Author: Mike Gibbons

The lawn ranger

I’m not quite ready to declare I have won the war, but I definitely feel like I have won some major battles.

For the first time in years, I have a front lawn.

It’s beautiful. Thick, plush and growing like crazy. Even neighbors passing by have commented about how my lawn looks great.

The best part of a new lawn? A teenager to mow it.

Probably part of the reason for that is how absolutely awful my lawn looked for years.

When we moved into our house, we had a fairly OK lawn. It was spotty in places, but fairly green for the most part. Mix in a flood of the century, and bye-bye lawn. The bulk of my front yard turned into a big rectangle of dirt.

I decided to tackle the problem by seeding the lawn. Prior to doing so, I took a soil sample up to the Master Gardeners at the Clemson Extension Service, who are always super helpful with any issues such as this. The Master Gardener I gave the sample to kinda chuckled when I handed him the sample. He said they’d send it off, but said, “I can go ahead and tell you your problem: your yard is sand.” When the results came back, yeah, he was spot on.

They gave me the directions on how to add nutrients and actual soil to my sandpit and detailed steps on what I would need to do to reseed my lawn.

I followed their directions and in a few weeks, grass was starting to sprout. And it grew. And grew. And grew. Soon, my lawn was back, baby!

And then I went out one morning and saw that all of my efforts had been undone by moles. The whole yard was nothing but bumps of crumbly dirt, the green slowly dying right before my eyes.

Initially, I did the sensible thing, which was to overreact immensely and declare that I was going to turn our front yard into a cactus garden.

My wife, who serves as both the brains and the moral compass of our family operation, stepped in. She said we should try sodding it and work with experts on how to ensure that we eradicated the moles. I told her this was a fool’s errand, and I would be ordering 1,000 cacti ASAP.

So fast forward to the day the sod was going to arrive. We had tilled and prepped the soil, treated it, and followed all the directions to the letter. I had the day off, and had my kids and my daughter’s boyfriend lined up to help me install the sod. They were given the option of helping with the sod or helping with the sod. Their choice.

By about noon, the sod had not arrived. I called the sod guy, and he said, “Oh, man. I messed up.” Turns out, he had a call from another sod customer the week prior canceling his delivery, and he thought it was mine. He told me he could deliver it in a couple of days.

I hung up and told my wife the situation. She said, “He needs to make this right.” I told her there was no point in calling him back, as this was the situation we were in. “Call him back,” she said.

Man, she’s always right.

I called him back, and told him that I had made a lot of plans to be able to work that day on the sod, and it really messed everything up. “Tell you what. Lemme me bring it on Wednesday, and I’ll have my guys install it for you.” SOLD!

The sod has now been in place for more than a month, and I have given it more attention than I give my kids, but in all fairness, they’re teenagers now, so I’ve done pretty much all I can with them.

I will continue to dote on my new lawn, and give it the TLC it needs. I am continuing to water it religiously, and I keep treating to keep the moles at bay. I am hopeful the end of this war will be soon, and I can declare final victory. And then move on to a cactus garden in the backyard.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

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How about this heat?

I’m not sure if you’re noticed, but it’s hot.

Crazy hot.

Unncessarily hot.

Stupid hot.

Why? Because it’s June and I live in South Carolina.

I have lived most of my 45 years in the South. I spent a year in Michigan as a toddler too young to remember what cold is. I spent a year in Northern Virginia as a seventh grader with no recollection other than snow, because middle schoolers – in particular Southern ones – are impervious to heat, and only form weather memories when snow falls. I can vividly remember all of the snows of my childhood. Hardly remember a moment of heat, save for the time a friend and I decided we’d drive to the pool in the car with the windows rolled up and the AC off in the middle of summer to see how refreshing the water would feel. Fun fact: high schoolers sometimes have questionable judgment.

I began really taking note of the heat once I got out of college. I took a job in Orlando right out of college, and it does its part in making summer miserable along with the rest of its Southern city brethren.

