Buffy the Golf Ball Slaya.
Oklahoma. Land of waving wheat, tornado alley, buckle of the Bible belt, and where golf courses reign supreme. Also where chickens run free and coon dogs bay all night – but that’s a different post.
I packed collared shirts for the boys this trip. I am like a freakin’ Eagle Scout when it comes to their preparedness…but mine? Meh. My sister had to outfit me. And though she looked at me a little alarmed when I insisted on the full treatment, she fulfilled my wildest dreams for golf attire. I was decked out in a white golf skirt, pink sleeveless and collared golf shirt, 3/4-length sleeved brown cardigan, and…yes wait for it…a golf visor. I was totally Buffy the Golf Ball Slaya. Sorry. The only evidence is via Instagram. I’m “mpantier”, if you’d like to follow me there.
Sadly, though, my big ol’ feet had to keep it real in flip flops, so I stayed outside while she sneaked out keys for two golf carts.
She even brought me my own set of golf clubs, but I didn’t use them. I had to corral my children.
The 6yo had his own set with which to make divots, and he set to it straight away.
My sister nearly had a heart attack and started teaching him the ways of golf.
He did a pretty good job, seeing as this was his first time out. But oh boy howdy (that’s Oklahoman for “holy sh*t!”) did he EVER want to bust out some Happy Gilmore action on those golf balls.
Someone shorter took that cue as well.
Hang on a sec. Let’s take a closer look at some new freckles, courtesy of a glorious and sunshine-y week.
Gosh I love that face.
And this one.
He scampered away at one point and started this weird snowboarding side gallop down the rolling parts of the course.
And then he ran away, forgetting my sly trick of letting out the waistband of his shorts a little bit, because it makes him slow down to pull his britches (that’s Oklahoman for “pants”) up.
I tempted him back toward me with a golf bat. Stick. Club. Whatever.
You know, playing golf is not only about just playing golf.
Sometimes, the phone falls out of the cart…perhaps due to some serpentine driving while trying to fling your child from said cart.
Sometimes there’s some freestyle movement.
And other whatnot.
And then other times, you actually hit the Mother Lode. Like a whole tree full of helicopters. A whole tree!!!
You’re very welcome, Oak Tree Country Club. We single handedly re-populated your pretty golf course with helicopter trees. Thanks for leaving the seeds out for us. :)
Time well spent, it was.
Please repeat that last line in your best Yoda voice.
And P.S. I hope we get invited back…