Did someone say: "Nobel Peace Prize"?

( inspired by a comment left by Sweettooth in my purple post)

Let's face it...as awards go, the Nobel Peace Prize is certainly prestigious.

I mean, really, if you're going to win something, why not go for the big cheese, the head honcho, the top banana. Do I have any idea how to win the damn thing? Of course not (ooops, I hope I didn't say that out loud).

The other day, I began to think about awards I've won in my lifetime. I didn't play sports while growing up, so certainly no plaques or trophies for me. I have earned degrees. I've received letters congratulating me. But quite sadly, I couldn't think of one award I had received in all 50 years of my life.

Now before you pull out the violin and kleenex, let me tell you about my epiphany.

I was strolling through my family room, head hanging low I might add, realizing that I had not achieved what most people do at some point in their lifetime...an award...for something, anything.

When suddenly, I was struck by a vision. Hiding behind a stack of video tapes and dvd's was It!

My one and only award. Having put in on display 13 years ago, the years had gobbled it up with video tape and other various chachke's, leaving me to forget about it.

But there it stood, proud and erect; shiny, like the day I received it.

When my children were very young, I had been coerced into joining a "mom's" bowling league.

Of course, we never rolled on Shabbos (if you know the origin of that statement, I'll send you a bag of jelly belly's).

Every Friday morning, I 'd rush to Starbuck's for my caffeine fix, shine my ball, dust off my shoes...and bowl the hell against other mom's like myself.

We would bowl and bitch for two hours straight.

No kids (they were stuck in school), no husbands (just us girls), no obligations.

Admitting you bowl, is kind of like admitting you like Barry Manilow (which by the way, I do). It's one of those things when I was single, I never would have admitted on a first date...if I intended to have a second one, that is.

By that point, my husband had seen me give birth to two kids...I don't think joining a bowling league was going to faze him much. (Barry Manilow, maybe).

Each team was comprised of three women. We paid a fee, pooled money, and winnings were distributed at the end of the term.

Well, wouldn't you know, my team was amazing!!! We bowled our butts off. We went around kicking bowling ass. We were hot, bitchen...the "Belle's of the Bowl". Our team was appropriately named "the Ballbusters".

The season ended a few weeks before school let out...bringing to a halt a sense of weekly independence, power, and prowess. Each year, it felt a little sad to know, that our little corner of the world had to come to an end.

For eight months, we felt athletic (bowling actually uses muscles and burns calories...don't kid yourself), had a place to commiserate about child rearing, relationships, the latest neighborhood scuttlebutt, and where the next In and Out was opening.

I guess you could say, bowling was bonding. Who knew?

The season ended with a luncheon banquet and the passing out of awards for best bowling team, and of course, the monetary earnings.

We "Ballbusters" sat patiently as the awards were given out. First place, not us...but that was okay...second and third were within our grasp.

Second and third place were called...no Ballbusters.

We were devasted. How could it be? We had bowled our butts off (no easy feat for two Jews and an Irish woman).

We sat... our hearts pounding, our palms sweating...while there seemed to be one more award to be given.

"...and now for the worst team of the season...the award goes to...

"THE BALLBUSTERS!!!"

Cheers and applause consumed the room. I had done a spit-take with my diet coke.

What a moment. I had won an award. I could return home to my family that day, knowing that their mom was finally someone to be proud of.

The above picture is my award, my trophy, my Nobel Peace Prize...

...a woman bowler sitting atop a roll of toilet paper.

What I learned that day is this:

Bowling is all about getting the s#*t beat out of you by the other teams...

Apparently... we did just that.