Wednesday was a swing day—falling between the road trips of the first half of our vacation and the visit to Grandma & Grandpa's in Nova Scotia of the second half. We had some laundry and packing to do, but we didn't want to lose the holiday feeling (especially since Jeremy's Dublin plans fell through and he'd be heading back to work the next day). So we planned a nice in-city outing: our first ever family bowling game, lunch at St. Hubert's, and a matinee showing of Ice Age 3.
Now we'd heard that Sam is something of a natural at bowling. He went to the Walkley lanes with the Child Care Centre a few weeks ago and—after hesitating with ball in hand uttering "I can't do this" repeatedly—he went on to bowl an 83 and edge out the rest of "the seniors" (as the six-year-olds refer to themselves). Now, I know that 83 is a long way from setting any records, but I'll admit that it's a higher score than I got on our first Swing Day bowling game. Seriously, I demolish those pins. One. at. a. time. I seem to remember Jasmyn beating me at bowling ... when she was three. So I make the perfect competitor for newbies.
Nonetheless, Sam suffered a little "where's my beginner's luck?" jitters after the first couple of frames and more than a few gutter balls, and he tried to revert to his jokesy I'm-not-really-trying approach to sports and leisure activities. I'm afraid he inherited a little of his mother's If-I-can't-master-it-in-5-minutes-I'm-
not-playing attitude to same. Funny thing, DNA. But Jeremy and I struck the right note (I think) between coaching a good game out of him and making sure he was still enjoying every step up to the line. We made a ritual out of whispering our nuggets of simple advice in his ear, making it fun: "Hold the puppy!" we'd say, to mean cradle the ball evenly in his hands; or "Eyes on the prize!" for lining up his shot down the middle. And we made sure to wildly cheer each other on, each of us trying to get a strike or a spare to see the funny scoreboard movie (and not just to trounce the other). After a short pout—I think he really wanted us to see how good he could be—he came around on the whole team spirit thing and we had a blast. (For the record, I tweaked my style for the second game. A whopping 137 is the score to beat next time. Go, Mama!)
not-playing attitude to same. Funny thing, DNA. But Jeremy and I struck the right note (I think) between coaching a good game out of him and making sure he was still enjoying every step up to the line. We made a ritual out of whispering our nuggets of simple advice in his ear, making it fun: "Hold the puppy!" we'd say, to mean cradle the ball evenly in his hands; or "Eyes on the prize!" for lining up his shot down the middle. And we made sure to wildly cheer each other on, each of us trying to get a strike or a spare to see the funny scoreboard movie (and not just to trounce the other). After a short pout—I think he really wanted us to see how good he could be—he came around on the whole team spirit thing and we had a blast. (For the record, I tweaked my style for the second game. A whopping 137 is the score to beat next time. Go, Mama!)On the way out to the car, we stopped to play a Dirty Harry pinball game. Now Sam's never shown much interest in video games, beyond watching Daddy or Carter sink pirate ships or quest for something or other in the land of might & magic or whatever (ya, I don't pay much attention), but he has the makings of being a Pinball Wizard. He was entranced by the silver ball and made a few awesome shots (How do you think he does it? I don't know..). The role of luck in the whole thing appeals, I suspect. There are no "bad bounces" in X-box. Or maybe he was just born late, our little bowler /pinball player.
Chicken, yummy. Movie, funny. Then we hauled out the lilac suitcase and got to packing!
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