All of You

It was a trick question not in the form of a question. I knew I couldn't answer "all of you" because our youngest Bryce would scold me like they always do. 

"You can't say all of us, Dad," Bryce would say to me. "You have to pick one."

What led to the trick question not a question was playing a fun game friends of ours had shared a few years ago. Fun in its simplicity. Fun because it tested how well we knew each other. I don't remember exactly what the game's called, but it goes something like this.

One person starts and picks a number from 1 to 10 in their head and doesn't share it with the others. Then, the other players -- in this case me, my wife Amy, our oldest Beatrice, and Bryce -- proceed to offer categories like food, clothes, music, and more. The person with the number in their head gives an answer for every category asked of them (question not a question). Lastly, the other players try to guess the number.

Again, fun in its simplicity. Which was great, because Bryce wanted to play when we were out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants on the wharf. At first our kids didn't want to go with us; the plan was to go out to dinner and then watch the drone show at the Beach Boardwalk. But then they changed their minds. We were glad, although we told them no "whining after dining" since we'd be sitting on the beach to watch the show. 

"Dad's getting fussy," Beatrice said. 

"Dad always gets fussy," Bryce said.

"I just don't want you both whining after dinner wanting to go home," I said.

"So fussy."

Yep, Dad always gets fussy. With our teens, it's become regular comedic banter about Dad's fussies. It's fire, dude.

At dinner we played the "number" game, or the "favorites or not" game. Whatever the name, the game brought joy to all of us as we sat and waited for our dinner. During the last round when it was my turn to pick a number (in my head), I picked "10", which meant my favorites.

The categories were then presented to me one by one. Amy's was "favorite family member". 

Both kids sighed aloud. "You know who he's going to pick."

All of you, I thought. I imagined the kids' response, You can't say all of us, Dad.

"Mom," I said.

"See, we knew it!"

I smiled and gave Amy a kiss. 

"Ew, stop!"

"I thought he'd say Jenny," Beatrice said. (That's our dog and another long-time family joke that Jenny's my favorite.)

After dinner, which we all agreed wasn't as tasty as it had been previously, the sun was setting and it was cold and windy. Bryce decided they were too cold and wanted to wait in the car for us. Beatrice, Amy, and I walked from the wharf where we were parked, to the main beach in front of the Boardwalk. Ten minutes later the drone show started. Ten minutes later the drone show ended. I took a few pictures, one of which came out artsy due to the night exposure and the drone light trailing off. I showed Amy and she agreed.

"That was it?" Beatrice said.

"I guess so," I said. "It was still fun, don't you think, Mom?"

"Yes," Amy said. "It was short but cool."

I don't think Beatrice was convinced. We packed our chairs and blankets away and made the trek back to our car. That's when we saw the line of cars exiting the wharf was long and slow. Thirty minutes later we finally exited the wharf and headed home. 

It didn't matter that the food at one of favorite places wasn't that flavorful this time. It didn't matter that Bryce wanted to wait in the car. It didn't matter that it was cold and windy. It didn't matter that the drone show was shorter than what we expected. 

All that mattered was that my favorite family members were with me and we enjoyed each other's company. Because the answer to who's my favorite will always be "all of you".

What Happens Next

"...You may be right

It's all a waste of time

I guess that's just a chance I'm prepared to take

A danger I'm prepared to face

Cut to the chase

What kind of difference can one person make?

Cut to the chase..."

–Rush, Cut to the Chase 

I needed a distraction. Something fun with the family that could shield me temporarily from work stress, from America slipping away, from grieving my best friend's passing, and from existential exhaustion. Feeling helpless and overwhelmed by it all, I just needed a break from how my brain has been reacting of late. 

The Santa Cruz Clam Chowder Cook-Off was upon us and never disappoints. It's a weekend full of yummy local chowders cooked up by both amateurs and professionals and held at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. And this year our oldest Beatrice worked the event, selling tasting kits and merchandise. 

Beatrice finished her shift and joined my wife Amy, her sibling Bryce, and me to start tasting the chowders. It's always a busy event, rain or shine, and this year the weather was fabulous. Within the first hour of tasting there was wall-to-wall people walking around, waiting in chowder tasting lines, or waiting to ride the amusement park rides. But mercy me the chowder is always a treat with dozens of chowder booths to choose from. After a few samples I'm always full. 

It was fun, and momentarily distracting, but my life nagged at me like a child pulling on my shirt on the verge of a tantrum. I looked up to watch the 100-year-old Giant Dipper roller coaster train race down the first precipitous drop. That's the trope, I thought. That the world is just a big, scary roller coaster without safety bars or straps, and we've got to hold on with all our might for fear of flying out and plunging to our deaths. 

Yikes, Kevin. What the hell?

There were so many people at the Boardwalk, that it was a little overwhelming at times, but we were still so glad that we went. Families and friends alike who all just wanted a break from whatever daily stress they face to have a little fun, ride some rides, play some arcade games, and eat some chowder (and a variety of amusement park junk food). 

But after the chowder cook-off, I was still full of existential exhaustion. Since my dear friend Robby passed, I've struggled more than I thought I would with his death, my own mortality, and what I've done with my life. Over the years, he'd always say to me, "You know, sometimes I wish this would all end, but then I think, I still really want to see what happens next. You know what I mean?"

I know, Robby. I do. And even at our lowest points, we still wanted to see what happened next. The difference you made in my life, and so many others, was indelible. 

Because of that, I just can't feel this way today. I'm still here and I can't feel like I don't and won't make a difference. You would tell me I have much work to do, just as my inspirational wife and children do. They are working hard to make a difference in the world around them. They proudly speak actionable truths that took decades for me to articulate and live. They not only want to see what happens next; they want to be the positive change of what happens next. 

And dammit, so do I. 

Freedom to Celebrate

The ride attendant called out over the loudspeaker if anyone wanted to get off the ride. I feebly raised my hand and the ride slowed to a stop. I'm sure my face was sickly white and drenched in sweat. The ride was called the Lobster and it was a multi-armed metallic monster that turned round and round, faster and faster, and the cars we were strapped into along each arm also turned round and round, faster and faster. 

We were at Magic Mountain in Southern California a couple of hours from where I grew up in the Central Valley. I was 11 years old at the time and my sister was 9. She also rode the Lobster ride with me but didn't get sick like I did. I realized then rides that went round and round would make me motion sick every time, and I would never be an astronaut. Ever. Sigh.

However, roller coasters were my jam, as the kids say. Not sure if the kids still say that, but still, roller coasters were and are my jam. At that same park in Southern California in the 1976, the Revolution was a new roller coaster at the time that had one full upside-down loop, and I loved it. After that, I always went on all the coasters. 

My wife Amy and I have lived in Santa Cruz for nearly 27 years now and we've loved having an amusement park in our own backyard -- the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Our kids have loved it, too. Now teens, we all go to the Boardwalk multiple times every spring and summer. Our youngest Bryce likes the rides that go round and round, faster and faster. Ugh. Our oldest Beatrice can handle some of those, but Amy's with me on those; she gets motion sickness and can't do them. Nor can she handle many roller coasters or faster virtual motion rides. The kids can, but only Bryce will ride the Giant Dipper with me. 

