Tee Time Equals Me Time

I've got a two minute window to type our "hello." Miles is sitting, yes- sitting, in my lap just waiting to holler for attention. His diaper might me moderately moist and his tummy is gurgling for an afternoon snack. We just wanted to share the news that mommy has found a new escape. With all the crazy developments in our lives- a little vacay time is needed. However, vacay time and means is not currently in the picture. Now, I've tried all fun things to brighten my spirits- new hair colors, retail therapy, Guitar Hero marathons (naps permitting). Sadly, those sources of entertainment are fleeting and often leave my head an awkward shade of orange. However, this weekend I found a new, true source of Zen on a driving range. YES- golf is my new therapy. Never have I ever swung any type of club in my 28 years, but you wouldn't have known it. I owned the 2 iron- and by owning I mean I could launch that tiny ball an average of 175 feet- consistently and in a straight line. I am hesitant to bandy about the term phenom, since golf simply runs on both sides of my family. This is more like manifest destiny. Before each swing, I would empty my thoughts, focus on my posture, review the lengthy proper swing checklist, and relax my mind. And by Jove, it paid off in spades. After Jesse and I shot a collective 200 balls, I professed that golf is better than. . .well, you fill in the blanks. Obviously, that last proclamation is a bit of an overstatement, but I truly haven't felt that good in weeks. In swinging that 2 iron, I was able to block out my constant nagging fears of Miles' upcoming operation, the dread of learning new bad news based from the MRI, and all other related bad mojo, since fear is trying to be my unwelcomed but constant companion. My second thought, after learning how awesome golf really is, was- we need to find a set of infant clubs so Miles and I can hang at the range all day. One would think the appeal of the driving range is releasing pent up anger by smashing those balls with all your might. For me, the experience is not an exercise catharsis. Transversely, hitting those balls is a form of meditation. I can focus on my form, and ignore all else around me. Granted, if I can score baby clubs for Miles, I promise not to ignore him. He'll just have to hang out in the Baby Bjorn when it is my turn to swing. His added weight should add some help ground my back swing.