“Oh crud!”
The car tires squeal when I turn hard left for the u-turn, as I once again take the wrong kid to the wrong activity.
“Momma, what are you doing?!” Sam shouts.
“She was going to the wrong place again.” Grant calmly states while looking out the window.
“Why didn’t you tell me I was going the wrong way?” I ask Grant.
“You’re the mom.” He states.
Yes, I’m the mom. I’m the sole administrative assistant for, count ’em, five people. I have to know where, when, and how each person is supposed to be at their designated recreational activity. Not to mention making sure they have clean underwear, haircuts, homemade lunches, and dinner in the oven.
Don’t get me started on the two dogs and two cows.
The kids have activities every day except Mondays. Oh, and school. Which has presented it’s own problem because I keep going to the middle school when I am dropping off Grant, and he is supposed to be at the Intermediate school the next block over.
I imagine next year when he is supposed to be at the middle school, I will finally remember to turn at the intermediate school.
Baseball practice, baseball games, youth group, my volunteer activities, and the newbie… shooting club.
No my friends, that is not a typo.
Grant’s new favorite hobby is 4-H shooting club. It’s like golfing….with guns.
The first drive there was interesting. Andy had been there many times for his own recreating, but I had never been to the shooting grounds before. The turn into the rock drive was easy enough, but then came the roller coaster hills under heavy tree canopies. A beautiful place, and strange in this area where most land is flat. Professional signs were places so often with course names engraved on them and golf cart paths leading away.
We finally made our way to the lodge and went in to place Grant’s name on the sign-in sheet. The owner assured us that as soon as the league moved out of the area, the kids could begin practice.
“Yep, like bowling.” She smiled.
Just like bowling leagues, on courses like golfers… but with guns.
At the end of practice, his shoulder is firey red from the kickback of the gun, but he claims it’s worth it. He could be sick as a dog but he will not miss practice. He may only hit five out of twenty-five targets, but he’s smiling the whole time.
I have searched for years trying to help Grant find the hobbies that interest him. The search has been challenging. Turns out, he’s going to be a trumpet-playing, tractor-driving, sporting-clay-shooting teenager.
Pray that I don’t get the shooting and baseball bags mixed up….