The Giant Dipper at the Boardwalk is the 5th oldest working roller coaster in the U.S. today. It's fast and fun and just turned 100 years old. We were at the 100th birthday celebration last weekend that included a big fireworks spectacular. Bryce would've ridden it with me, but instead was off with friends riding a round-and-round ride called the Fireball (blech), Bea was on the beach with her friends running around, and Amy sat with some of our friends on the beach waiting for the fireworks. I wanted to ride the coaster, so I waited in line for the Giant Dipper with another friend of ours and one of her kids.

The fireworks started while we waited in line, only two train loads away from riding, and we worried we'd miss them. But we didn't! The fireworks exploded above us when it was our turn to ride the old wooden roller coaster. It was fantastic!

I even had time to run back to the beach and give Amy a big kiss during the fireworks finale. So grateful to live where we live and not think twice about going to an amusement park and hanging out with family and friends. The freedom to celebrate our community. Especially when there are so many places around the world that don't have the same freedoms. 

Blessings to those who sacrificed their lives for our freedoms this Memorial Day Weekend. Amen. 

Rocked Our Socks Off

Five minutes before all the rest of the rowdy concertgoers were let in, me and my friends got to rush the stage. That's because one of my good friends with us at the time had an uncle who ran security at the concert venue. It was only a 5-minute lead, but that was plenty of time to get right in center-front of the stage. Moments later the crush of everyone else hit us and shoved us up against the railing. We were fine, adrenaline pumping, and couldn't wait for the headliner to start. The opening band was After The Fire, a British new wave rock band known for covering the song "Der Kommissar," but that was about it. I remember people throwing things at the band, which wasn't cool, and the band yelling at the audience to stop.

After a short break that felt like forever, the headliner took the stage. It was the rock band Van Halen (with David Lee Roth) on their Diver Down tour. I was 16 years old. It rocked my socks off. 

That was my first concert and I'll never forget it. The irony for me was that my first concert could've been my long-time favorite band Rush on their Moving Pictures tour the year before, but that didn't happen. I just wasn't quite the fan yet back then that I became soon after. But Van Halen wasn't some meager consolation prize -- it was rock and roll heaven. Another fun fact was that a few years later when Sammy Hagar was singing with Van Halen, it was Amy's first concert. 

Decades later our youngest Bryce got to go to their first concert. Beatrice actually went to her first concert first last year with her mom to see the Jonas Brothers. Both her and Amy really enjoyed it, but because I didn't go, I couldn't really comment on it. 

But for Bryce, I can. We all went to the show and I had never heard of the artist before until Bryce started talking about her and her music. Her name is Melanie Martinez and the kids love her. I mean super love. Her music was moody broody alt pop rock funk -- hard to pin down and yet very listenable and an amazing stage show. She's a multi-platinum artist who doesn't get much radio play, primarily because she cusses a lot in her songs. But hey, the kids are teens now. Beatrice likes the artist too, just not as much as Bryce does.

Bryce bugged us for months to go to Melanie Martinez's concert and we final bought the tickets for the whole family to go. The concert itself was Mother's Day evening, and while it was a late night for a school/work night (and everybody had to get up and go the next morning, no matter how hard Bryce tried to get out of it), we all really enjoyed it. 

Like you do when you go to your favorite musical artist or band live concert, all the fans stood and sang and danced the entire time, and Bryce didn't let up once the during Melanie Martinez's artistic performance. Beatrice mostly stood and knew some of the songs, and Amy and I, being the parents in tow (and there were many parents in tow), sat down multiple times to rest. I even waited in line to get concert merch for Bryce. 

Just like when I saw Van Halen (with David Lee Roth), and a few years later Amy saw Van Halen (with Sammy Hagar), and last year Beatrice saw the Jonas Brothers -- this was Bryce's first concert, and all of our firsts rocked our socks off, something we will never forget. Amen. 

Breaking Out

Our youngest Bryce first performed on stage in preschool singing Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off". They looked so sweet in a white frilly dress but was very nervous while performing. Like almost going to cry nervous, which was the same reaction they had when first trying out for a theater production. 

Three productions later, and Bryce has more confidence than ever, still primarily performing in the ensemble and taking on small roles. They have auditioned for bigger-smaller roles, so maybe now with the experience they've gotten, Bryce will land one next time. 

Because there will be a next time. Bryce has got the theater bug for sure. Right before opening night of this latest All About Theater youth musical production of Urinetown, I told Bryce good luck, which they again quickly reminded me that saying good luck is back luck, and the correct expression is "break a leg". 

"Break a leg then," I said. "Love you."

"Thank you," Bryce said. "Love you, too."

The musical was a satirical social commentary about class (rich and poor) and corruption and what happens after a 20-year drought when using the "facilities" (toilets) cost money. It was really good; these kids are amazing. Including Bryce!

Another funny musical we watched recently was a high school production The Drowsy Chaperone, a story about a middle-aged, musical theater fan who, feeling "blue", decides to play for the audience an LP of his favorite musical, the fictional 1928 show The Drowsy Chaperone. It's a fun parody of a 1920s American musical comedy. 

And lo and behold, there was our oldest Beatrice working behind the scenes as part of the stage crew. Well, it wasn't a surprise, because we already knew she was helping, and now she has the theater bug, too. She even wants to audition for the next production, whatever it is!

For the past year now, Bryce's introverted love of acting, dancing, and singing has definitely extroverted and increased exponentially. That includes theater and choir. And Beatrice is now enamored with the theater as well (she also has a lovely voice and said she wants to direct, too). We all are enamored with the theater now -- watching Wicked on Broadway during our spring break was quite the experience. We're so grateful to have done that. 

Amy and I may not break out into song and dance for you, but our kids most certainly will. However, if you ever need a drummer...

Like Night And Day

It was probably the last time for who knows how long, but it doesn't mean we won't ever go again. Oh, we'll go again, either just my wife Amy and I, or our kids will join us again, but the annual family treks may be over (for now at least). 

We love Disney. When Amy and I went to Disneyland as part of our honeymoon back in 2003, we had a fabulous time. I remember all the families around us with babies and very young children, and we said out loud, "Why would you bring such young ones there?"

But that was four years before we changed our own minds about having our own kids, and five years before we actually had our first daughter Beatrice in 2008. Less than two years later, our other daughter Bryce was born. 

After our kids turned three and five years old, we ate our own words and decided to take them to Disneyland in January of 2014. And we had a blast. Thank goodness for single-rider rides so Mom and me could ride the big-kid rides. Ever since, we've gone nearly every year, except for 2020 and early 2021 due to the pandemic, having many family adventures with related reflections along the way in 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2021, 2023, and now this year in 2024. If we lived closer to LA, then we would've had season passes, but alas, it's a six-hour drive for us. 