And I began taking note of this because I quickly became hyper aware of how much you can become a hot, sweaty mess if you are wearing a long-sleeve shirt and tie and have the audacity to try and walk from your car to the office in the summer.

Don’t get me wrong. I still love the outdoors, and I don’t avoid being outside just because it’s hot. But there is a line in the sand I now draw when it cranks up to 95 with 8 billion percent humidity.

My son got to experience that line recently when we met up with my dad at his cabin in the woods. We wanted to go up and spend some time visiting, and maybe catch a few critters along the way. I told Parker beforehand that we would get up early and make the hour-and-a-half drive so we could enjoy the land while the heat was not oppressively punishing. I told him he would stay until around lunchtime.

We got out there early and hiked for a bit, finding a few critters here and there. My dad said he had a tree that had fallen across the creek, and needed a second set of hands to help get it moved. Parker set off to do some fishing, while my dad and I took a jon boat upstream to attack the offending tree.

When we arrived at the tree, I moved to the front of the boat, and took a chainsaw to part of the fallen tree. After about three minutes, I had cut the tree, and we were able to then move the remaining part that was blocking the channel.

When I returned to my spot at the back of the boat, I noticed two things: (1) It looked as if I had actually gotten in the creek to do my work, as my clothes were soaking wet and (2) After about three minutes, the metal on the back of a jon boat gets REALLY hot.

When we got the boat back to the cabin, Parker was still enjoying fishing, and had also enjoyed an occasional dip in the creek to cool off. I told him I was going to change clothes, and we would be leaving soon, as it had gotten hot and nasty. He remarked that it felt fine to him, as we standing chest-deep in cool creek water. Yeah, pack up, dude.

Before we know it, the summer will be over, and we will be enjoying our cool fall temps that we all love. In the meantime, I will just keep on keeping on. And perhaps I can figure out a way I can work chest-deep in a creek for the next few months.

Adventures Family

Flying is for the birds

My daughter, Allie, and her boyfriend, Tyler, were getting ready for their first airplane trip together.

They were going to see his family in Ohio, and while Tyler probably wouldn’t admit it, I think he was fairly nervous about it. This was his first flight since he was 8, a flight he doesn’t really remember.

Understandable that you would have some nervous tingles. I’ve flown plenty of times, and I still get a smidge of anxiety before heading into the skies. After all, you are kinda doing something that, while quite safe and consistent, is something that kinda seems like a great big gamble.

My wife flies a good bit for work, and she’s a pro at packing and prepping and navigating the entire process. She took the lead in getting them all ready to go, giving them checklists and pointers as we went. I assisted by providing snappy one liners. For example:

MY WIFE: Do you have your ID? Boarding passes downloaded on your phone? Phone charger? Computer charger? Got movies downloaded to watch?

ME: Remember, if you see someone at the airport you know named Jack, do NOT shout, “Hi, Jack!”

MY WIFE: Sigh.

She sighs a lot.

The day prior to the flight, we were talking about what to expect. My daughter has flown several times, and she is also someone who never gets nervous about anything except school exams. I could sense Tyler was a little apprehensive about the flight. I assured him that flying was plenty safe, and that it would actually be a fun and cool experience. He jokingly said, “What happens if a bird hits the plane?”

I responded, “Simple. Your pilot lands it on the Hudson River.”

Fast forward to the day of the flight. We got to the airport in plenty of time, and they had their bags checked in no time. They headed to security, where my daughter for some reason had been selected for TSA pre-check, which means she got to take a fast pass through security. Tyler headed off to the regular check. We told them we would hang out and make sure they made it through security. Allie breezed through. Tyler, after about 20 minutes, was at the front of the line. It was at that point we realized Tyler was going to go through the big scanner, where you stand in this cylinder, raise your hands, and they look for whatever it is they look for. That was the moment I realized we had missed a great opportunity. My wife and I had this conversation:

ME: We really should have told him the scanner only stings for a little bit.

MY WIFE: Yep.

