Three Little Blue Birds: September 2011

Ok, so, roller skating. First, let me start by saying I haven’t been since 7^th grade…that would be 1987, folks.

Picture it...110 degrees, driving what feels like 100 miles with Liam to...Three Fountains Skating Rink (Ring, which is it?) There we were, just the two of us, about to risk our lives and step on the floor...I was as graceful as a swan on that concrete pond, well actually it was hardwood, but anyway, fabulous nonetheless. Me in my mom pants (didn't you know capris look awesome with big, brown, obnoxious rental skates?). I’m wearing short socks so my ankles were sweaty in old rented skates worn by God knows who. ick. Anyway it was like getting on an interstate, it felt like the scene from clueless, remember it? When Cher's friend Dionne freaks out, closes her eyes, screams and takes her hands off the steering wheel as she accidentally gets on the entrance ramp? You should go see the movie. So finally , somehow, someway, we make it to the back of the rink (thank you very much) where there's an old rusty bar we can hold onto. Thank goodness! Yes, I had rust residue on my hand when we left, tetanus shot anyone? Liam was flopping everywhere like a fish out of water. We decided we didn't want to embarrass anyone with our mad skills so we stayed on the DL (that's "down low," Mom) and hung out by the rusty handle bar and skated back and forth back and forth, back and forth.
Once we'd had enough putting everyone and their "oh so amateur" selves to shame, we decided to crawl back to the front and get off the rink, where we quickly relieved our sweaty ankles from the rented skates and walked down to the mini putt putt course.
We were too cool for those clowns anyway, putt putt was the way to go.

We quickly made our way thru 18 holes of some FAB U LESS golf. There were so many wrinkles in that astro turf, it had to be older than my Grandmother!!! And she's 97, God bless her. After almost getting hit in the head by some rebellious kids with no parents around to stop them from screaming "fore" at every mini putt putt hole and hail a golf ball towards our heads every single time they shot at the ball, we decided to head over to ski ball. Yeah, I was tired of that "whizzing" sound in my ear.

Liam proceeded to get a ball into the "10,000" hole 3 times in a row (You should've seen our faces each time he hit it).

After we picked our jaws up off the floor, I'll be ~~damned~~ darned if the alarms didn't start going off, bells were ringing, "winner" was popping up in lights and tickets were spitting out of the machine at us. 518 of them to be exact.

Then, in my excitedness (is that even a word?) I yell, "we won a new car!" in my best Bob Barker voice and the guy that runs the putt putt/ski ball room just looked at me and my Capri pants and gave me a one sided smirkish grin. I’m not sure if smirkish is a real word either but I digress. So, we're soooooooooooo excited and I, being the great mother that I am, am just beaming with pride for my little boy Liam...who I believe is so incredibly talented, he should break out and make SkiBall an event in the olympics so he can be declared Champion of the World...proudly escort my son up the uh hem, "prize" counter

..........only to see............a smooshy, spiky rubberish ball with what feels like a testacle on the inside of it that lights up...some cheap a** inflatable monkies, a pacifier, a PAC IF I ER!!! With blinking, neon lights...shall I go on?????????? Too bad he hits the jackpot in a place that has sh*t. literally sh*t, they had fake poo as a prize! What?!

The funny part of this whole story (Yes, it gets funnier!) is that I desperately tried to get a picture of us together with our skates to remember this momentous occasion. The best I got was a full length picture of Liam with me sticking my foot into the picture in the bottom left corner of the shot.