It's always a super-fun marathon for us. This year in the last few days of the kids' school winter break, we trekked in and around the Disneyland and California Adventure parks over eight miles a day for four days, staying up late (for us) for the fireworks and the water light show, traversing the crowds (there are always crowds), and having to listen to Christmas/holiday music over and over again two weeks after Christmas (ugh). The walking and standing were brutal on Mom and Dad's legs, hips, backs, and butts, but we still made it farther and longer than our own kids, who took the late afternoons off to hang out in hotel room. 

Our teens still enjoyed Disneyland this year, but because they wanted to take afternoon breaks, it was clear that the Disney magic had rusted over a bit for them, more for Beatrice than Bryce. Both their interests have changed and they're on their way to young adulthood now. Bittersweet for us; they'll always be our little ones ready to embrace Mickey, Minnie, and friends. We're so grateful we've been able to take them for all these years. 

But they're not our little ones anymore, something I'm obviously grappling with. When I look at this year's castle picture compared to the first one in 2014, it's like night and day, with the common horizon line being our family love of togetherness and fun. Will we ever go together again? Of course we will. The magic may be rusty, but it will always shine.

Holding Space In Our Hearts

The airline text read "flight canceled." I stared at it for a few seconds before I opened the entire text to read it and click through. Sure enough, our flight was canceled. 

I told my wife Amy. "Call the airline," she said.

The airline confirmed that due to extreme weather in the midwest, we wouldn't be able to get out there until Sunday. It was Friday morning and the celebration of life memorial we were going to was on Saturday. Unfortunately that travel math didn't work for us. 

We had been looking forward to seeing family and celebrate Aunt Julie's life. Aunt Julie had been married to Amy's Uncle Brian and sadly passed away last year. She was a joyous loving soul who loved travel, dancing, cooking, playing games, was quite the artist, and generally loved to have fun. We enjoyed our visits and travels with her and Brian over the years and really wanted to be there. It also wasn't lost on us that years ago when we traveled with her and Uncle Brian to Boston was the year before we were pregnant with our daughter Beatrice. 

But again, the travel math wasn't going to work for us. It was the beginning of our kids' spring break, so we quickly brainstormed what we should do, if anything. Do we just do a stay-cation and stay home? Or, do we go somewhere else and spend way too much money? The latter won out. 

Amy wondered out loud what Julie would want us to do. "Maybe we should go down south and go to Disney and/or Universal and have some fun. What do you think?" she asked me.

She waited for me to respond no, my usual default reaction, but I didn't say no this time. 

"Sure, but we need to make sure we can get tickets since it is the beginning of spring break," I said. 

"Beatrice and Bryce, do you want to go to Universal and maybe Disney?" Amy said.

Multiple cheers confirmed the affirmative -- they definitely wanted to go. So, that's when we pretty quickly pivoted and rebooked our trip to LA, grateful that we could actually do that. Fortunately there were hotel rooms and park tickets available. 

Beatrice and Bryce thoroughly enjoyed our last-minute spring break trip pivot and every ride we went on at Disneyland and Universal, even with the long line wait times and the crush of people. Amy and I enjoyed as well, and throughout the entire trip, held space in our hearts to celebrate Aunt Julie's life and the fun she definitely would've wanted us to have, and would've had with us had she been there. 

Holding space in our hearts for the best of us makes the most of every moment wherever we are. 

Feeling Ducky

It had been four years since we went last. We didn't go in 2019, but then COVID-19 hit and there hadn't been another in-person event until now. 

Our oldest Beatrice really wanted to go again. To play the games and race the ducks. Our youngest Bryce wasn't as enthusiastic, but was willing to go. My wife Amy and I were in either way; it was always a fun community event, especially for kids.

Bea was 9 and Bryce 7 the last we went to the Duck Derby, a community event put on by a service organization called Omega Nu. They raise money for the local community in various scholarships and educational materials for teachers, and community programs and charities. 

But for the kids, it was all about racing rubber ducks for prizes, playing fun carnival-like games to win tickets to exchange for prizes, eating hamburgers and hot dogs and lots of treats. Music played, bouncy houses bounced with little kids, and fun in the spring sun lit up everywhere we looked when we arrived.

Bea didn't look happy. "These are really games for little kids," she said.

"Yes, but you still wanted to come," Bryce reminded her. 

"Yes, they are," I said. "Let's check it out and see what's up."

Bea nodded. We bought the girls their racing ducks, their take home ducks, their game tickets, and I got a hot dog. We watched one of the duck races, and then the girls played the kiddie games and won more tickets for prizes.

There's a big difference between being 9 and 7, and being 13 and 11, but the girls still held onto their childhood memories of this event as they played the kiddie games. After about an hour they were done and cashed in their tickets for prizes and treats. All around us the pent up demand for families to be outside together at events like this was palatable. There were smiles everywhere. Joy was bountiful.

Watching all the ducks rush by us in the blue tarp-lined racing river reminded me of how fleeting childhood can be. Our girls watched them fly by with a bittersweet smile, as did we. As we left, our joy washed away the bittersweet, leaving us feeling ducky in its wake. 

"I want to volunteer next year," Bea said as we got in the car. "Seems like there's a lot of older kids helping out."

My smile stretched beyond my ears. 

The Haunted Garden

We went rogue this Halloween. After eight months of pandemic, the "rona" safety protocol fatigue is more than real. Masking up for our family first hasn't changed for us, not one bit, but we'd be lying if we said we weren't tired of the tedium. The tedium of working virtually. Of going to school virtually. Of limiting our travel to camping, and for the next few months, not venturing far from out of our area at all.

Yes, we're grateful for being safe and well, and for having local friends we "pod" with -- watching each other's children a few days a week and doing things safely together.

But we thought a month ago we'd be able to play Captain Hook make Halloween walk the plank and be done with it. But then our daughters and their friends Peter Panned us into it; Halloween was on.

Trick or treating wasn't really going to be an option this year. But then one of our friend families had the brilliant idea to have a haunted house. Or, more accurately, a haunted garden that started in the front of their house, went around one side of the house, through the backyard and then out the open garage for treats. The whole time keeping every one we invited socially distanced and wearing masks (again, it was Halloween). 

We had scary fun set up throughout the haunted garden walk -- including my little pirate area. "Arrrrrr, you scurvy dogs, stay away from my treasure!" While not quite Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean, we gave it our best shot. 

Our friends who hosted our haunted garden added their own take on the dark musical Cabaret on their front porch, and then we had zombie teddy bears, edible eyes and entrails as the entrance attraction. Our pod kids were the haunted garden guides. We had ghost projections on the window and spooky side effects throughout the journey. The side of the house was full of jump scares and then our Halloween guests could get their fortunes read. After my pirate scene, their were giant spiders and then a zombie graveyard with one of our friend's son dressed all in black slinking around and scaring everyone. Then there was a ghoul bride swinging on a swing next to a corpse on a cot. Then a madman jumped on a trampoline and a witch who brewed magic over a fire. Then the haunted garden ended with passage through a body shop replete with sawing sound effects. Yikes! Those who dared to complete the journey were rewarded with treats. 

