They're Heeere

Genius Golfer and The Boy got in very late Monday night.  apparently--and in contract to The boy's tests he sent me on their sojourn home, GG said they went to a golf course that was a little further outside St. George than the maps made it look--30 miles west into Nevada and about 30 miles south.  So it was on the outskirts of Las Vegas somewhere and based on the road they had taken, they made an educated--but hopeful--guess they could make it back to St. George for fuel before heading north and home.

GG wasn't even concerned--he said once he was snuggled into bed last night having woken me up when they got in.  I wonder if The Boy's concern was as serious as I took it.  Maybe he was just pulling my leg.  They both think I over-react anyway.  I could see them doing that.

I'm trying to be grateful they are both home safely and that we can all get back to normal and into the routine again.  But my clean house I have enjoyed for three days by myself is now splattered with travel debris and dirty boy stuff.  Yuck.

A Long and Winding Road

The Boy and Genius Golfer went to St. George for some get-away-golfing, and I suspect, some Mom-Free Guy time.  So when I got home from work today I texted them both to see when I should expect them and whether they'd want to eat dinner.  I didn't hear from either of them for a while.

Just a few minutes ago, The Boy texted back "Pray for us.  We might make it home by 11 tonight, or we could run out of gas."  (They took the Honda--our CNG car--for this trip becasue it was going to be cheaper to drive.)  When I asked him "What's wrong? Where are you?" he texted back they were in Nevada somewhere and if they needed to they'd call a tow truck.  I asked what they were doing in Nevada, and his answer was golfing.

Well.

If they got themselves into a mess because they just  couldn't quit golfing?!?!  I don't really feel sorry for them.  And more over, if this "tow truck" solution they came up with ends up being the option they use, I'm only guessing here, but I know it will be more money than a big week of groceries.  And I won't feel bad about that either.

Golfing cannot be this important!

New Kid on the Course

After getting the news that his IT band is almost completely torn, and therefore won't be able to kick for football anymore,The Boy has rebounded by making the high school Golf team.

And along with the team's expectation, his wardrobe has taken a dramatic turn for the better. (The camera was losing battery juice, so the flash wasn't cooperating....sorry for the dark photos).

 Hubba, hubba.  At least, that is what he thinks.

Genius Golfer's Brush With Local Greatness

This just in...from a few week ago.  I just hadn't written about it yet.

Genius Golfer played in a charity golf tournament in Provo a few weeks ago.  He played in a team of four--with other guys from his Men's Association.  I can't remember how well they did--they didn't win it outright, but they seemed pleased enough.  But the funniest part was the photo afterwards. 

That guy in the middle...in the blue shirt?  That is the legendary BYU football coach, LaVell Edwards.  He and his wife, Patti, were hosting the event for a children's charity.  And the gracious coach posed for photos with the teams as they finished.

GG, while he recognized that this was cool, he knew that I would be really excited to see the photo because of the the two of us, I am the big BYU football fan.  And LaVell is truly a legend, in Provo and the world of college football.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Yesterday we ditched The Kids (who each had a "cousins' camp out" with their respective genders at Gma's and Aunt Lori's places) and WE had a HOT date on the golf course --and I mean hot, it must have been 95 degrees (with more humidity than I am comfortable with at course)! Genius Golfer, certainly, is always ready to play any round and 9 holes is like a warm up to him. Well, it has been probably 3 years since I played an honest to goodness 9 hole round with him--or anyone else for that matter. The real clincher in this deal for me was GG promised me lunch at the clubhouse and a Diet Coke refill before we played.

We get there just before noon and head into the clubhouse grill. I ordered a cheeseburger and fries, and the requisite Diet Coke. I hadn't had breakfast, so the burger tasted great! Fries are simply a delivery method for fry sauce, as Dear Friend Micheale says, and this fry sauce wasn't up to snuff. GG ordered some steak sandwich and fries and we sat to wait.

Just as the grub makes it out to us, a Golf Course employee--I think GG called him Steve--rounds the corner and calls out "Morning, Mr. Genius Golfer". He then walked on to his assigned post in the pro-shop and I started chuckling. Loudly, and with greasy burger in my mouth.

Genius Golfer smiles and says hello in a nonchalant manner, still gripping his steak sandwich.

"MR.?" I asked my beloved husband as soon as I had swallowed, with not so subtle sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"Uh, well, yeah." He replies. Then he adds, trying to convince me of his position, "You know, I've been coming here for seven years and a lot of the same guys work here all the time. They get to know me." Now he is really starting to dig. "Plus, it is really no different than when you and your girlfriends go to The Barn. I am just a Regular Customer at the golf course."

I burst into audible giggles now. "Right," I assure him, "I get the R.C.-love factor here. But they do not call us Mrs. So-and-So at The Barn. We are on first name basis with our favorite burger joint employees." [Which, I know gentle readers, is actually pathetic in a greasy, cholesterol filled way.]

"Well," Dear Husband says, "He was just being professional."

That cracked me up all afternoon as I hacked the life out of my Nike Mojo ball. Genius golfer had a decent round, no surprise there, and we did enjoy an afternoon outdoors together. Good thing for me MY par for the course is 9 strokes at every hole. That gave me an overall score of 67--not a bad score for the pros, if I were playing all 18-- but I was 14-under par if you count my way.

Maybe I can call dear Husband, MR. Genius Golfer at home and I could get the same reaction as Steve! Nah. I'd probably have better luck just calling out "NORM!" when he walks into the kitchen each evening. Cheers!