I don't know a damned thing about golf, professional or otherwise, so let's just say we're calling the kids "Annika (Sorenstam) and Rory (McIlroy): The Next Generation" and be done with it.
I especially don't know anything about miniature golf. I am an absolutely TERRIBLE miniature golfer. If my husband had ever taken me on a miniature golf date, he'd never have married me, because he would have seen my Agony of Defeat face, and it is not NEARLY as attractive as my Thrill of Victory face.
Of course, my Thrill of Victory fact isn't actually all that cute, either. Winning at Trivial Pursuit all the time ever has made me smug and unpleasant. And also AWESOME AT TRIVIAL PURSUIT, BOOYAH!
These pictures are additional testimonials to the [Midwestern City] Parks District, by the way. This is an absolutely GORGEOUS miniature golf course. It was close to 100 degrees out that night, but we hardly minded, with the nice breeze over the pond and the flattering light and whatnot.
Incidentally: I'm not sure that the kids are entirely ready for miniature golf, per se -- they didn't really get the "gist" of it -- but it was HIGHLY AMUSING watching them wave their putters around all-devil-may-care about whether or not they shot someone's eye out.
Someone's been watching the Masters in HDTV. I'm not saying who. Because it might be me. But I'm not going to lie: the weekend we got our "new" TV I laid on the couch and watched Tiger Woods at Pebble Beach all weekend long and I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I wasn't even drunk or anything.
This picture is just here because it's one of the few where my nephew is not the EXACT AND ENTIRE spit and image of my sister. But he's still related to me, because he looks like a very young (say, age 3½) version of my cousin Michael.
And this picture is just here because ... wow. Clearly, vacation agrees with her, right?