Once they were through, we waved them off to their gate, and my wife and I set off to the grocery store, because that’s the kind of gangster life we lead.

As we were finishing up shopping, my wife’s phone rang. She answered, listened for a moment and said, “WHAT!?!?”

The airline they were flying only has a couple of routes, so each flight has to wait on the airplane to return from said destination before they can all pile in and defy gravity. And the plane that was going to be shuttling them to Cincinnati? Yeah, it hit birds. Enough birds that they were not going to be flying out that day, and they would have to be rescheduled for the next day.

Their flight the next day made it out fine, and they have since returned home safely.

But reflecting on the whole journey, of all the things that could have gone wrong with a flight, I am rather amused that it was the one thing Tyler was worried about. Also, I really thought they were supposed to land on the Hudson River when that happened.

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Workin’ at the car wash

As the old saying goes, “Nothing reveals a man’s character like when the car wash is broken.”

Wait, that’s not an old saying?

Well, it should be.

The other day, my family was out of town, so I was left to my own devices. I do what I normally do when I am left at home alone, which is try to relax on the couch and watch some TV, which is impossible because all I end up doing is going through a list of all of the things I could actually get done. Also, our dog, Maddux the Stoic, usually insists on sitting either right in front of or on top of me, so I usually abandon the idea rather quickly.

After compiling my mental checklist of to-do items, I set off to be productive. Fix the sliding glass door that was apparently manufactured by a company called Infuriatingly Frustrating Door Products? Check. Start laundry? Check. Walk dog just far enough so the heavens can open up and soak us both? Check.

One by one, I finished my tasks. I then went to the last task, which was to take my car to the car wash and give it a nice good cleaning inside and out.

My go-to car wash place is one of those automated places that runs your car through a big box that shoots water and soap and for some reason has a rather cool light show during the wash.

Post-wash, you can use their free vacuums to get the inside all nice and pretty.

As I pulled into the wash, I saw a sign blocking the entrance, saying it was temporarily closed. However, there was a staff member standing there. I rolled down my window. He said to me, “Just down for maintenance for a minute. But you can go ahead and use the vacuums.”

No problem, I thought. I’ll just do it in the reverse I normally do.

I pulled into a spot and began vacuuming my car. Hey, fun fact: You know those signs that are posted at these places that say, “No loud music”? Yeah, they also mean no blaring your talk radio, guy parked next to me.

After I finished up vacuuming, I saw that they had removed the sign, and the wash was back open. I backed out of my spot and pulled up to the payment area prior to proceeding into the wash. And then I looked over my shoulder and saw one car – a car that arrived after me and pulled into the vacuum station – drive out of the facility, foregoing the wash part, and heading on the down the road.

And this is where his character was revealed. He had come there to get a car wash and pay a few bucks for a car wash and a vacuum. The staff there was kind enough to keep the vacuums open while they fixed things. But the implication was certainly there that we would make good on our original intention of giving them real, actual dollars for their services.

That dude? Nope. Free vacuum! Woo-hoo!

Now, there is certainly a possibility that he had every intention of going through the car wash, but he had just gotten a phone call about an emergency at home that he had to tend to. I put that chance at .01 percent.

More than likely, he just felt like he totally won that day because, hey – free vacuum!

And that stinks. Because if it continues and ramps up even more, what is the car wash company going to do eventually? Realize people are just taking advantage of them and just shut it all down.

So, the next time you are presented with such a kindness from a business, do the right thing. Because remember, like the old saying goes…

Childhood Family

To the Class of 2018

Oftentimes, at graduation, columnists will write an open letter to the graduating class. This column, however, is an open letter to just one of those graduates. But the rest of the Class of 2018 should take this advice as well.

Allie Gibbons, we’re proud of you.

I never doubted you would shine in high school. Or in middle school. Or in elementary school. Or in kindergarten.

I base this on the fact that one of your kindergarten teachers once contacted us and asked us to please explain to you that while your contributions in class were appreciated, you were not, in fact, co-teacher. It was clear from an early age you were serious about school.

