In which I take my licks in bumper bowling.

We took the kids bowling yesterday. Now, we had to wonder what kind of hee-hawin' good time it was going to be when the lanes promoted Sunday afternoons as family friendly and "smoke-free from 1pm to 5pm." They also threw in "all games ½ price." And since trying to focus on pins in a smoke-filled alley is like trying to land an Airbus in quarter mile visibility, this seemed like a good selling point to us. And wait! We got to keep some money in our single income pockets too? Sign us up!

Nothin' like good form to knock 'em down.

We decided to go with bumper bowling so the kids could stand a chance of actually hitting a pin (you don't know our kids, do you?) Sure, it would take some fun out of it for Carl and I, but it's not about us. Right? Bumpers up.

Oh, and now would probably be a good time to tell you that bowling is my "fuse poppin'" set point.
Because friends? Lil' confession to make.

I.
Can't.
Bowl.

My dad was and is an awesome man of the pins. And he did take us several times while growing up. And Girl Scouts also tried to make a bowler out of me. But the thing is, when a girl is double jointed in her wrist and elbow and can (literally) turn her hand over 360º in her lap (all together now,..."FREAK!"), it's really hard to keep straight form as you release the ball.

One might say that ball can go just about anywhere. In fact, it always does. Because try as I may to send it down the center of the lane, the ball makes a complete fool out of me. Which always stirs a laugh in Carl no matter how hard he tries to stifle it. And I do mean an all out "tears welling up" robust laugh at my expense (I do try to keep him happy; after all, I'm a giver.)

So, back to the lanes. I typed our names in and put us up "on the big screen", noting that only our first initials actually displayed. Now, as insignificant as that small detail might seem to you, it really bothered me. Why? Because when you stink at bowling as much as I do, and when you stink at bumper bowling even more, I have to believe that others saw the "M" for Mom on the big screen and mistook it as "M" for moron (click on image below for this reality in all its glory.)

Need I say more? (btw, notice the flash couldn't help but shine on the real star of our bowl-o-rama, the DAD.)

And I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that my kids weren't helping our public image all that much. I mean, Reece was getting bumper spares, then jumping up and down like a sugared up Kangaroo, yelling, "Strake!"
Yes, S-T-R-A-K-E.

No need to get anywhere close to the line. Just let 'er ride!

And Cierah rather loudly expressed her gratitude several times during our game;
"Thank you for bringing us golfing, Mom."
"Bowling. It's BOWL-ING, honey."

And I might have wanted to grab my little Clampetts ducklings and leave at that point, had I not been made to feel more comfortable by a helpful employee with a shaved head and a "Git-R-Done" tee shirt on. That's when I knew we were in harmony with the lanes (I'm not positive, but I think I might have felt the room spin in that moment.)

I honestly think I might have bowled my worst game ever too, but I'll never know for sure because the bumper was there to force me into some mulligan pins (hey, my 4 year old thinks we were golfing after all). I cannot tell you how many times I hit that bumper, but I'm going to guess 60-70%? All together now,..."PATHETIC!" Thanks. I know. And it only took until the 8th frame before I finally got a strike (no spares prior). A strike in the 8th frame in BUMPER bowling. Really, how pathetic is that? (Don't you dare answer.)
"Maybe they won't notice that I only scored a three, a THREE, in the frame following my strike. A three! In bumper bowling."

And where else can one lament, "I'll stand a better chance of picking that lone pin off if I just go for crazy random banks off the bumpers."

And if using kiddie bumpers as a crutch to stay in the game isn't bad enough, just add in a dose of genu-ine encouragement from a well meaning spouse on the last frame.

"Honey, I don't mean to put any pressure on you, but you need to hit at least two pins if you want to come in third place."

Well isn't that special. I "only" needed to hit two pins to take third place. Did you get that? Third? Did you get that I'm bowling with just one other adult? Which means I was about to be defeated by Art Begotti and someone from the 4 to 8 year old range. In BUMPER bowling. This was so not good for my ego.

Burritos Bowling balls as big as your head!

Well, as you can imagine, God is not big on egos. He does what He has to to tilt our chins upward so we can fix our eyes on Him. And I'm pretty sure He did that on the lanes yesterday, by allowing me to be outbowled by an 8 year old. In bumper bowling.
Why is it still so hard for me to admit that out loud?
It is with great humiliation humbleness that I accept my lowly place in the bowling world.

I'd say I needed a smoke when we left the alley, but (thankfully) I'm not a smoker. So I will say this. If ever there was a desire to launch myself face first into a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, yesterday was it. Oh, and if you don't know who Art Begotti is, you'll have to consult Junior Asparagus in Larry Boy and the Fib From Outer space.

1 Corinthians 1:31 That, according as it is written, He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.

Toni