A Lesson in Bowling Humility

The risk of having an intraverted girl in-between two attention seeking, high energy boys, is that it's far too easy to not pay attention to her. It's not intentional, mind you. It's just that you have this intense male energy always in your face! Don't get me wrong, I love the energy. But I worry about my six-year-old daughter. She's so perceptive and sensitive, and I worry that all of my current actions will end up being discussed at length on some ugly mustard colored couch with a well intentioned therapist -- we'll call him Seymour.

Anyway, to ensure Seymour doesn't get his mental Freudian grips on my daughter's mind, I decided to take action. I sat L down and said, "Would you like to do something just with me?"
She nodded her head yes. "Do you like golf?" To my amazement, she shook her head yes again, but it was too cold outside for that idea. I thought of another idea. "Do you like bowling?" Again, she nodded her head in agreement. "That does it!" I said. "Let's go."

So off we went to the bowling ally. She picked out her pink ball and wobbled over to the line. Her little torso jerked to one side and then jerked back, sending the ball crashing down the lane. It slowly rolled, going from one bumper to the other until it reached the pins, knocking down all but two! "Great shot!" I yelled.

As soon as I picked up my ball, I realized something awful. I had injured my forearm several days before and it hurt to simply hold the ball. But, I couldn't not bowl! Not now! Resolute, I eyed the pins and awkwardly went gliding to the line. As soon as my arm descended with the ball I could feel the shooting pain. I dropped the ball sending it directly into the gutter. My face blanched like Charlie Brown's after an embarrassing moment. When the ball returned, I again sent it in the gutter. I looked at my little girl's face as I walked, deflated and humiliated, and saw the great big grin spread from one cheek to the other. She was just so giddy that she could bowl better than her daddy. Yes, I bowled the worst game of my life. My six-year-old beat me by 20 points! But you know... it's as it should be. How often can a little kid beat their father at anything - for real.

Burl Ives doesn't cut it with three-year-olds.

We sat on the couch, the five of us, silently enjoying the holiday classic, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. A family favorite that for us, always ushers in the Christmas season. Our children, ages ten, six, and three, enjoy it almost as much as their parents! Well, almost.

In the beginning, if you recall, there is a snowman narrator, played by Burl Ives. He tells the story and sings irritating little songs, like "Silver and Gold." Well, Marcus (the three-year-old) watched him intently in the beginning. Didn't say a word. Later, when he popped up again with his umbrella - you know, after one of the scenes with the Bumble (My personal favorite), Marcus said in a very solumn voice, "I hate that fat guy." It broke us all up.