Where Is Your Mother?

Grammie has arrived for a visit during her Spring Break.  We are all being well fed, the laundry is done, the dishes are done (and put away...we get to play Scavenger Hunt for things like the cheese grater).  Household chores are done so timely, the clothes are washed and put away on the same day that they were once on your back.  This is not how my house normally works.  I could get used to this.  Kind of like having a cleaning fairy around the house.


Upon arrival, Grammie asked why we never go to the City when she comes.  So we went to the City and enjoyed a day at the aquarium.  LOVE the aquarium.  As we were walking in, two Italian gentlemen informed us that "they have run out of fish".  With their accents, that was one of the funniest things I have heard.  They were trying to be funny, but put a little Tony Soprano spin on that line, and it becomes ten times as funny as intended.  Needless to say, there were plenty of fish to be seen.


Half way into the day, my daughter raises her hands in astonishment, and says to me, "Where is YOUR MOTHER?"  She did not ask, "Where is Grammie?"  Apparently, when Grammie is in trouble for losing the group, she becomes MY MOTHER.  My daughter continued, "Why does she do that?"  I answered simply, "Because she can."


Grammie went to eat lunch with our Little Boo at school.  On Sunday night, Grammie asked which of the kids would like to invite her to eat lunch with them.  Dead D-E-A-D silence.  Then finally, the Pipper responded, "He would."  So Grammie went to each lunch with her grandson.  And he got to pick a friend to sit with them.


Grammie did not go eat lunch with Pipper.  Pipper finally got up the courage to explain to Grammie that having an adult come eat lunch with you in 3rd Grade is super, super embarrassing.  "Painful."  And again, I was asked, "Why does YOUR MOTHER want to come eat lunch with me?"  That phrase, YOUR MOTHER, makes me smile.  Not something I expected out of my eight year-old daughter.  But when raising kids, expect the unexpected.

Where Is My Blue Ball?

Once very 12 months we are asked to bowl for charity.  And we gladly accept because it happens to be for the neighbors and everyone knows we have the BEST neighbors in the whole world.  They are fun and they accept us for the crazy people that we are.  No qualms.  (At least that I know of.)


So last weekend we grabbed our bowling bag from the basement and aspired to reach a score of at least 100 pins.  You see, we have our own balls, shoes, and sports-looking bowling bag.  Several years ago, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law found the perfect Christmas gift for the brother and his wife who had everything, but their own bowling equipment.  Ta-da!  We are equipped.


It was a dark and stormy night.  Perfect night for strobe lights, bad 80's hair band music, pitchers of Miller Lite, and glow-in-the-dark bowling for dollars.  And we knocked down some big 'uns.  Yah...


About half way into the night, my neighbor friend, returns from the bathroom with a bowling shoe flapping.  On her return, she blew a shoe.  The sole was definitely loose.  We all laughed and made fun of her trying to bowl with a broken shoe.


About three-quarters of the way into the night, I made a trip to the restroom.  And on my way, I stepped on something sticky and ka-boom!  My shoe started flapping.  I had to pee so bad so I continued into the restroom and laughed hysterically, by myself, at the strange coincidence of the two Sue's with flapping bowling shoes.  It was one of those moments where you SERIOUSLY look for the hidden camera.

I shared the news of my appendage with the gang and we all laughed.  I chucked a few balls down the lane, with my handicap.  It was ugly.  My game was gone.  So I took off my shoes and called it quits.  We wrapped up the night and went to put our balls away.  Only guess what?!?!  My ball was gone.  My shiny blue ball was gone.  And it even has my name on it.


I kept asking people if they accidentally put my blue ball in their bag.  Then Sue's hubby asked, "Was it schweddy?"  Obvious play on the Saturday Night Live Skit, Schweddy's Balls.  I just love my schweddy blue bowling ball.  It all went into the gutter from there.


Good news!  The bowling alley called to report they did indeed find my schweddy blue bowling ball.  So next year, when I get the call to bowl for charity, I will be ready.  My blue ball has been located.  And it is no longer schweddy.