My husband, the local golf pro, thought it would be fun to plan a Jr. Golf Tour for the summer. He called some area golf courses and got them to agree to host kids ages 5-14. A local car dealership agreed to sponsor it to defray costs and provided gold, silver, and bronze medals for the kids.
Our oldest four have been participating and thoroughly enjoying it. I follow along with the three little ones in a golf cart and offer encouraging words and mosquito spray.
Since gas is so expensive and we had to travel to nearby towns, we offered the extra seats in our 15 passenger van to anyone who wanted to ride with us. One morning 2 moms and their little golfers met us in our driveway at 6:45 to get loaded and start on our way.
As we were getting everyone settled in their car seats and buckled in and then unbuckled to get a drink and then buckled in again and then unbuckled to potty and then buckled in again, I noticed that eerie feeling of someone staring at me.
I turned around and saw the two moms standing side by side, wide eyed and speechless. "What?" I said, "Do I still have some spit up in my hair?"
"No," one of the moms said, "It... just... feels like we're watching a reality show."
So, since my husband often breaks out singing this, we thought it might as well be our very own reality show theme song.