Pajama Pants Nation

The first flight went all right. The Toddler of Action had run around the airport like a madman. When we became situated on the airplane, he fell asleep and as I recall (Stephanie might have other recollections) slept most of the flight. Then we landed in Chicago. I had previously made the mistake of saying Chicago’s airport was relatively easy to negotiate. Once again, the gods of transportation deemed me wrong and proved it by making us walk from one weird corner of a terminal to another weird corner of another terminal.

Several years’ back, airlines decided it would be fun to not plan seating until you actually check in for your flight. We discovered this when Northwest airlines seated me in one row, Stephanie in another row, and Stephanie’s mother on another airplane. This time there was more of the same. United (or Ted, as it wishes to be called) had seated us in row 5, row 7, and row 14. Had I been thinking, I would have kept quiet about this. We should have put the Toddler of Action in row 14 and we could move forward to rows 5 and 7. When the flight attendant showed up wondering why we placed our dependant so far away, we could have shown the tickets and said “This is where you put us. Now, we’ve got our seat belts buckled as that little lighted indicator indicates, our seat backs forward, and our trays locked in the upright position. The young one is in your hands now. And please keep him quiet; we’re trying to sleep.” Of course, we didn’t do that. We changed seats. Other than the egregious error of flying on United, we’re responsible parents. Of course, the Toddler of Action cried most of the way–partly because he was restricted to inactive status, but mostly because row 14 had a much better view.

But we landed safely near Myrtle Beach. Those of us who purchased the correct-sized shirts put them on and met our driver near the baggage claim. I have plenty of baggage. (see previous paragraph.) Then we did what, apparently, EVERYONE does in Myrtle Beach: go grocery shopping. We bought way too much of some stuff. (Who knew we’d only have veggie burgers once?) Even though none of us were familiar with the store, we split apart to save time. When we finally found each other (some were in aisle 5, some in aisle 7, and some in aisle 14), we through our lots together and let Stephanie’s brother pay for them.

After we got back to the beach house, we walked the few blocks to the beach. Ah, the beach. I do love the ocean and its waves. It was dark, but you could still see the waves tumbling in over each other. We soon found out that the Toddler of Action was not a Toddler of Seafaring Action. He liked looking at it, but he was a bit nervous of the wave remnants coming toward him. I was surprised because he’s such a big fan of the bathtub. I guess when you’re two feet tall a three foot wave looks like a tsunami. Not many a-tsunami in a bathtub. We’ll forgive him his nervousness.

The next day we went full force to the beach, looking for watery fun. Allow me to begin by admitting I believe that being bald is its own reward. No paying a hair stylist good money to sit and wait to sit and get your hair cut. No brushing hair out of your face. No hat hair (a concern in Minnesota, to be sure). No combs or brushes. No shampoo concerns. The only problem is that you need to wear a hat more often. (I’m not a hat person.)

Turns out, there is another concern. All you folks with a full noggin o’ hair raise your hands. Now, y’all with raised hands, lower them if you’ve ever rubbed sunscreen lotion on your scalp? Hmmm, where’d all the hands go? I actually did both: sunscreen and a hat. But when you’ve got the top down, you need to protect yourself from the sun. Sure, I looked stupid jumping into the ocean with a cowboy hat on. But my brain isn’t all crispy now, so it was worth it.

I get worn out when we take the Toddler OA anywhere. At home we can just watch him. The house is mostly childproof and we know where the danger spots are found. Every once in a while we need to get up to stop him from hurting himself, stop him from damaging something, or, you know, play with him. But when we visit places, the set up isn’t so childproof and we need to constantly be chasing him because he’s magically drawn to the places which could be problems. We need to go home to rest from the vacation. That ain’t right. We could die from such relaxation.

Stephanie’s brother, Matt, knows a thing or two about building sand castles. The Toddler of Destruction knows a thing or two about unbuilding sand castles. But they get along well anyway. I don’t know where Matt learned this. He’s spent almost his entire life landlocked, but he picked it up somewhere. Maybe he learned it at daycare. That’s where the Toddler learned his destructive skills.

We also learned that you need special beach attire. Turns out that it’s not only politicians who flip-flip. My new shoes do, too. Yep, I got some flip flops for the beach. The last time I went to a beach, I about ruined my sandals, so I flip flopped on the opinion on flip flops. However, on this trip I learned how difficult it is to walk in flip flops. If you look at the Issues link on my campaign web site, you’ll see I have no current stance on flip flops. My campaign team is doing research on the topic as we speak.