We had no idea how many would come to our haunted garden tour, and in the end, there were quite a few who did. So, going rogue this Halloween paid off, giving a few folks the opportunity for a little normalcy in a very abnormal world. It's like we've all been living in this haunted garden on a remote island with no means of escape, and 2020 is an angry, drunk pirate who keeps scaring us, stealing our stuff, throwing up everywhere and getting us all sick. 

But fortune favors the bold, and there is still much beauty in our garden to fight for, and lots of love and hope as well. Time to boot that rotten pirate!

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Mapping the Way

Mask Up First For Your Families

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

They Do Last Longer

We saw the lions. It was our second time on the safari, this time at dusk, and we were excited to see other nocturnal animals that were hiding to sleep the day away during our first run. There were three lions laying down high up on a flat rock. Prior to seeing them, we heard them growling and roaring and the tour guide was hopeful we'd see them.

There were two females and a male laying there on the rock as we rounded the corner. Such majestic creatures; we were so grateful to see them. I took a few pictures, knowing that the distance would mean grainier resolution zooming in.

It was only a couple of minutes, and as they started to move out of view, one of the females got up and grazed the male's face with her body, laid back down, and then the male mounted her.

It's natural. It happens. Even on a Walt Disney World Animal Kingdom safari with your family. And all the other families on the safari with you.

All the adults who witnessed it laughed awkwardly. All the kids asked what happened.

Once we were off the safari truck, our oldest daughter Beatrice asked, "What were they doing?"

My wife Amy answered, "They were mating."

"Ewwwww," Beatrice said shaking.

"What?" our youngest Bryce said.

"They were mating."

"Hey baby, you got a hot body!" Bryce said and then laughed.

What the hell? Where did that come from? These kids today.

It was funny, though. Bryce is a riot and Beatrice is growing up so fast; we're so grateful to be able to take them both on another fun family vacation adventure. One where we make memories together and share new and unique experiences. Where we unplug, at least somewhat. Even if I'm mostly checked out of work, which took a couple of days deep into vacation to get there, I'm still sharing and posting the vacation pics on Instagram and Facebook, because that's how I roll. And the girls still have some device time to themselves in between the adventuring.

During our adventuring, for the most part, we're all present and paying attention and our mindfulness accounted for. And while on vacation, early this morning, I ready a little piece in the New York Times about paying attention and noticing your surroundings, without over-analyzing. Just seeing and experiencing. All the sights and sounds and people and animals and things around us. This is where our connectivity comes from, where new ideas come from, where inspiration comes from.

I may take a lot of pictures of it all and share it all electronically, but the experiences are real. Including the experience of forgetting where you parked your rental car in one of the Walt Disney World parking lots. Of walking around hot and tired looking for our car, dragging our kids behind us, and not having a clue of where we parked. And out of hundreds of pictures I've taken so far on our family vacation, we neglected to take one of our parking spot number. We knew the general vicinity, just not the exact number. I thought of the quip you might here when staring at someone for too long, "take a picture, it lasts longer," and the irony of the quip and not paying attention here wasn't lost on me.

After walking around for nearly 30 minutes looking for our car, Amy had gone and found a parking attendant who said about the time we parked that morning, we would've been in section 301. I was looking in section 330, with the girls whining behind me. If Amy hadn't done that, I would've been walking around all night.

Yes, indeed. The pictures and the experiences, they do last longer, so take a moment and pay attention.

He Said Cornhole

I never said it wasn't fun. I just asked why it was such a competitive sport. Especially after a recent work trip where, while sitting at the bar eating after a long flight, I witnessed a bean bag toss tournament being broadcast on ESPN, a major cable sports channel.

And had no idea it was called cornhole [snort and laughter] -- complete with the American Cornhole Association and the American Cornhole Organization and the American Cornhole League.

Wow. It's bean bag toss. A game you play at family parties, children's carnivals or to keep your kids busy at breweries while you're tasting beer. I had no idea that the modern game of cornhole, known more commonly as bean bags or just bags in the Chicago area, was likely spread after an article on how to make the boards was published in Popular Mechanics magazine in September 1974. The game spread in Chicago, Illinois, and the Northwest region of Indiana in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Again, I never said it wasn't fun. It is. And it's competitive as well, like many fun family games can be. It reminds me of growing up playing horseshoes with my grandfather and how much I got into the game. He taught me how to toss in a way that ensured the closest landing to the post. And then of course there's the sweet ringing sound of the ringer. It's the same metaphorical sound with bean bag toss when you hit one of the open holds. 

Right on.

But I have to fast forward, because the game of bean bag toss (i.e., cornhole) wasn't the point of why it even came up in conversation in the first place between me and my wife, Amy. She was researching possible day and weekly camps for both our girls for the summer and reading off options to our youngest, Bryce. Our oldest, Beatrice, was at a friend's house for a sleepover. 

Every camp offering Amy read out loud to Bryce she said no to, except for the theater camp. The girls have been in multiple after-school theater productions and have had a lot of fun doing them. In their latest production, Charlotte's Web, Beatrice played the role of Charlotte and Bryce played multiple roles including the sheep and a baby spider. 

Camps ain't cheap, though, especially when looking at weekly rates. Figuring out the most best bang for our buck, and for the children's time and infotainment, isn't easy. We're balancing our work schedules and budget with the kids' summer vacation and all that time off when they're home. Many parents struggle with this every summer, and yet not all parents have the means to send their kids to even a day camp. We do, but again picking these most cost-effective, learning-effective, engaging and fun camps for our kids is overwhelming to say the least. 

And then we were back to reading the local summer camp catalogue, when Amy came across pickleball (which is also apparently quite big as a competitive sport): 

"What is pickleball? Nobody plays pickleball," said Amy.

"I have no idea. Did you know that bean bag toss is a competitive sport?" I said.

She didn't respond.

"No, really. It's actually called cornhole, or cornholing," I said.

[laughter then a snort]

"That's what it's called."

[more laughter and a snort]

"What is this, Beavis and Butt-Head?"

[snort and laughter]

For those who've never watched the old MTV Beavis and Butt-Head, a highly inappropriate cartoon for kids featuring two teenage boys who like to rock out and who laugh at anything that sounds sexual. Anything and everything. Kind of like my teenage years. Or, wait, that was my friends' teenage years, not mine. 

Right? Right.

Which is why it was so funny to me when we were talking the endless summer camp iterations and costs and I said cornhole and Amy burst into tittered snorting laughter. 

He said cornhole. [snort and laughter]

Cornhole camp it is then!

Getting Busy with the Bliss

"The night has a thousand saxophones
So get out there and rock
And roll the bones
Get busy!"

—Rush, Roll the Bones

I just wanted to stay home for the afternoon. To work in the yard and get dirty and sweaty. To zen with our little rectangle of backyard earth. I'd been hopping and bopping and traveling so much again, that I just longed for a Saturday at home with some rock and roll streaming from my iPhone. And then play some games with the family and barbecue hamburgers.

But even that was already partly a bust, since I'd agreed to a Saturday midday meeting to continue the planning of the Transforming Together event coming in October. Important to me, though, so all good.

So the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) took the girls to the grocery store. However, earlier she found out about family fun day put on by the Santa Cruz Parks and Recreation. Fun games for kids and adults and then swimming and more!

