I've heard talk that kids keep you young, but I think that they are lying.

I’ve heard talk that kids keep you young, but I think that they are lying.
7 December 2007

Right, so I thought let me do something nice with the kids. The holidays had just started, it was the middle of the week - OUTING time. What about some lovely quality family time bonding over a game of putt-putt? So, no!!! I think it was singularly the two most miserable hours of my life - even less pleasant than giving birth or having a root canal. And I know, because I've done both - more than once.

Firstly there were the gale force winds. Let me just point out at this juncture that the putt-putt course is just behind the beach, so that on a mild day with a slight little breeze, a visit to the putt-putt course entails sand everywhere. On a gale force day it means being sand blasted everywhere!

Secondly approximately 3,07 seconds after we arrived, Amber (aged 5) spotted the expensive little cafe across the road and claimed starvation. She was suffering from hunger pangs and was convinced that a dizzy spell due to severe malnourishment was imminent. 

Thirdly we lost two balls – a near impossible feat. We searched the entire course, checked the kids pockets, my handbag, various orifices, etc. In fact it remains a mystery to this day.

After the 4th hole Cole (aged 3) gave up all pretence of using a golf putter and simply plopped the ball in the hole with his hands. By the 5th hole, Amber (whilst claiming faintness from hunger) said that she didn't like putt-putt anymore. I must emphasize that this is an eighteen-hole course and that Luke (aged 10) was just so bloody excited to be there. There was no way that we could pack up and go home. No food and drink is allowed in the putt-putt area, so I was subjected to intense whining the entire time from Amber. I am looking forward to her teenage years - I can't wait for her to start giving me the silent treatment. It would be merciful at this point.

To further spice up things, there are thorns everywhere - the nasty kind that sting even after you’ve pulled them out of your feet. Luke's favourite slops were threadbare, so he got poked quite a few times, which in turn caused lengthy stops in play to remove said offending thorns. Luke is also an oke for intense detail, so that when either Cole or Amber plays the occasional hole he was quite determined to count and get the exact number of shots it took them to eventually get the ball in the hole. Just to give you an idea - it took Amber thirty-seven attempts before she actually got the ball in the hole on the final green. No, I am indeed not kidding. Thirty-seven SHOTS!!!

So there we were at the windy, thorn-infested, starvation inducing putt-putt when Cole monkeyed around and fell. He was jumping about and playing when he fell – I am still not quite sure how he did this, but have noticed that he is rather prone to accidents of this nature – he tends to bump his head on the basin twice daily when he brushes his teeth! Back to our injury of the day – it would appear that he had put his arm out to stop his fall and got a thorn in his arm. Profuse bleeding! Okay so there were about 2 miniscule little drops.

Cole's theory is that if there is any blood whatsoever a plaster is needed immediately, as in post haste, as in RIGHT NOW! I am not quite sure why, because said plaster normally remains in place for approximately 11 minutes before he is overcome with a powerful desire to rip the offending plaster off, look at his "gaping" wound and declaring it miraculously healed. Kids - they keep you young they said.

Along with all 3 year olds Cole is a master at perseverance and to be honest he got me at a real low point. He can push those tears out accompanied by severe howling, at the drop of a hat. Just to recap, I was still suffering through Amber's prolonged declarations of starvation and Luke was practically bouncing about like a little puppy – eagerness personified, just dying to pick up where we had left off with the game. I plopped myself down on the 13^th hole (just had to be the 13th, hey?), emptied the entire contents of my handbag on said 13th hole and started rummaging for a plaster. And would you know it - not a plaster in sight.

After dutifully explaining my plaster-less dilemma to Cole, he verbally assured me that this was just not good enough. What kind of mother was I after all! Last resort? A sanitary pad. It had probably been in my handbag since before Amber was born and I had severe doubts about its adherence, but nevertheless I persevered, peeled off those non-stick goodies and clapped the bloody thing onto his arm. It was a miracle cure. Tears stopped, howling ceased, our game temporarily forgotten and hunger pains miraculously vanished for a short period of time. I fear that the group of teenagers just ahead of us will still be talking about this for years to come. It was a conversation-stopper for sure. And you know what? I really didn't give a damn.

The moral of the story is that the next time anybody suggests putt-putt again, I will just cut to the chase and stab myself with a butter knife or stick needles in my eyes. I am sure it will be less painful.

You know what is actually the worst about the whole outing? On the 18th hole Luke got a hole-in-one and was given a voucher for putt-putt.

Holy crap! Karma is a bitch!