You have shined academically, and I am confident it will be more of the same in college. You have shined socially, and I am confident it will be more of the same in college. However, you have not shined at keeping your car clean, and I am confident it will more of the same in college. Prove me wrong on that one.

As you close this chapter in your life, I want to share a few things with you as you embark on the next step of your amazing journey:

You have never been the kind of person to get embroiled in silly dramas (unless on stage, where you are supposed to be). That said, as you leave any high school dramas behind, remember there will be college dramas. And drama after college. Somewhere in a retirement home, there is drama. But you get to decide whether or not you want to be part of it.
Fill up your gas tank. There is no Gas Fairy at college that will make sure your car isn’t on empty in the morning.
Never get behind on laundry. Set a schedule, use that time to knock out some homework, and make it a ritual. Also, please remember that you are now in charge of your laundry, and it, like your gas tank, will never magically be taken care of.
Credit cards are not your friend. Budgets – and sticking to them – are.
Stop rolling your eyes. You know I’m right.
Some of your friends from high school are friends for life. Some you may never see again. And that’s OK. The length of a friendship is designed to be exactly what it’s supposed to be.
Be kind. You are a kind person inherently, but remember as you go into the world, you will meet an expansive array of people, far more diverse than you have experienced to date. And you never know how a simple act of kindness may help someone else.
You are a role model. And you don’t get to choose the person you are a role model for. If you always carry yourself in a manner in which you are being your best you, you will be a great role model.
You have a lot to learn. I don’t mean that in a negative way. I mean that the world is just opening up to share some of its amazing secrets with you. So listen. Absorb. Learn.
At the end of each day, look in the mirror. Ask yourself if you are pleased with the decisions the person you see made that day. If the answer is no, don’t beat yourself up. Correct those decisions and answer an emphatic YES! the next day.
Pay attention to red flags. If your gut tells you something, listen to it.
Never punch down. It’s a cheap and shallow way to feel better about yourself. An open hand down will always be better than a fist down.
Vote. In every election.
Be informed and critical in your thinking, and be willing to change your opinion if presented with facts that make you say, “Hmm. You have a point.” That said, be very discerning in where you get your facts. Remember, your old man logged a lot of miles in journalism, and the old saying, “If your mother tells you she loves you, check it out” is oft-repeated.
And lastly, know that you are loved. Immensely. By lots of people. And we are all proud of you. We cannot wait to see what this next chapter holds, and the chapter after that, and the chapter after that. So get cracking on the next adventure. Right after you clean your car.

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A troubled bridge over water

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date May 24, 2018
No Comments on A troubled bridge over water

A note from Mike: Here where I live, in Mt. Pleasant, SC, we’ve had a bit of an issue with some infrastructure, as a major bridge has been shut down for repairs. It’s one of the major arteries here in town, and it has made driving, well, a bit of an adventure.

Not sure if you’ve heard, but there has been a little bit of a traffic snafu of late.

My normal seven-minute commute to work on day one of Bridgeageddon took about 40 minutes.

It appears we will be in this quagmire for at least a month. To that end, I ask all of my fellow motorists – in fact, any motorist facing a collective traffic calamity – to remember this one, important thing: We are all experiencing the same thing.

Traffic is bad. It’s going to be bad. It will eventually get better. But for now, we have to live in the moment together, and the best thing we can do is for each of us to accept our little allotted portion of misery, and not try and alleviate your share at the expense of others.

What I’m saying here, folks, is you’re not going to beat this mess. You’re only going to make it worse if you try and outsmart the system. This system cannot be outsmarted. It can only be muddied. So a few thoughts on some Do’s and Don’ts over the next month:

DO: Stay in your lane, unless you have to get over to turn at your destination.

DO NOT: Decide you are in a race, constantly shifting lanes and trying to get ahead, as not only are you really making things worse, you are making everyone around you dislike you, and let’s face it – that’s not good for your karmic energy.

DO: Check traffic maps and other resources before you set out on your destination.