Sigh. I love my wife so much, and yet she's infamous for lining up a multitude of things for all us to do, like planes waiting to take off at Chicago O'Hare during thunderstorms. How can we do all the things in one day! (Smiley face)

"You can stay home and work in the yard if you want," she said.

"C'mon, Dad," said the girls, like little wayward waifs longing for affection. "We're going to go swimming!"

That was in the morning, and at first I was going to pass; sometimes we do things separately, and that's okay. But I've found myself more and more wanting to be with my family when we can. I work enough as it is -- both the Mama and I do (and that includes "taking care of the kids" work) -- and the mindful presence of being with family, whether a Saturday afternoon swimming, eating meals together, or reading stories together at bedtime, all these moments fill our hearts full of joy and love (as long as no one is whining).

Plus, it may all change as the girls get older, there may be fewer moments of togetherness (or maybe there will be more or less the same; we can only hope), which is why I need to be present in every interaction with my family.

That's a tall order, especially when I want to do things like write these articles on Sunday mornings, while my family interacts around me. But that's okay. There are things that the Mama and I need to do without total family immersion, like work and home stuff that need to get done no matter what, and other important activities that fulfill our needs and our desired designs (writing, working out, reading, etc.).

And recently the Mama and I have been meditating together to the Oprah and Deepak 21-Day Meditation Experience, Energy of Attraction. Make fun if you want, but damn we're really digging it. Super centering. The latest "centering thought" on day 7 is: My deepest desire is for completeness. The meditation mantra is: Ananda Hum - I am pure bliss.

That validated Saturday, where I acquiesced to going to family fun day event through the horrid Saturday afternoon traffic of going only a few miles. The benefits of living in a vacation town, I thought as we ground to a halt near the Beach Boardwalk. A car ahead of us pulled into the other lane and boogied to the stoplight to get past all the beach traffic. No one was in the oncoming lane, but it was still a bold move.

"Sweetie, do that so we can get past this," the Mama said.

"No way -- that's a big friggin' ticket if we get popped."

"C'mon Dad," said the girls, "Just do it. No one's coming."

"No way."

Another five minutes went by and we hadn't moved.

"C'mon Dad! Do it!"

Talk about pure pressure. So I did it.

"Woo-hoo!"

Kids, don't try this at home. When we got to the family fun day (safely), the day was glorious, blue sky and warm weather, and there was lots of fun games for the kids and swimming for us all -- and then big Yahtzee. Literally five big dice and dry erase scorecards to play the game. 

So while the girls ran around and played their games (including running at each other in blow up bubble suits, something we did as well), we played the big Yahtzee. We rolled the colorful bones, we laughed and we got busy with the bliss. 

And she beat me, but who's keeping score?

How High Can We Get

I'd been traveling when she told me the girls wanted to go to the dance. It was the father-daughter dance for our local Brownie Girl Scout troops, and when the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) ask Beatrice and Bryce if they wanted to go to the dance with their Dad, they resoundingly said yes.

And not just any dance -- a super duper luau. Right on, I thought. This will be fun.

But as we got closer to the big date, the Mama told the girls that probably none of their friends from their troop were going, and that they probably wouldn't know anybody at the dance. Then she asked them if they still wanted to go.

"Yes!"

That's all we needed to hear. 

As we got ready for the dance the night of, the Mama said to me, "Don't worry, they'll probably get tired and want to come home at 7:30."

"What time does it start again?" 

"6:00."

I smiled. It was 5:30 PM already. "Yeah, I know. Bea is usually asleep by 8:00, so I can't imagine her staying up beyond that. Bryce is the one who falls asleep later, although she might get cranky."

"Right, but I'll bet they'll both want to come home early, especially since none of their friends will be there."

"We'll have fun no matter what," I said.

"Of course you will."

We were ready to go and the Mama gave us all kisses and hugs and sent us on our way. When we got to the venue Hawaiian decor, surfboards and faux Plumeria and Hibiscus were everywhere, as were dozens of dressed up Brownies and dads in Hawaiian shirts, just like us. We did run into one of their friends and her dad from our troop, which was great for us, so that's who we hung out through most of the night. 

Before we did anything else, though, the girls wanted to take photos in the homemade photo booth area set up in the far corner of the room. And that's exactly what we did. These are the special moments we share with our children, and while immortalized in retro Polaroids, it's the visceral memories that keep our hearts warm and well lit throughout our lives.

Seven-thirty came and went and the girls were not getting tired. At all. In fact, they got their second wind and I was the one who started to wilt as the night went on. I hung in there, and when the limbo competition started, we all got in line, including me. 

Now, not all the dads were that excited to brave the limbo line, which was probably smart because of possible physical injury. 

"All the vertebrae in my back shattered just watching them do this," I said to another dad while we waited in line and watched the girls and even some of the dads clear the pole effortlessly.

"I know. I don't know why I'm doing this," the dad said.

"We're doing it for them," I said, pointing to my girls up ahead of us in line.

"That's a lotta love," he said.

"Indeed it is."

When it was my turn, I heard my girls yell "go dad go!" and I started the awkward and unnatural backward bend to clear the limbo pole. The tropical music cadence and the girls' shouts inspired me to make it happen, and I did, while all my vertebrae figuratively shattered along my spine. But I did it anyway, only one time of course, because there was no friggin' way I would've made another pole lowering, not in a million years. 

As the night went on and I watched the girls run around, learn to luau (which my dad friend and I did as well), and befriend other girls they met for the first time, me and my dad friend talked dad shop and it was all so much fun. It didn't matter that we don't get dadding right all the time, because we sure as heck don't; this wasn't about how low can we go as the limbo mantra goes. It was literally about how high can we get on the fun, fun that took the girls to nearly 10:00 PM, way past all our bedtimes.  

A high all warm and well lit. Amen.

My Boldness Boon

"Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah
It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough
You know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love..."

–Robert Palmer, Addicted to Love

Suddenly I was standing by myself in a large room full of fancy-dressed folk, all parents of the kids who go to school with our girls. Some smiled and gave me a thumbs up. Others laughed and pointed. And there may have been a few who grimaced and shook their heads.

Like one of those underwear dreams sometimes people have, I wore only a white t-shirt and boxer shorts, dress socks and nice shoes.

Except this wasn't a dream. It was a promise made months earlier to my wife, who I lovingly call the Mama.

"Wow, you guys actually did it," one of the parents near me commented. "You look great."

"Thank you," I said.

Just a few hours earlier I had asked the Mama if we should reconsider. "No way," she said. "I listened to a podcast recently based on research that girls lose their confidence to be silly, boisterous and bold by age 9, to then stop trying fun and adventurous things. I don't ever want that to happen to me. You know that. Let's keep being different and have fun doing it."

I nodded. "Indeed. That's why I love you, Sweetie."

"It's okay if you don't want to do it, though."

"No, I'm still in. Don't worry."

