B- Roll

Song: Born This Way: Lady Gaga

*My apologies for disjointed photo configuration, getting the pictures up took 3 un-thankable hours and this is the result. Editors please apply:) Continue to scroll ALL the way down. :D


I'm here!  I can't believe it's been three weeks since I've posted. My innards were churning. What's an innard? Who cares. I feel disappointed with myself when I procrastinate which only leads to more procrastination. Does this happen to you? Vicious cycle. But I'm breaking it. Ta-night:) I can't believe we've gotten almost 600 views since last post?...12, 744 to 13, 266.  Well, I haven't been doing math...but that seems about awesome. Thank you!

Wonder where I have been? Take three guesses? Times up. Bowling. Yep, yep, you heard right. Our little Henry-who has become a legit Hank-is obsessed with bowling. Bowling and Hank? They go together. Bowling, Hank, chances of a posh girlfriend? Slim odds there. But hey, I can live with that;) I'm betting I'd rather live with that.

A word on Hank.

His head was smaller than this flower

I remember some Crazy Lady said to me during the first week of my most beautiful, glorious sons life, "So, what's a nickname for Henry?" Then before I could offer up Harry as wanted, she shouted and cackled,  "Hank!" She might as well have taken a pocket knife to my babes angelic cheek. My upper lip curled under into a face that said, I will chew you. "Sure, as long as I can call your kid Carpenter Crack?" I asked. She looked defeated, but just to make sure I was clear (and crazier than she was)  I added, "Henry is never going to be Hank." Hi nuts! Hi. Hi hormones! How are you today? Making friends as usual? Yep. Nope.

Never say never. Although I can't say I'll get it monogrammed on his lunch box, Hank is who he seems to be. What a lesson there. She who was Crazy Lady now appears to be a prophet. He loves it. He calls himself Hank, he sings to himself, "Hey Hankie, Hankie, I'm calling your name." It's the cutest thing I've ever never thought I'd want to hear. The more I see him operate in the world, that he is Hank makes perfect sense to me. He knows his own mind (bulldozer.) He curls his hair down like Elvis. Plus he's OBSESSED with bowling. There's lots more about him on top of those three that feel more Hank-ish than Henry...I don't even know where we got Henry from? Oh, yes, I was leaning on Harry and Danny thought, being half-Persian and hairy he had a good chance of being called Hairy Harry, so he picked Henry. By our third child, I'd seen the many sweet offspring of our friends and family. I learned we fall in love with the baby not the name. Whatever name he picked we'd love. Plus, I was really into The Tudor's then Henry VIII and all that. Sure, I'll have a King. What's in a name? Yet, would a Hank smell as sweet? (*See Shakespeare. Knowledge drop.) I wasn't sure. Hence, nipping Crazy Lady in the bud.

Back to Bowling

begging to bowl

Santa Claus made Henry a set of plastic bowling pins for Christmas. It was clear they were from Santa's workshop because they were synthetic and made in China. He's been bowling ever since. He carries the pins with him everywhere. Any part of the house is a bowling alley; the stairs, the basement, the bathroom and his favorite-my bed. When he's not bowling all over the house-he's watching himself bowl on my phone from the videos I take. If he's not watching himself bowl, he's virtually bowling on the WiiU.  First choice however, is the bowling alley-RVC Lanes, in Rockville Centre. That's our jam. He asks to go everyday. If I say not today, he transforms into Hankenstein. How can I who has so little at stake here at home deny Hank his crown? How important are my daily tasks, my piddling aspirations? VERY. MOST. VITAL.

aw, c'mon, my bowling! 

We are there 4x a week. I told him it was closed on Fridays. Last Friday, I woke up to him curled up around my face, gently brushing the hair off of my forehead, shaking his head sympathetically side to side. He was saying, (in his perfect english with a strong east Asian accent speak,) "Mama, I'm sorry, it's Friday, bowling is closed today, I'm so, so, sorry Mom." He had tears in his eyes. For me! I wanted to come clean. I wanted to sing to the tune of Evita, "Don't cry for me Argen-Hankenball, I lied about Friday's, it's actually not only open... but half price!" Instead I re-decided that another day at the alley would break me.  So I kept mum. Can you say "selfish, lying dream squasher"? Well, don't say it to me. I can't imagine even one of you larvae doing three days in a row in any alley, no less four, unless it had fake handbags in it. Huh? Who am I talking to? Forgive me. Momentary lapse.

works every time! 

notice anything? like my strike?!

I can carry my own balls!

Strike! 

Holding a real pin! 

Bowling bag

Selfies!

Summer leagues! 

Waiting with the Senior Birds

How sweet, my little Hank. Ugh, he breaks my heart.  On Thursdays RVC Lanes has a senior group, the Senior Birds play every lane until noon. Hank was verging on Hankenstein. He'd wanted to bowl since 6am. Just when I thought he was going to knock an 86 year old man out with a bowling ball to the knees, he turned to me and said, "Mama, I'm SO HAPPY TO BE WITH MY BOWLING!"Anybody at any age being that sincere, that passionate, that loving breaks me up- but my baby at almost three desperate for bowling? Knowing that all that Friday means is "bowling is closed." Come on. Who turned on the lights?

I love to dream but I never dreamed I'd be spending huge chunks of time in a bowling alley. Never once. Even as the mother of three boys-I figured the odd birthday party, a rainy Saturday. But as a sport? Nein. I guess I figured lacrosse, soccer, football, well not really. I'm not a fan of standing or sitting sideline on athletic fields in general, cold, windy, portable chairs? Other parents? No, not my bag. I must have blocked that out with the use of spiritual books by Eckhart Tolle. Staying in the now is swell for denial. Puppet theatre! Music! Costumes! I'd likely not get a shot at my artsy fartsy things. Hiking! Surfing! Skiing! Skate parks! Those I could get down with! However, I gotta say, I loved football with my eldest because he did. And now I love bowling. I'm a bowling mom. It's warm in there. It's rather anonymous, for now, no teams (leagues?), no traveling. Everyone there knows him, they call his name, welcome us. Then they throw up the guard rails, set him up with a dragon toddler ramp, put his name (Hank) up on the board and disappear. I sit at one of four swivel seated chairs attached to a table. Hank pushes the ball down the dragons back hurling toward a strike. And he's happy. And I'm happy. We heart RVC Lanes. The music's playing, the pins are crashing. Free Wi-Fi. No one cares or knows if you're there. But what makes RVC Lanes so special is the people behind the counters. They are so nice. I recently saw an article in Newsday where the owners have even dedicated a spot for teens to hang out with flat screens, wi-fi, and comfy couches. Check that out. *We are gone by then so no worries on killing the cool factor guys...

Set from TheLandofNod.com ($60)

I figured he'd be over bowling in a week. Well, wrong again. His enthusiasm has never waned. Over the full length of the winter-(a substantial period considering 30 minutes usually counts as a career), he managed to dent every plastic pin so they now share the appearance of starched tube socks. Thick and white at the bottom-two circles of red tape at the top. Hankie earned himself an upgrade. The Land of Nod.com did not disappoint. What a set. He's more dedicated than ever. Hank. The name is just as sweet. Love to spare;)

Happy son, happy mom:) xx