The Mini Golf Redemption Tour

I had an ass-kicking afternoon today, even though it started out entirely mundane.

Sometime in the afternoon, I noticed the pantry was sad. The fridge was sadder. I normally would ignore this and hope Husband saw it first. But tomorrow I’ll be seeing patients back-to-back until our next house guests arrive. And these aren’t just any houseguests, they’re the kind that eat all the food, drink all the drinks, and make you laugh so hard you pee your pants (maybe that’s just a midlife-mom-of-three thing).

These are the friends who, when Husband and I were struggling with our oldest, and by extension, with each other, offered to take in our two-year-old and thirteen-year-old for a weekend so we could reconnect. They didn’t just offer. They sent a calendar invite. They took our toddler to the zoo, read him stories, let him eat cookies for breakfast, and sent us a highlight reel of their weekend so we could rest without guilt.

When I say “friends,” I mean it in the deepest, truest sense.

Usually they host us. They’re open-door, stay-as-long-as-you-like people. So this time, I wanted to return the favor. Not with anything fancy (let’s be real: I’m not putting on pants with buttons for anyone), but with food in the fridge and thoughtfulness in the details.

So even though I didn’t want to leave the house, I dragged myself off the couch to head to Kroger. And because misery loves company, I roped my oldest into coming with me. He was between work shifts, his girlfriend had just left, and he was bored enough to say yes.

There was one catch: I needed to make a detour to the lakeside gift shop. You know, the kind with pastel T-shirts and wooden signs that say things like Life is better at the lake. But more importantly, they sell fudge. And one of our friends loves fudge. Me too. It’s kind of our thing.

On our way there, my son, nineteen years old, mind you, suggested we play a round of mini golf. At first I blinked. Our six-year-old was at camp, so this wasn’t a “let’s all go do something fun as a family” moment. But then I remembered: he’s leaving for college soon. Across the country. So of course I said yes.

We had played at this same course before, years ago. Back then, he was in the middle of a mental health spiral I didn’t yet understand. He was younger, more fragile, and fiercely competitive. Mini golf could wreck his entire day if he didn’t win. By extension, it could wreck my entire day too. But I didn’t know how to say no then. I didn’t know how to hold boundaries or see what was underneath the frustration when he missed a putt. I don’t remember the specifics of that particular game, but mini golf traditionally ended in tears, his and mine. Today, though, was different.

We’ve both done the work. A lot of it. We are both still doing the work.

So we played. And it was close. He started out ahead, and I played my role as the dejected loser. We laughed our way through a few holes. Then I pulled ahead. I teased him. He teased back. At one point, when he reclaimed the lead, I reminded him of something I used to say when he was little and spiraling after a loss: The best part of competing with your kid is you always win. If I win, I win. If you win, I get to be proud of you. Win/win.

But then, surprise twist, I pulled ahead in the final two holes. I was the undisputed mini golf champion of the day (okay, of the two of us, but still). I looked at him and said, “I changed my mind. The only way to win is by winning.”

He rolled his eyes in that soft, affectionate way teenage boys sometimes do when they love you. And then he grinned. He was proud of me. Of us. And no one fell apart.

We capped the afternoon with a stop at the kitschy arcade nearby, where we racked up tickets just shy of useless and walked out with two rubber duckies and four lollipops. Then finally, we made it to Kroger, where we filled our cart for the fun weekend ahead.

And now, as I sit here, finally still for the first time since getting back home, I keep thinking about that game of mini golf. Not because I won (although, let the record show: I did). But because I won something much bigger.

I got to spend time with my son, and it was joyful and unguarded time. We laughed. We played. We connected. I was preparing for a weekend with people who have walked us through our darkest seasons, and I was doing it alongside a kid I used to worry might never feel joy again.

I may have won mini golf. But what I really won was the day.