We started with some grub at iHop. Then headed off to Wallyworld for their lunch boxes. Which are not the lunchboxes I had in school. (I am bidding on the Partridge Family one on Ebay - with the thermos - now!)
Then off to Academy to choose a backpack. My Godson walks in and grabs the first one I say looks like a good one. So we have to pull back and see what kind of pockets and zippers and nooks and crannies it has. He doesn't care as long as it's not too girly or kiddy.
My Goddaughter? Well, it was as though she were pickling out a prom dress. We walked from one end of the store to the other.
Looking at labels and zippers and designs and whether the plaid looked better with her hair and whether the neon checked was too flashy. There was actually the need for a mirror and a backpack fashion show. Finally after about 10 minutes of looking and posing and twirling and discussion she choose this one (and that's the lunch box too).
Whew! Glad that was done. Now off to some recreation. The Boy and I enjoy bowling and had planned on a game or three after the backpacking shopping. The Goddaughter never goes bowling with us but said she wanted to go this morning. Okay great! How fun!
We arrive and buy an hour for the three of us ($50) and tell the nice woman behind the counter our shoe size. I ask them both if they want bumpers. (The Boy and I have long since stopped using them but the Goddaughter is just 11 and not as accomplished a bowler as we are.) She shakes her head 'no'.
The Goddaughter puts on her shoes and tells me they are too small. "Get a bigger size" I tell her. She does. The Boy and I take the balls to the lane and he starts setting up our names. The Goddaughter tells me the new shoes are too small too. "Get a bigger size" I tell her again. We do this two more times. Then she says her socks are wrong. I can't do anything about the socks. She starts to do the pouty Tween face. And the induction of the Godmom to the "I am not having a good time and you are mean for not making life perfect all the time, so I will make everyone miserable for the next hour" 11 year old girl has begun.
She walks up to the foul line with a ball she has already told me is too heavy for her (it's the lightest one the alley has), turns and announces she doesn't remember how to bowl. I ask her brother to show her thinking it would be good for them to kinda do this together.
The Goddaughter is left handed but she grips the ball with her right hand. When I inquire as to her lefthandedness she tells me she can't grip things with her left hand and proceeds to throw a gutter ball. She whirls! She glares at me and stomps off in her ill fitting shoes and socks and slams her 60 pounds into a seat in the adjoining lane. Back turned, shoulders slumped, knees pulled up to her chest.
I explain that she has another ball to throw. She walks up and drops the ball on the lane and walks away. I figure I'll walk over and give her a pep talk. Tell her I'd like to help her learn how to bowl properly and make it all better in her "I won't do it if I'm not good at it immediately" world.
BUT NO!
She takes off for the bar area and as I follow she takes off for the Women's restroom. I tell her brother to go ahead and bowl his turn and I follow her. As I enter the bathroom she is just closing the stall door.
"Are you going to bowl with us?" I ask. There is no answer. "You can't sit in here all day. I will be happy to show you how I learned." No answer. "Fine. Sit in here and pout. I am going to go bowl and have fun. Come back when you want to try." And I left her sitting in the stall being mad at all things Godmom and bowling related.Back to the lane and my turn. I tell The Boy we'll not wait for her (we are limited on time) and we don't. Finally after a while she comes trudging back from her self imposed bowling exile. I ask her if she wants to bowl. She shakes her head no and throws her self defeated body into the seat in the next lane again. I go over and tell her she cannot sit there because someone else may need to use it and she will have to come sit with us. She glares at me as though I am stopping her from breathing and doesn't move. I get stern and tell her she will move or I will call her mother to come get her. As she shuffles back to our lane seats she complains the shoes don't fit. I tell her we can fix that. She tells me the ball is too heavy.
I tell her I can't get her a lighter ball but I can make it easier to bowl without having to throw it like her brother and I. And I proceed to use my next frame to show her how my dad taught me. The "granny shot" of bowling. I did pretty good this way actually.
She picks up her too heavy ball and slumps up to the foul line and throws it from her midsection, pivots on her heel and plops down again. I'm starting to lose patience. She's not even trying and I can't stand that.
"Have you quit? Are you going to quit? As smart and bright as you are and you're gonna quit? Really? You won't let me show you, you won't let me help you and you won't try the way I have shown you. It will work if the ball is too heavy for you. Wow! I never thought I'd see you just give up." And I turn to bowl my frame.I feel bad as I notice she starts to cry. But in my world you can't just quit when there are people trying to help you. You can't think that everyone around you has to stop doing what they are there to do to make your world all roses and candy when you won't even try and be part of the fun. Even if you don't want to bowl, you can't sit there and make everyone around you miserable because you realize you cannot be the center of attention 100% of the time. And no, you can't have money for the video games when you decide you don't want to participate in the event you said you would come with us to do. If you don't want to play the game we came to play and you agreed to play then you can sit and watch us have fun. The Boy and I bowled with our usual high fives and groans and ribbing and laughed and bowled two of the worst games we've ever bowled. And The Goddaughter sat there and sulked. (Yep, this is the actually incredible sulk.)
Finally as The Boy and I were finishing up our second game the lump on the lane said she would like to try it with bumpers. I think she had seen that we weren't THAT good and we were still having fun. Or maybe that I was constantly helping The Boy make his technique better and maybe I wasn't so mean after all. But what I really think is that she realized I was done giving her attention for throwing immature fits and crying and stomping off and smirking and sneering and being selfish about getting her way all the time.
Now the only way to be the center of attention again was to participate and let me show her how to bowl.
I showed her how to walk up to the fowl line properly and how to give the ball some speed by swinging her arm instead of just dropping the ball. She asked if we could add another hour of time. "No", I said. We had already played all the time I had money for today. She skipped off all happy in her tween world. What she had accomplished in her head I don't know.
But I know what I accomplished. I lived through the initial charge of the sullen pre-teen.