Sometimes, you need to eat while on vacation. The Ghost Ship is a restaurant near Myrtle Beach. I know this because I saw a banner behind an airplane. They have a few of those constantly flying over the ocean–airplanes dragging advertising banners behind them. They advertise beach stuff and sea food buffets. One also informed me that I didn’t win the previous day’s lottery. Anyone, one (at least one) advertised the Ghost Ship restaurant. So, when we decided to go out to a buffet, we went to Crabby Mike’s. (That doesn’t make sense until you know that more airplanes had Crabby Mike banners.) The projected wait to get into Crabby Mike’s was so long, we decided to go somewhere else. We ended up at the Ghost Ship. It’s easy to spot because it has a ship parked in the parking lot. I know not a lot about maritime law, but it appears you are allowed to park a ship anywhere you want. This one was parked in a handicap parking space. I didn’t see any tickets on the window, so it must be legal. Ghost Ships get all the breaks.

I do enjoy the ocean, though. The waves rolling over the other waves. Water as far as the eye can see. One evening, as the tide was coming in, waves crashing upon one another, I saw the large moon just over the horizon. It struck me that the moon, causer of tides, was behind all of this. It was almost as if the moon was standing there, directing the waves to rise and crash down on the shore.

Earlier in the day, I had a different thought. You see, the tide goes out during the day so that during the afternoon the tide is at its lowest. Then it rises over the night, producing, I assume, the big waves. So the escaping waves are when the most people are in the water. The fun big waves are when no one is there. Intelligent design, my foot. It might be for the best, though. Some of us land lubbers don’t belong out there when there is a lot of water on the beach.

Speaking of not belonging out there, I went jet skiing for the first time. Matt had this notion that it would be fun to race around on a jet ski and asked if I wanted to go. I said, of course, no. Then Stephanie peer-pressured me into going. That was fun and no one important drowned. That’s what those in the business call a twofer. We did almost tip the thing over. That would have cost us four-hundred dollars. Sure, they tell us not to drink while boating and it’s the watercraft that is tipsy. What gives?

As always on our trip, we get bored with having fun and pull out the video games. This time, micromachines 4 or something. Pretty cool game. The courses are a hoot. They took household objects and generated them from a micromachine’s eye view. I never actually played, but it looked fun.

The Toddler of Action found a new pastime: Thomas the Train Engine or whatever he’s called. Someone (I won’t mention any names because I don’t know who) brought along a Thomas DVD. The Toddler saw a train on the cover–he loves trains–and demanded to see it. So he did. Several times. When we got home, we purchased a Thomas DVD. He demands to see it all the time. Except he doesn’t actually watch it. It’s more background noise for him. We find it annoying. The story teller is George Carlin. It might be that The Toddler is soothed by Carlin’s velvety voice. So, here’s my plan. Buy a George Carlin DVD or two. When Toddler of Viewing wants to “watch” Thomas, we just put a George Carlin DVD in. He’s soothed by the voice, we’re more entertained, and everyone’s happy. Especially, George Carlin. I see absolutely no problem with this plan whatsoever.

Stephanie does see a problem, so we’re not doing it. Rats!

On the last day, we played Trivial Pursuit. If you want to play the ‘90s edition of Trivial Pursuit, watch Northern Exposure and Twin Peaks. Oh, and refresh yourself on Dan Quayle quotes. One of George H. W. Bush’s parenting mistakes was having Quayle mentor George “Dubya” Bush. Luckily, he didn’t let Quayle near Jeb. “Fool me once, shame on . . . shame on you. Fool me twice . . . we won’t get fooled again.”

Then we went home. The flights were pretty much the same on the way home as they were on the way to vacation. On the first flight, we had the Toddler of Sleep. On the second flight, we had the Toddler of Tears. In between, he ran around O’Hare airport like crazy. Surprisingly, though, the travelers were very patient with him. Most places that aren’t influenced by airline stupidity, people are very patient. How people in airports leave with functional mental activity is beyond me.

Oh, and uniTed forgot to load my suitcase on the airplane.

And that’s our trip. So, if you see us, ask us about the trip. And ask the Toddler of Action, too.

He’s the one seven rows behind us.

 

 

© 2006, Mark Wentz