropping open.
Kickball walk-on
The player kicked at my next strike. The ball flew in the air. I bobbled it once in the air, and then caught it. No one could believe it, least of all me!
But nothing lasts forever. The Mouse found me. I didn’t know kickball had walk-ons.
The next day I could hardly walk from all the exercise I’d gotten playing run-around and pick-me-up sports with miniatures.
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Those grand kids are better than a trainer!
One of the best times we ever had playing miniature golf was when my youngest grandchild was about 1 year old. She had a ball dropping the ball in the hole!