Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Bonnes Family Vacation: Day 2

So, this is a new one.

I've spent more than my fair share of time in bars, and like to think that I've done just about everything there is to do in one, but I've never blogged in one. Yet, here I am, in our hotel sports bar, a fairly happening place, literally bellied up to the bar so I can reach the keyboard on my Dell laptop.

I'm down here because my family is sleeping. And they're sleeping because they have all sucked the life out of each other by 9:45 tonight. And that's because we have completed our second day of our family vacation.

So maybe a better question is why am I NOT sleeping. And it's because I want to stretch a bit, write about something a little different than baseball. I'm a little wary, because usually when I write about my family, I have a story to tell, but tonight I'm writing because there isn't a story to tell. I'm writing because I'm sure there are a dozen stories from the last 48 hours, and I'm wondering how I missed them. It's almost like I'm writing to punish myself, but it's more to remind myself to keep a storyteller's eye on things.

And one such story should probably be the drive here to Chicago. I cannot tell you why, but it was incredibly important to me to drive here - to force my family into a seven hour drive. And I have no idea why. It's not like I remember anything important happening in the care on the endless trips my family took every other summer out west.

What I remember is trivial. Like I remember my brother and I taking every available pillow (I think there were four of them) and sticking them into the foot wells of the back seat. That way, one of us would sleep on the large back seat (no bucket seats in those old station wagons) and the other one would sleep on the floor of the back seat. The pillows were important, because they leveled the back floor a bit so the enormous hump that ran through the back of the car wasn't sticking into the middle of your back (too much). So it wasn't because I thought something important would happen for them.

Mostly, I think I wanted to drive because I really like to drive. I'd like to say it makes me think things out, and that's partly true, but again, I can't remember any particularly illuminating insights I've ever had while driving. I just like the feeling of being in the car, of going somewhere, of things changing, and I want the kids to eventually gain that too. So, naturally, I'm dragging them on these little death marches.

On second thought, maybe that isn't the best idea, huh?

But it seems to be working, especially for The Boy™, who has been especially happy. In fact, he's been annoyingly happy. Keeping him focused is nearly always a challenge, but this week it's been impossible. He gets so excited about a simple concept like Dunkin Donuts for breakfast that when the big stuff comes (like going on a speedboat tour of Chicago) he doesn't even know what he's doing.

It's been tragically funny to watch him interact with The Voice of Reason™ in this condition. Today, they literally had the following conversation as he prepared to go out to the swimming pool. I'm going to portray it from his point-of-view:

TB: Mom, where are my (swimming) goggles?
TVOR: Buzz buzz buzz buzzy-buzz. Buzz buzz buzz buzzy-buzz your buzzy-buzz.
(The Boy™ wanders around the hotel room for twenty seconds wondering what he's doing, then remembers he's looking for his goggles.)
TB: (a little more urgently): Mom, have you seen my goggles?
TVOR: Buzz buzz buzz buzzy-buzz. You need to buzzy-buzz your sandals. Get your sandals on.
(The Boy™ spins around the room for 5 more seconds, clues in that he's supposed to be getting his sandals, and then realizes that Mom is still missing the point.)
TB: My GOGGLES. Where are my goggles?

By the third time she has repeated the same sentence, she's speaking slowly. And loudly. She's looking him in the eye. And waving the goggles in front of his nose. She is using all possible resources at her disposal to get the point across. I expect the next step was for her to find a conference room with one of those giant Post-It™ pads and illustrate it for him.

Of course, I find this endlessly amusing in part because I've been doing this to her for years. This Sunday morning I needed to pick up The Chatty Chatty Princess™ from a slumber party, and so I asked TVOR if she had the invitation so I could find the house's address. And she looked at me like I had just grown a third eye.

"It's on the kitchen table. I found it. I brought it to you. I asked you if you would go get her. You said yes. Then I handed you the invitation. You said thanks. Then you set it down on the kitchen table."

I, of course, remember none of this, because I was reading the paper at the time. And I have no doubt that everything she said was true. My talking point now is that for the last seventeen years I've been preparing her for having her own small boy. I'm sure her point is that he's my freaking son, and she should have been a little more careful about selecting a less shallow gene pool.

But here's the punchline. The invitation was on the kitchen table, but I forgot it there when I went to pick her up, so I had to call TVOR from outside the house and confirm the damn address anyway.

Hey, look, I found a story. That was fun. Maybe, just maybe, we'll try again tomorrow night.


brianS said...

Story of my life.

At the airport on the way to our honeymoon, the newly-minted Mrs. S handed me the plane tickets to hold while she went to the bathroom. For some inexplicable reason, I set them down by a phone and promptly forgot them. She comes out, asks for tickets. Blank. Stare. Huh? What plane tickets? (thankfully, they were still sitting on the counter by the phone where I'd left them)

Needless to say, she immediately relieved me of all responsibility to hold the checkbook or pay bills. Our utilities haven't been shut off once.

John Sharkey, Esq. said...

I do some of my finest music listening on long drives--there's something about the road that makes any album sound at least 14% better. . . .

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