DO NOT: Check traffic maps and other resources while on your route. Also, don’t text and drive. Ever. For one thing, you and I both know what the text says. And sending, “I KNOW, RIGHT? LOL!” is not worth hitting the car in front of you.

DO: Relax. Like I said, we’re all in this together.

DO NOT: Lay on the horn and scream at someone who is doing something such as changing lanes, even if you think they are in violation of the earlier Do Not. Let karma take care of that.

DO: Download a nice podcast to listen to.

DO NOT: Crank up your favorite pump-you-up playlist. Trust me, a healthy dose of good music is good for the soul, but when Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down a Dream” comes on and you’re sitting in traffic, it’ll just make you sad.

DO: Go to the bathroom before you leave.

DO NOT: Even think about what other people in cars around you who have to go to the bathroom are going through. It must be awful.

DO: Have your passengers be teenagers who will listen to music, sleep, etc. when they are stuck in the car.

DO NOT: Forget that, if you have teenagers, they were once toddlers, and keep those parents with toddlers in your thoughts, as undoubtedly, there is someone having a very bad ride.

DO: Have air conditioning.

DO NOT: Postpone getting your air conditioning fixed three months ago, because you’ll have plenty of time to get it done before the weather gets warm. And yes, I’m looking at me.

DO: Listen to what the police officers directing traffic tell you, and follow their directions.

DO NOT: Argue with them, disregard them, ignore them. They know better than you about the traffic flow. They’re here to help. Don’t create a Live PD segment in the middle of this mess.

DO: Listen for sirens.

DO NOT: Have your music so loud that you do not hear sirens, thus stopping an emergency vehicle from getting to their destination, which most likely is way more important and urgent than yours.

DO: Be understanding if folks heading to meet you get gummed up with traffic and throw off planned appointments.

DO NOT: Use traffic as an excuse when you know darn well you were just late.

DO: Put your shopping carts up.DO NOT: Ever forget that I will work that message into any column I can.

Happy motoring!

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Hair apparent

My wife and I have always tried to be on the same page in a very proactive manner when it comes to parenting.

Some of these are serious topics, such as disciplining children. Others are not so serious in the grand scheme thing of things, such as how long you will let your son’s hair get, even if he is approaching Cousin It levels.

Fortunately, we had agreed upon the “His hair, his call” prior to our son going roughly two years without a substantial haircut.

I say “substantial” because over the last two years, he has gotten two modest trims, but that was mostly to clean up the unbridled mass that was accumulating on his head.

I have never had long hair. I just never wanted it long. The closest I ever came was in college, when I just went a few months longer than I should without a haircut because I needed to spend my money on more important things, such as bee….textbooks. Textbooks. And other school supplies. Yeah. That’s it.

But I am not one of these dads who demands a Johnny Unitas-style haircut. (Obligatory Simpsons reference: “There’s a haircut you could set your watch to.”)

So his hair grew. And grew. And grew. Eventually, he got to the point where he was on occasion wearing it in a ponytail, which, again, his hair, his call.

Fortunately for him, the hair kinda worked for him. It gave him a bit of a surfer-dude look, and it fit his personality rather well.

But then one day he came home and said, “I want to get my hair cut.”

My wife and I both said, “Um, OK…”

We entered this with some trepidation because during the previous trim-ups, he had some serious buyer’s remorse over even getting is cleaned up, telling us he wished he had never gotten a haircut.

So I sat down with him and had that father-son talk that my dad and I never had to have: “Son, if you do this, it’s all on you, and I don’t want to hear you complain about it after your ponytail is gone.”

For this haircut, my wife and son had to make a special road trip. Our son trusts one person and one person only to cut his hair, Amber. Amber began cutting my wife’s hair years ago, and she still drives back to where we used to live to get her hair done. She cut Parker’s hair a few times, and he has decided that Amber is the only one qualified to engage his locks. And I don’t blame him, as Amber is, without a doubt, awesome.

