Ahhh, Holiday Illumination.
My social media feeds are brimming with pics from family and friends of various things all lit up in seasonal celebration.
In the city, the botanic gardens and the zoo create magical glowing winter wonderlands that (for the price of admission,) you can wander through while enjoying a hot beverage to ward off the chill. Flowers made of super fancy lights, visiting the elephants down a walk way of red and green twinkles….
Lovely.
In the ‘burbs they string a shit-ton of twinkle lights on every surface of the mini-golf course and you go walk around in there and maybe play a few holes.
I am not even joking people.
But here’s the thing – Jr LOSES HIS TINY MIND WITH GLEE over Christmas lights. He freaks out over blow up Santas and glowy manger scenes and reindeer made of wire cages and lights that move their necks back and forth so. dang slow. Loves it all.
In a town where some of the best-known house displays cause traffic backups that start an hour before the owners even fire the damn things up, wandering around the putt-putt with a cup Irish Coffee and a few friends while he checks out some lights up-close-and-personal sounds WAY better than inching through subdivisions in a line of minivans trying to tune the radio to the “listen to a display” station.
Why not, right?
Off we went, wandering over the Astroturf past windmills and tiki heads and volcanoes covered in endless strings of every type and size of holiday light you could ever hope to encounter, all the way to the back of the course, laughing and chatting with our friends while their daughter (older and wiser at 5, and a full-fledged “big kid school Kindergarten” attendee,) protected Jr from the features that he found too loud/fiery/big/etc.
All was well. And then I heard this: “I have to go potty. NOW!”
Jr is about 98% potty trained. He takes his “dry day” record very seriously. There was no way we could have an accident now. I shoved my glass at The Mr while he stammered about if they should all come with us or……
“I don’t care, we gotta go, we will find you!!” I yelled over my shoulder as I grabbed Jr’s hand and started snaking backwards against the flow of golfers and wandering families, apologizing with “SO SORRY – POTTY EMERGENCY!!!” as we ran though player’s putts.
Soon Jr was shouting it too – “POTTY EMERGENCY!! POTTY EMERGENCY!!!!” as his little legs reached speeds never before achieved.
At the beginning of the course we spotted the sign for the restrooms. Following the arrows we circled around by Santa’s makeshift workshop, behind the snack shack, and waaaaaaaayyyyy down a path at the exact opposite of where we had started the trek and into the brightly lit bathroom. I hoisted him up on the “giant toilet, mommy!” and he looked at me with relief “I can’t believe I actually made it all the way!” he exclaimed.
It’s a Christmas Adventure Golf Miracle, Jr.
God bless us, every one.
Reluctantly Suburban 