She smiled and we changed into our costumes. The idea was partially mine, at least in opening up our  big PTA Auction Gala school fundraiser theme to a much broader spy genre, hence validating the Mama's original idea of dressing up like the main characters from Mr. & Mrs. Smith, the cute spy action flick with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt from 2005. Not the scenes where they were fancy-dressed folk, though. The scene after their house blows up and they're in their underwear. Early on I tried to get her to consider another scene, even another dress-up option, but to no avail.

The main theme of the auction was always supposed to be a James Bond one, but there were some parents who complained about sexism, misogyny and gun violence, and rightly so, whether many others liked Bond or not. So my idea was to have them offer up a broader mix of spy characters, both men and women, that attendees could dress up as if they wanted to.

And they did. However, as I stood there alone, the Mama running around helping in the early evening of the big event, most of the attendees obviously hadn't wanted to.

The Mama is our PTA president, and her along with the auction chairperson and a myriad of other amazing parent volunteers, they put together quite an elegant affair. It's one of the biggest fundraisers of the year for our school, raising thousands of dollars from us parents bidding on donated products and services, as well as amazing artwork from each classroom. The arts program is a big deal at our school and that one of the many areas the PTA funds. Appropriately, most of the attendees dressed up formal for the night -- women in lovely gowns and pant suits, some vintage 1960's, and the men in suits and ties. It's a great night for all the mommies and daddies to raise a little money and a little hell -- all for the kids.

I help out with school activities when I can and when I'm not traveling, and for this particular auction gala, I help put together a video of the kids' class "thank you" pictures and the slide shows. So, for this event, I was the AV (audio-visual) guy, and happy to do it.

There I was, standing in my underwear, with a name-tag on my t-shirt that said "Mr. Smith" (I made the Mama put "Mrs. Smith" on), just to ensure people would know who my character was, even if they were familiar with the movie, which thankfully many were. Thumb ups. Compliments. Snickers. Pointing. The gamut, but mostly positive and fun comments, complimenting our creativity and the Mama's PTA leadership.

I was stressed, though. Not because of how I had dressed; I had already acquiesced to that compromise. No, the reality was I wasn't feeling well, still suffering from residual health issues from last year's scare. I didn't say anything to the Mama until late that night after we got home, not wanting to stress her any more than she already was.

The good news is that we both persevered and helped raise a lot of money for our school. As I watched the Mama thank all the parents in the room for their generosity, I fell in love with her all over again, her boldness such an inspirational boon to our relationship and to the lives of our girls.

And although Brad Pitt I am most certainly not, damn those super hot red rain boots. Mercy me, Mama. Mercy me.

Never Say Never to Ever

In 1975, my sister and I rode our bikes over four miles round trip to school and back home again. I was 10 years old and she was 8. We rode through what was at the time part new housing development and part walnut orchard. In fact, the last half mile to school was through a creepy walnut orchard, one where legend spoke of a scary orchard owner who would shoot you onsite with a shotgun full of rock salt.

Yikes.

Fortunately for us, we never ran into said scary orchard owner with shotgun. Never happened, and I don't remember any of our friends who rode or walked through the orchard every running into anyone near that description. No, each round trip was pretty uneventful, just to and from school, though the chilly fog of winter, and the super hot of early summer and fall.

We rode our bikes everywhere. To the nearby mall, to the donut store after I finished by paper route, to baseball and flag football practice. To school and back. Everywhere.

I've had a bicycle most of my life, and then after the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and I got together, we had our own bikes that we rode along the ocean where we live. Considering how environmentally and health conscious folks are here in Santa Cruz, we were only hobbyist bike riders during the warmer months. A lot of hiking, running and walking year round, but not much bike action.

Then we had two children, and our bikes sat for years rusting under plastic tarps in our backyard. Even after our girls started experimenting with little bikes with training wheels and a tiny push bike without pedals, they weren't big fans. I'm sure that had something to do with the fact that we weren't riding our bikes, and they didn't really ride with other friends either. Needless to say, bike-to-school day isn't a big hit with the B-hive. We really thought we'd never be a biker family some day.

Plus, we're really too far away and live down a big hill for them to ride their bikes to their school, and unlike when we were little, they wouldn't be riding by themselves for years to come, even if they did dig their bikes. That's a whole other post about traffic and safety and free-range resistance for another time.

Beatrice started riding a razor scooter more than a bike, and Bryce preferred the non-pedal tiny racer bike, and that's where we've been for some time now. Flitting around here and there on the street above us or an empty parking lot below us was the extent. And then, a new boldness took hold, and the girls wanted to start going down the little hill on our street -- very, very fast. Of course, being the good parents we were, we watched out for cars while they burned rubber and tore around the corner off the hill.

One thing led to another, and when I was on one of my work trips, Beatrice and Bryce both wanted to start riding their bigger bikes (that were rotting in the garage). Just like that. Presto.

Who'd a-thunk we'd be dusting off and pumping up the tires of our decaying bikes and adjusting our bike helmets once again to join in on the bike-riding fun. As adults, we're too quick to say "forget it -- no way" when it comes to trying new or old things and taking risks and simply just making the time to do it. Never say never to ever when it comes to your kids, that's for dang sure. More #BhivePower for me, please.

Little Did We Know

"California dreamin' 
On such a winter's day..."

-The Mamas & the Papas, California Dreamin'


11:30 AM, Saturday

I hit a wall right after the merry-go-round. It was still fun though, riding the iconic and historic Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk merry-go-ground, where you sit on one of the outer ring horses and then grab a metal ring from an outstretched metal and wooden arm to throw at a big clown's mouth on one of the walls. I missed each time; I think I've only hit the hole once in all the times I've ridden it. However, with each revolution, my wall of exhaustion loomed dead ahead.

Beatrice and I exited the ride and started walking toward the bumper cars where the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife), Bryce and the rest of the Brownies and parents were.

"Dad, I want Dippin' Dots now," said Beatrice.

"No," I said.

"Dad, Dippin' Dots!"

"No, we'll check in with Mom and see what's up about snacks."

"Dippin' Dots! Dippin' Dots! Dippin' Dots!"

Each time she said it, she yanked on my arm. Not too hard, just insistent and playful enough to be really friggin' annoying.

We met up with the rest of the crew and I gave the Mama a kiss.

"I gotta go," I said.

And with that, I went home to nap. That's when it started to rain.


11:00 AM, Saturday

Beatrice and I rode the Sky Glider above the Boardwalk. The gray cloudy sky made it feel colder than it really was. I counted less than 10 people walking along on the beach beyond. Beatrice screamed and waved at the Mama directly below us.

"Dad, let's go on the that ride down there," Beatrice said a minute later.

She pointed to a ride where cars went round and round on a track with loud popular music blaring overhead.

"Goodness no, Bea. Daddy doesn't do rides that go round and round."

"C'mon, I don't want to go on it by myself."

"Ask one of your friends then. I can't do it. I'd throw up all over the place."

"C'mon, go on with me."

"No."

I looked down and vertigo's gravity clawed at my frontal lobes. "Beatrice, sometimes I really don't like heights."

"I know. Me either. Let's go on that ride, though."

"No."

I gazed out across the steely ocean to settle my nerves. "On such a winter's day," I sang.

"What's that?"

