So it was "Boy's Weekend". Melanie had a writer's workshop in Utah last Saturday and I was entrusted with the care and handling of our boys from Friday night to Sunday morning. We all survived. But one got seasick, one got sunburned, and one got some poopy pants (boy, was I embarrassed about that!!!)
But before I go any further, let me plugged my wife's new website, melaniejacobson.net, which links to her new blog. In her blog, you can read all about her great time at the writer's conference.
Ok, back to the Sunburn, the Seasick, and Senor Poopypants...
But before I tell you that story, I have to tell you this story...
Last October, James had one of those little boy kind of dream days. The kind of day that I would think would live in his memory banks forever. He got up in the morning and went fishing off the dock with Grampa. They caught nothing; not even a cold. After that, his cousin Cole, partner-in-crime, favorite and best-friend, came over to play. It was one, never ending conversation of explosions, farts, fort-building, dumb girls:
"There's this girl in my class who thinks two plus two is seven!"
"Ha, ahah, ahah. She's dumb! What does she think one plus one is?"
"Five!"
"Ha, ahah, ahah. She's dumb! What does she think four plus one is?"
"Eleven!"
"Ha, ahah, ahah. She's dumb! What does she think three plus three is?"
Repeat twenty to thrity times.
Honestly, I'm not exagerating.
So after a couple hours of them playing around the house, I took them to Knott's Berry Farm.
"Can we go on that rollercoaster?" James asked pointing to the big wooden rollercoaster.
"It doesn't look very safe," said Cole.
"I don't think you're tall enough," I said.
"What about that one?" Again, pointing to some other huge gnarly rollercoaster.
"I don't think you're tall enough," I had to repeat.
"What about that one," Cole said pointing to the most benign ride in sight.
"???," James stared at Cole.
After completing the pirate treasure hunt and finding a few tame rides that Cole and James could compromise on, James spied "La Revolucion". It looked like a Tuskeegee experiment to me. Round and round and round on a giant wheel which simulaneously rocked back and forth. I'm getting a little woosey right now just think about it.
"That doesn't look very safe," Cole warned.
"Fun!"
"James, you might be going this one alone." I said.
"I'll go with him", Cole said.
"Wow," I thought, "the power of peer pressure".
What I found out in a few minutes was that Cole actually meant to say "I'll go with him....in line...until it's time for him to get on the ride by himself."
"Boy, that just does not look like fun," I confided to Cole.
"James thinks it's fun."
"Yeah, we'll see..."
I saw the mouth-frozen-open stare of panic on his face. I looked away. Not because I couldn't bare to see my boy in the death-grip of mortal fear, but because I was getting carsick just watching him. I smiled to myself. I thought for sure this ride would cure the boy of his 8 year daredevil bravado. What seemed like twenty minutes later, the ride finally came to a hault.
He ambled over to us like a drunken sailor.
"Can I go again?" he asked.
Foiled!
"No, we should find another one we can all go on."
So we finished off with the log ride...three times in a row!
Next on the list of fun was the Cerritos First Ward Halloween Party. This was a staple of my childhood. The annual ensign of Fall (since weather is hardly an indication of the passing of seasons in Southern California). Scones with honey butter, bean bag tosses, the fishing wall. The fishing wall is the one where you have the stick with a string with a clothes pin at the end of the string. You cast it over the cardboard wall and behind the wall, someone attaches a grab bag full of candy and toys to your clothes pin. I still get excited just thinking about it.
So James and Cole ran around the Culture Hall with the other four dozen other crazed children, all hopped up on candy and youthful zeal.
I enjoyed visiting with old friends and showing off my beautiful pregnant wife. I was pleased that I was able to prove to this community that helped raised me, that I'd finally done good.
As per Jacobson family tradition, we stayed behind and to help with the clean up. It was ten o'clock when we finally pulled out of the parking lot. Melanie asked the boy, "Did you have a good day?"
"Yep."
"What was your favorite thing?"
He thought about it. I was truly curious. All day with Cole? Knott's Berry Farm? Halloween Party?...
"Fishing," he said.
"Fishing?!?!" I thought. "Did I not suffer through hour upon hour of innane 8 year conversation?!? Did I not lay down good money and the stability of my stomach at the alter of might Knott's Berry Farm? And what about the Halloween Party?!?! I still remember my own 8 year old experience at the Cerritos First Ward Halloween Party to this day! I was a lion...I think... Fishing! You didn't even catch anything!!!!" Of course, this all took place in my head....
So anyway, like I said, I told you that story to tell you this one. And now that you understand James's fishing obsession...
James is only with us for two more weeks before he goes to his Dad and Stepmom's in San Francisco for the Summer, so I wanted to treat him to the most fun experience he could have. So I called my dad and asked if he could take us fishing on his boat. I figured if fishing off the dock and catching nothing is one of the greatest experiences of his short life, then fishing off a boat and actually catching fish would possibly blow his mind apart. To add to the blowing apart of his mind, I also invited Cole (and his dad, Bob, of couse). I have to admit, I was a little concerned about the extent of the blowing apart of his mind from so much fun, but I was willing to take that risk.
