What’s worse than trying to herd cats?

Taking my 2-year old and, now 4-year old, bowling, that’s what.  I hope Porter had a fun birthday, because I feel like I’ve just finished the running of the bulls in Pamplona, and then been hit by a truck for good measure.  What a night!  I’m still amazed that among the 5 little boys, ages 5, 4, 3, 2 & 1, nobody broke any fingers or toes.  Between chasing down Walker, who thought it the height of hilarity to run in front of the people next to us as they were about to bowl, and getting Porter, who was giggling at the feel of the finger-dryer fan blowing up his shirt, to climb down off the ball return before having his fingers mashed to a bloody pulp, I actually managed to bowl a 133, which is pretty good for me.  Taking into account the one frame I flubbed because as I was about to let loose, our whole party yelled at Walker and I turned to see him falling on his can halfway down someone else’s lane, causing my ball to veer wildly in the wrong direction, I could have done even better.  So I guess the party was a success.  The mood of the evening was all summed up for me on the ride home when Porter says to Walker in the back seat, ‘En garde,’ and Walker shouts back, ‘No!  I’m guard!’  I can’t wait for teenagers.

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