"An old song, Beatrice."


10:00 AM, Saturday

Bryce hit a wall and started crying.

"What's wrong, Sweetie?"

Through the crying and whining a each gasp of air she said, "I -- want -- to -- play -- laser -- tag -- again!"

With the Bryce-specific snacks nearly gone, I knew satiating her hunger to curb her frustration wasn't going to happen.

I asked the young girl running the laser tag counter if there any more spots -- there were not.

"Bryce, let's go do something else."

"No!"

"Kevin, let me ask my daughter if she can give up her pass. She's already done it more than once," said our Brownie troop leader. "We're all pretty strung out."

"Thank you. I know."

A minute later she returned with the laser tag pass.

"Bryce, you get to go again!"

"Okay, thank you," she said with a sniffle.

And as it worked out, another mom with kids had two extra passes to give us, so even I got to go again along with Bryce and our Brownie leader's daughter. Sometimes the universe works out and extinguishes the wildfires of the id-driven childhood.


8:30 AM, Saturday

The first girls' team started their sand castles and made them in the shape of a sea turtles. The other girls' team was closer to the water and they went the traditional route of castle towers and turrets. I was tempted to help, but the girls were supposed to make it themselves for the contest.

"Those turtles are great, girls. Why don't you add some walls and towers around them to protect them?"

No response. They just kept on decorating their turtles.

"Here, use this to make the towers with," I said and handed Beatrice one of the tower-making sand toys.

"No, thank you," she said, decorating her sea turtle.

One of the other moms said, "Let the creativity commence."

I nodded. "Right on."


7:30 AM, Saturday

"Where's Bryce?" I asked.

One our troop moms pointed towards the hot chocolate table. "Bryce just dropped her plate over there and spilled her hot chocolate. I think she's getting back into line to get more breakfast."

"Sorry, Daddy," Bryce said behind me, grabbing a new paper plate and utensils pack.

I turned around. "Are you all right, Sweetie?"

"Yes, I just dropped my plate. Sorry. It was too heavy with the hot chocolate."

"That's okay. Get a new plate and make sure to get some of those eggs and bacon you like. And maybe only get a small hot chocolate. Don't fill it all the way up though so you can carry it all."

"Okay, I will."

"I got you some oatmeal to try."

"Okay."

When Bryce got back to our table, she had a big portion of bacon and eggs on her plate, as well as a completely full cup of hot chocolate.


7:00 AM, Saturday

I helped the girls pack up all the things they brought from where they had slept with the rest of the Brownie troop.

"Kevin, Bryce was up running around last night around 12:30," said our Brownie troop leader. She tilted her head disapprovingly, but with a smile on her face.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Why am I not surprised. She had come into see me at 11:30 saying she couldn't sleep."

The Brownie leader smiled. "It's okay. I guess she was running around by herself swinging glow sticks and tripped over another parent."

"Ugh. Of course she did. So sorry. Bryce and her own personal rave."

"It's fine. She went right to bed after that I guess."

I looked around to find Bryce to ask her about it, and there she was, dancing around the room with burnt out glow sticks.


6:45 AM, Saturday

"Here Dad," said Beatrice.

She had brought her and Bryce's blow-up beds and bedding into the Dads/Family room where I had slept.

"Thank you, Bea. That's such a big help. Did you sleep okay last night?"

"Yeah, I slept."

"I know it was late. How did Bryce do?"

"I don't know. I think she slept all night."


6:00 AM, Saturday

I laid there on my back, my blanket pulled up over my head. Someone touched my arm.

When I looked out from under the blanket, Bryce stood there smiling at me. I removed the headphones from my ears.

"Hi Daddy."

"What's up, Bryce?"

"I'm awake."

"Okay."

Pause.

"Is Beatrice awake?"

"Yes, everyone's waking up now."

Pause.

"Okay, what would you like to do? Breakfast isn't for another hour or more."

Pause.

"I'll go play some more."

"Great. Love you."

"Love you."

I pulled the blanket back over my head.


4:30 AM, Saturday

When the coughing and hacking started, I couldn't pinpoint from which direction it came. I knew it was near me, the child coughing that is, but couldn't triangulate. My blanket covered my head and I had the white-noise fan noise cranked up into my ear bud headphones. The coughing and hacking continued; the child was on my right I finally figured out.

Every five minutes it came and went. Followed by low whimpering and sniffling. I felt bad for the child, girl or boy. I empathized about being in a strange place and feeling so horrible while you were there. I assumed that the kid had been hopped up on cold medicine earlier in the night until it ran out, as there was no coughing and hacking until this point.

Every five minutes it came and went. And the whimpering increased in intensity. The white noise in my ears just didn't make a difference either way at this point. I wasn't mad, just over-tired and strung out and hoping that the kids' parents were tending to him or her.

Every five minutes...


4:00 AM, Saturday

First, I heard one pulsing beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

It came from my left and I knew then it was the CPAP machine alarm the woman sleeping next to me was using. Earlier in the night she had asked if she could use the other plug in the outlet I had my blow-up bed plugged into. She said she needed it to help her breathe in the night so she could sleep. I said no worries, and that my mom had used one for years.

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

But something was wrong with the machine now. The alarm meant something was off. No one stirred. Then the beeps increased in cadence -- two beeps at a time.

Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. 

Still no one stirred. I wondered what the hell was going on.

Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. 

I sat up and couldn't see anyone moving. I laid back down and covered my head again. Now it escalated to three beeps at a time.

Beep-Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep-Beep. 

Finally I heard one of the woman's kids mumbled something and a minute later the machine went quiet again.

But of course, I was already quite awake.


2:30 AM, Saturday

My father used to snore like an old bear with a sever sinus infection. Sometimes in the middle of the night we could hear his snoring ground its way through the walls of the house and into our heads. Crazy loud.

I woke with a start thinking I was a teenager again with my dad's snoring drilling through my ear drums. But it wasn't my dad, it was three other dads on all sides of me snoring like old, sick bears.

Jesus H. Christ, I thought.

The white-noise fan noise app I had on was cranked up into my ear bud headphones -- and it still didn't help quiet the bears around me.

But I was trapped, because this was the Dad/Family sleeping room and there was nowhere else to go.

Nowhere. Else. To. Go.

The irony was that, while the Mama and I joked that it would one or both of the girls wanting to come home in the middle of the night, in the end it was me.


1:30 AM, Saturday

I awoke with a start wondering where the hell I was. I had only been sleeping for about two hours and the late evening had already weighed on me like an imaginary elephant learning to sit on my head.

One of the other 10 dads in the room snored away loudly in the far corner, but otherwise it was quiet. Almost too quiet for the over 600 Girls Scouts and Brownies who were there for the overnight campout at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

I tried to meditate but couldn't quiet my mind. Farts and other unearthly body odors permeated the stale, air-conditioned room. I winced and rubbed my nose. The ear plugs I wore weren't doing a thing for me, so I switched to the ear bud earphones and turned on the white-noise fan application on my phone.

I read a few pages of Purity, the latest novel I'm reading, and finally fell back asleep.