They headed out on a Friday, gearing up for an early Saturday morning haircut. When the deed was done, my son looked like an entirely different person. And he looked like his head weighed 12 pounds lighter.

When they got back later that day, he was beaming and said he loved his haircut, and that it felt great. I can only imagine what is must feel like to have the equivalent of a Cocker Spaniel removed from the top of your head, so I assume it really feels nice.

I have no idea if he will grow his hair out again, and quite frankly, I maintain that’s his call. I like my hair short, but if he wants it long, knock yourself out. It took him awhile for his hair to get as long as it did, so if ever wants to go back to Ponytail Town, he’s got some work ahead of him. But again, his call. Granted, if he wants to go the other direction and take it a step further, I can always give Amber a picture of Johnny Unitas and tell her to make it happen.

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Spoiler Alert

So if you’re a big movie fan like me, I have some advice: If you are planning on seeing a blockbuster movie, and can’t make it until Sunday of opening weekend, you should take all of your electronic devices, lock them in a safe, and avoid looking at them until after you’ve seen the movie.

I base this on the fact some people are simply terrible and love spoiling a movie twist. Because they are terrible.

The most recent example of this is “Avengers: Infinity War.” My kids and I go to all of the Marvel movies, usually on opening weekend. My wife does not go to these movies with us, because she went to one with us, “Spider-Man: Homecoming,” and fell asleep during it, and a nap at home is much cheaper.

I have gotten adept at avoiding spoilers, as I use the aforementioned safe starting on Thursday.

Alas, my kids’ phones are essentially appendages and cannot be easily removed. As we were driving to the theater, my son made the rookie mistake of looking at his phone. I could tell by his body language something bad had happened.

“It’s spoiled,” he said.

At that point, I went against my first instinct, which was to lecture him about why checking texts or Snapchat or anything else was a bad move, as that was really not going to help things.

Instead, I said, “Well, maybe it’s someone just being a jerk making up stuff. Don’t let it ruin the movie. Also, don’t tell me what the spoiler is just in case.”

We got to the movie and settled into our seats. We ordered our usual: Large popcorn and a large root beer. We get the large because you can get refills. My daughter’s boyfriend was with us, and I told everyone to dig in to the popcorn so we could get a refill. Being the naive young lad he is, he doubted that we would be able to power through a large popcorn before the movie started. Silly boy. Never doubt the popcorn consumption powers of a group of Gibbons.

Fast forward to two-and-a-half hours later, and it turns out the spoiler my son had read was not in fact, correct. In some ways, that’s even worse than actual spoilers. If you’re just serving up straight lies to upset people, you really need to do a personal audit of yourself and find out why that brings you joy. And then you should never do it again.

That said, I do think there is a time limit for how long you have to go before you keep certain details holed up only to be discussed in the safest of places. But, there comes a time when, if you haven’t seen, say, “The Empire Strikes Back,” it’s kind of on you. (Spoiler alert: Yoda is Han Solo’s step-brother.)

For me, I’ll give it a month. I mean, there are enough people who have seen the movie by now that if I really need to talk about it, I can find plenty of folks in my house alone. Also, I can talk freely about it with my wife, who will politely smile and nod as we tell her about the movie, even though she has no idea what we are talking about.

There are several big movies coming up that my family (well, three of the four) will want to see. And we we will once again be faced with the challenge of avoiding spoilers. I am convinced that after the Avengers near-miss, my son will be on high alert prior to them. Hopefully, he will put his phone in my metaphoric safe, and focus on the one thing we should prior to the movie: Powering through that popcorn.

Adventures Animals Childhood Family Vacation

Road trip!

I have recently completed a road trip with my kids, and I can safely say it included the perfect amount of buffalo slobber.

This road trip was done over their spring break, and we set off on a whirlwind tour of roadside attractions and off-the-beaten path adventures, which is really the only way to spend spring break.

It was just the kids and me, as we realized too far into the drive that we had left my wife back home. Either that or she was in Omaha on a business trip. I can’t remember.

