Southland Bowling

When my mom was in town, we went bowling. I grew up bowling at the BYU alley at least one Saturday a month with my family. Those were the days before bumper lanes or metal ramps for little kids or 8 pound balls. There were no shortcuts or easy frames. You just had to always do your best at tossing that ball straight down the middle, or a gutter ball would be your fate. Dad would help us perfect our technique (he took bowling at BYU and since so have many of my brothers) and always helped the younger ones roll the heavy ball down the lane.

When my dad's around, a competition is always a must and my dad usually ends up the winner. No wonder he likes to keep score. What a thrilled it was years later when I finally managed to get a higher score. My dad makes everyone earn it. Always.

I have so many happy memories spending Saturdays together with my family and I hope that my own children will one day look back on their youth and cherish the times we spent together. I know I do.

But for right now I am the lucky one, because I know the days of having my children close are limited and that knowledge help to keep me enjoying every second as I go. It makes the tears over a split frame, a quick kick from a brother to a brother because he got a better score, the anger for not getting a strike or spare all game or the memory of Brynn walking down the slippery lane towards her stopped ball while I was at the counter getting help and the panic that induced in the employee that saw her too worth all the drama.

Happy and sad. Good and bad. That makes up life. I know I'll remember it all, because that's what mothers do. But I think my children will remember the good, because it far outshines any brief down moments in between.