11:30 PM, Friday

I turned over, half-asleep, and there was Bryce standing next to my blow-up bed. She leaned down and put her elbows on the mattress, her head in her hands.

"Hi Daddy. I can't sleep."

I took out my left ear plug so I could hear her better. "I'm sorry, Sweetie. You can either sleep here with me or go back to your bed."

"I'll go back to bed," she said, but didn't move.

Pause.

"Bryce, you can either sleep here with me or go back to your bed."

Pause.

"I'll go back to bed."

Pause.

"Bryce, what are you going to do?"

Pause.

"I'll go back to bed."

"Okay, love you, Sweetie."

"Love you."

Bryce didn't move. She just stared at me.

Sigh.


10:45 PM, Friday

Lights out finally. Most of the dads and those with families who were going to stay together in the Dads/Family room were already in bed.

I saw Beatrice walk into our room. She came over and laid next to me in bed.

"Dad, when is everyone going to sleep? I'm so tired."

I hugged her. "I know, Bea. I'm tired, too. Everyone should be quieting down now. It's time for bed for all of us."

"Okay," she said, getting up.

"You can either sleep out there with your troop, or in here with me. Your choice."

"I'll go back out there."

"Sorry, Sweetie. Hopefully everyone will be asleep soon."

"I know. Love you."

"Love you, Bea."


10:15 PM, Friday

The movie Sing was just about over. Thank goodness, because Beatrice and I were beat. After dinner and arcade games, the Girl Scouts did a general meeting and then we set up our respective troop sleeping areas. Everything went pretty smoothly overall, although it was clear that most of the girls weren't ready for bed.

Especially not Bryce. She danced and ran around in front of the screen with about 50 other girls, all of them wearing or swinging glow sticks of all colors. Shrieks and other decibels of varying laughter surrounded us all like the rainbow neon lights of the glow sticks.

"Dad, do you see what Bryce is doing?" Beatrice pointed out.

"Yes, I do. She's having fun."

"I'm so tired, Dad. I wish Mom was here to rub my back. Will you rub it?"

I smiled. That was a nightly ritual to help put Beatrice right to sleep, although I doubted it would work in this chaotic environment.

And it didn't.

"Sorry, Bea. I've got to go to bed now. You're welcome to come in with me if you want. Otherwise, it's lights out in about 30 minutes."

"Okay. I'll be fine."

"Goodnight, Sweetie."

"Goodnight."


6:50 PM, Friday

I told the laser tag attendant that we had 13 in our party, but I forgot to count the adults. That meant that some adults wouldn't be able to do it. We did a count and realized that two of the girls weren't going to do it, and so after figuring out which adults would go in, we waited for our 7:10 pm time.

Beatrice didn't want to do it, however.

"I don't want to do it," she said more than once.

I knew it was partly to do with her still being sound sensitive at times and being anxious about new experiences in general.

I empathized and yet cranked up the pure pressure anyway. "C'mon, Bea, you'll be fine. Everybody's doing it. We're doing it as a troop. It'll be fun. I promise. I'll be right there, too."

"I don't want to."

"C'mon, Bea. Really, everybody's doing it. You want to be with your troop, right?"

"Well..."

Pause.

"C'mon. It'll be fun."

Pause.

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Right on."

And mercy me, did we all have fun, Bryce included, although I wasn't worried about her. We ran around in the black light lit room with fluorescent colors everywhere, our light-colored clothes aglow, shooting our laser guns at each other, constantly being told by the attendant to not run or they'd cut our time short, laughing and hiding everywhere we could.

Afterwards, Beatrice said, "Dad, that was awesome. I want to do it again."

"I know," I said and smiled.


6:00 PM, Friday

Then it was dinnertime. C'mon, who doesn't like chicken fingers and pasta with red sauce?


5:20 PM, Friday

"This your first time?"

I had been blowing up my bed in the Dad/Family room when I heard the voice. I looked up and a very large white man smiling with a very toothless upper gum, waiting for me to answer. He wore an old nondescript baseball hat and had a country twang in his voice. When he said "your first time" it sounded more like "yo furst tahm".

"Yes, it is," I said.

We introduced ourselves and shook hands.

"It's stuffy as all get out in here," he said.

"Yes, it is. Will they let us turn on the air? I noticed the windows don't open in here," I said, knowing full well I wasn't going to have a pleasant night if it was going to be this hot.

"Yep, it's purty stuffy, but they'll turn the air on. Last year they turned it on and it got real cold in here."

I nodded. "I'd rather have it too cold that too hot."

"I hear you," his wife said. She was setting up a CPAP machine to help her sleep at night. "Can I use your other plug to plug my machine in?"

"Of course."

They had two daughters with them and they were all going to sleep in the room next to me on my left. They were very nice people and we talked a little more about expectations for the night and how much fun it was for the kids.

"Good luck," the father said to me with another toothless smile.

"Thanks. I assume I'm not going to sleep much tonight."

"Nope, you're not. You got ear plugs?"

"Yes, I brought some. Have fun tonight."

"You too," he and his wife said.

As I left, I eyed the CPAP machine, and I hoped that the alarm on it wouldn't go off if her mask got skewed on her head. I remembered it all too well happening with my mom's machine years ago.


4:50 PM, Friday

I don't make beds and the Mama doesn't do campouts. Over the years there are specific activities that each of us simply refuse to do.

Can we do them? Of course we can. Would we do them? Of course we would, in a pinch that is. For the most part, there are really very few things each of us don't want to do for the other and the family.

But again, I don't make beds and the Mama doesn't do campouts.

So when it came time to register for the Girl Scouts campout at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, an overnight that consisted of team-building, games, food, movies, sand castle building and rides -- I said I'd take the girls.

We would be "camping" indoors, although they've had other campouts at the Boardwalk with tents outside, which we hadn't participated in. The Mama had gone on one African safari about 20 years ago with one of her best friends and just can't do the tent camping thing. Or any camping for that matter. They had all gotten diarrhea and were confined to their sweltering tents for a few days, with little to no sleep.

Traveling together around the world in varying qualities of hotels and motels? Great, we're both in. Camping overnight with 600 Girl Scouts of all ages on air mattresses and in sleeping bags? No way for the Mama. We agreed that, going forward, any literal camping or semblance's thereof would be the Daddy-Mama's responsibility -- and that's me.

As I drove the girls to the Boardwalk, I was excited to be responsible for and share in this new experience with them -- their first true overnight campout away from home. The Mama had a nice evening planned with one of her best friends, a much-needed respite from parenting for her. (The Mama does it all, you know -- I just work here.)

"Are you girls excited?" I asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Yes!" Bryce shouted. She was good to go the moment we said we were doing the campout.

"Yes," Beatrice answered, less emphatically. We knew she was apprehensive and a little anxious about the event.

"It's supposed to rain tomorrow," I said. They didn't comment.

"We'll have a great time either way, since we'll be indoors mostly until the sand castle contest tomorrow morning."

"I hope I can sleep," said Beatrice.

"I'm sure we'll all get a little sleep."

"Okay."

Little did we know until we knew, the experience itself that makes it all worthwhile.