We met Bob and Cole at Carl Jr.'s for some pre-fishing breakfast, but Cole and James were too tired to get into 8-year-old-annoying mode. We got to my parents, loaded up the boat and were off. James and Cole immediately headed down into the small cabin to mess around. We occasionally warned them to come up for fresh air or else they were going to get seasick, but to no avail. After getting live bait at the one of the floating bait "boats", we found a spot near the breakwater jetti and drop anchor. We bait up Cole's hook and then I go to bait up James's.
"I don't want to use the live fish," he said.
I could tell he was squeamish about harming an animal. And I could sympathize with that. But I just answered matter-of-fact, "That's the only was you're going to catch anything."
I baited his hook and within seconds he was content.
I baited mine and walked to the bow. I laid down on the cushion, pole in hand, and prepared for a nice relaxing nap. After about ten minutes, though, I thought I felt a tug. I figured it was my bait just swimming around, but I reeled in anyway. I stared at the fish on my line trying to determine if I had actually caught a fish, or if it was just my bait. After about 10 seconds of inspection, I determined that I had caught a slightly larger fish than what I'd started with. I called out:
"I caught a slightly larger fish that what I'd started with!"
I brought it to the stern where everyone else was, and they all confirmed it was, indeed, a slightly larger fish than what I had started with.
I had Bob snap a cell phone picture of my with my catch (just in case it was my only catch of the day) and decided to leave him on as bait for an even larger fish. Perhaps Fish 3.0 would be big enough to eat!
After that Cole caught one, Bob caught one, Cole caught another one, my Dad caught one, and Cole caught a stingray. But James, as yet, caught nothing. I felt bad for him. At this point he declared that he felt sick and didn't want to fish anymore. He went down into the cabin to rest. Within in minutes, Cole followed to keep him company.
I knew he wasn't sick of fishing, he had started to complain about being seasick after the bait boat. We advised him once again to come up and breathe in the fresh air. But James can be a little stubborn, and he stayed in the cabin.
But now, he was really looking unsettled and nauseous.
My Dad, Bob, and I kept fishing. My dad felt a tug on his line, "I think I might have something. Should we get James, so he can reel it in?"
"Why don't you reel it in and make sure something it there. If you have something, then let it back out and we'll call James over and reel it back in."
"Good Idea."
But there was no fish.
My dad rebaited, and caught something again.
Oh, by this time, I had given up on catching a bigger fish, so I reel in the slightly-bigger-fish-than-the-one-I-started-with to let him go. By this time he was a little "tired" and so when I threw him back in the ocean, he decided to "rest" a little on the surface before swimming back home. His fatal error in judgement was to rest shiny-silvery-belly-up. Within seconds a seagull came and swooped him up. That scene was repeated with about half the fish we ended up catching. And then there was the end of the fishing adventure, when the boys threw all the bait fish back into the ocean. With the exception of maybe a lucky half dozen, the remaining scores of live sardines were devoured by the Hitchcock-esque swarm of seagulls and kites that hovered just above the stern of our boat. In the end, when I think about it, we weren't really fishing that day as much as feeding the seagulls. Oh well, here's to the cycle of life, right?
Anyway, with some serious coaxing (I was still a good fifteen minutes from threatening), James came out and agreed to fish some more (you could see the puke-o-meter in eyes was dangerously dancing betwen yellow and red...or perhaps "green" is the better indication of the warning zone of the vomit barometer) . James "The Green" cast his pole again and within a few minutes he had caught a fish. It was one of the slightly-larger-than-the-one-he-started-with varieties, but it was a fish nonetheless, and he caught it all by himself! His first I believe! I don't know about him, but to me, it was all worth it at that point. I stood there like Clark Griswald: taking joy in the supposed happiness of my family, despite the hell they have to go through to get there...
The final fish tally for the day: Cole 5, Bob 2, Dad 2, James 2, Kenny 2.
OK, so that covers the seasick part (and you thought it was going to be me!!!). As far as sunburn...Melanie reminded me to take sunblock with us. I did. But I forgot to but it on. I had a hat. But I kept taking it off because I hate hats. So now, four days later, I look like I have leprosy on my the top of my bald head. It hurt at first. Now, I just scare small children.
Oh, and the poopy pants, you ask? Well, my mom was kind enough to watch Grant while us boys played out on the ocean. When I got back, she informed me that Grant had a bowel movement. The extent of which required him to be given a bath. While I've seen for myself, the mess that baby can make, I also supposed by mom was looking for an excuse to give that cute little guy a bath. Since he is really cute and he loves the bath.
Anyway, I was able to finally fulfill my promise to take James fishing. So I felt good about that. But to add icing to the fulfillment cake, on Sunday morning, driving home from picking up Melanie at the airport, she asked James, "So did you like fishing yesterday?"
I was preparing myself for the "yeah, but..." or "not really..." or ...
"Oh, yeah!" he said.
"Yay." I thought.