Conversations With Mom, Part II of III...

We've been calling my mom each week lately, to tell her that there's nothing to tell her. This is so she won't worry. Or won't worry as much anyway.

Over the weekend we had the opportunity to go bowling. With other people, no less. This is amazing progress on the social front. I am really liking the church we've been going to lately (the slightly more churchy one), and we seem to be hitting it off well with the Cool Couple and the small group they lead. I can't speak for the Cat Daddy, and I'm afraid to make anything official, lest something change (because heaven forbid something change and I have to give an update) and we get stuck church hunting again...but we just might have found our church here. Maybe.

Last week we were invited to the small group and had a lovely time sitting in a circle and talking about spiritual things, and then this week it was bowling night. We were invited back, which I took as a very good sign. I think all but the Cool Couple are military folks, so we smuggled them in & went to the bowling alley on base, where it's a buck a game on Sundays. Nice. They have Fat Tire Ale at the base bowling alley, so the Cat Daddy asked the group leader "Any concerns among the group with my having a beer?" to which the leader replied, "Probably not, the other guys are over getting some now." Another very good sign. I don't drink beer, but it's nice to know I could and my spiritual status wouldn't be in question.

My only concern with bowling was the sore state of my hips, and frankly the concern was well-placed. When all was said & done I was quite sore, and gimped my way home, whining pathetically about how the belly needs to go away so my ligaments can tighten up again and I can stop feeling all noodly and klutzy.

So back to Mom...in the process of sharing nothing new we mentioned the bowling. And the beer (just to freak her out a little bit). The responses to both were equally entertaining.

Regarding the bowling: "Oh Skerrib, does your midwife know you were bowling?"

Me: "Well, she's been encouraging me to be active as long as I'm not hurting myself, and bowling is pretty low-risk so I think she'd be pleased."

Mom: "But what if your fingers got stuck in the holes or you tripped and fell forward and got dragged down the lane by the ball?"

Me: A moment of careful, contemplative silence, followed by "Because that happens all the time so I can see how it would be a concern for me now."

Mom: "It could happen."

Me: "Well, I was very careful to choose a ball where the holes were big enough for my fingers, and I did take it easier than normal, and I managed to make it through the night without falling, so I think it all turned out alright." (I didn't tell her that the guys were poking fun because every time I let go of the ball it made a little "Pop!" as my fingers were leaving the holes)

It's conversations like these that give me amazing insight into some of my quirks. There is no doubt, regardless of nature or nurture, from whom I inherited my propensity to worry.

Regarding the beer: "You drank beer at a church function?!?!"

Me: "He drank a beer at the bowling alley, yes."

Cat Daddy: "Hey, Jesus turned water into wine."

Mom: "That was actually grape juice."

Me: "No it wasn't." (debating how far to get into that can of worms)

Mom: "That's what the Duggars' pastor said."

Us: "He's wrong." (not very far, it turns out)


Me: "Besides Mom, I had root beer, so don't worry."

Mom: "Well..."