This summer there was a house on the way to the pool with a disc golf basket set up in their yard. Every time we drove past, Benjamin would say, "Look at that! They have disc golf!" So disc golf had been on my radar since then, though it wasn't until I saw a set pop up during a big sale that I made the leap. It hid in our house for months, waiting for Christmas—with the big bonus being that Uncle Patrick was coming for Christmas (and Uncle Patrick is pretty much a professional frisbee player (like, he played and coached Ultimate Frisbee for years and years)).
I was fully committed to waiting for Christmas morning, until I saw the forecast for Christmas and Boxing Day was full of rain. Christmas Eve, on the other hand, was lovely and warm and...so I decided that it could be an early present and brought it out on Christmas Eve afternoon.
Uncle Patrick taught the kids (mine plus some from the neighbourhood) the rules of the game, and gave them some wonderful instruction on how to throw discs properly.
My understanding of the game is that it's essentially like...croquet...but with frisbees. Phoebe's understand of the game is that getting the frisbee into the basket is—for whatever reason—something to celebrate, and should thus be done as often as possible.
Here's Alexander, surprised at having scored!
And here's Phoebe getting ready to score again:
I don't even know if you say "score" in disc golf. Maybe you say "goal!" Who knows?
Here's Benjamin taking his shot:
And here's Rachel peeling apart some banana plant stems that Benjamin and his friend Reed chopped down the other day. Those strings were very fascinating—fibrous when we expected them to be sticky.
Here she is finally taking her turn:
Here's everyone coming down the hill to take their next shot:
Here's Benjamin ready to go:
And here he is doing his victory dance because he made it into the basket:
Here's Miriam taking her shot:
And doing her victory dance:
|Patrick and I in 2009
|Disclaimer: Here I was not actually resentful of Patrick, but obviously was feeling miserable for some other reason...
When he was older and was told how upset I was to have a baby brother rather than a baby sister, he resented the fact that I resented his existence (not realizing that by the time he was told the story that I was used to having him around and had no hard feelings about him as a person).
|This picture was even taken on my birthday—and I don't look too bummed about having a baby brother!