Our first stop was the Wild Animal Safari in Pine Mountain, Ga. As is often the case, I didn’t tell the kids where we going, as I love to see the looks on their faces when we arrive at a destination. The Wild Animal Safari is just what the name says. You drive your car through this great big rolling field, and feed buffalo and Texas longhorns and wildebeests as they mosey up to your car and occasionally stick their giant heads in through the window. Fun fact: buffalo have horrible breath AND copious amount of slobber, some of which was distributed into the car interior and my kids courtesy of a well-timed sneeze.

After the safari, our next stop was the Little White House, the retreat for Franklin Delano Roosevelt. At the entry, there is an FDR mannequin in a wheelchair, complete with his dog Fala. Neat, we thought. When we got to the actual house, there was another mannequin in a wheelchair on the front porch. And then the mannequin lifted his hand and started perusing the brochure he was holding, because it was actually an older gentlemen (who sat remarkably still) waiting for his family to finish the tour.

Our next stop was at the Lunch Box Museum in Columbus, Ga., which is, without a doubt, the single greatest museum ever created. With thousands of lunch boxes on display, it is an amazing walk down memory lane, especially if you’re a child of the 70s or 80s. Happy Days, ALF, Six Million Dollar Man, Holly Hobbie. You name it, chances are it was there. There was also one lunchbox that featured “The Exciting World of Metrics,” apparently designed for the kid who wanted the Fast Pass to an awful elementary school existence.

The next day we made our way to Macon, Ga., where we stopped at a place

called Reboot Retrocade and Bar, which has dozens of old-time arcade video games and pinball machines, each costing just a quarter. Draft beer and some Galaga on a Tuesday afternoon? Don’t mind if I do.

Fortunately, kids are allowed in the bar in the afternoon, so mine were able to experience life in an 80s arcade. Minus the draft beer, of course.

Our final stop was at the Museum of Aviation in Warner Robins, Ga. If you’re ever passing through, I highly recommend you stop in and walk through the history of aviation and see some amazing aircraft, including an SR-71 Blackbird, which may be the coolest plane ever built. I’m talking Six Million Dollar Man mailbox level cool.

We hit a few other spots along the way, sometimes just pulling off on the side of the road because we saw something interesting, such as an abandoned football stadium or a hunting and fishing store called The Funky Skunk. We also caught up with some old friends along the way, which is always a treat.

Upon arriving home, we all agreed it was a quirky and cool road trip, the kind we love to embark on. Maybe next time we can remember to take my wife.

Family

Remote out of control

It was your typical family Friday night. You know, the one where you are lying on your back under an overturned couch, a knife in your hand, while barking, “No! Keep the flashlight shining there!”

It all started when my daughter made the critical mistake of trying to change the channel on the television. We cut the cord about a year ago, and we have two remotes. One is for the TV, where we watch over-the-air channels. The other is for our Amazon Firestick. My daughter was sitting on the couch and reached for the remote, and in the process, proceeded to knock it down into the couch cushion. When she went to retrieve the remote, she did the opposite of retrieving it, and instead pushed it down into the nether regions of our couch that apparently feast on remotes.

Time to go into full on recovery mode. After my wife, son, daughter, and daughter’s boyfriend all tried to find the remote, it was time for the real pro to come in. Step aside, amateurs. Hero has arrived.

Yeah, hero didn’t find a thing.

We kept probing various parts of the couch, trying to find where the remote could have hidden. Nothing. Although we did have the super fun time where my hand got stuck inside the bowels of the couch as a couch spring latched on to my wedding ring. Once I got my hand free, I opted to make the rest of the recovery mission wedding ring-free.

I told my wife we needed to tip the couch over so that we could access the couch from underneath, and that would easily reveal the remote. She looked at me with a look she often gives me.

We tipped the couch, leaning it on its front part. On the underside of the couch there is a black fabric. All we need to do, I told my wife, is tear off the fabric and boom – remote would present itself.

My wife informed me that we could not just tear off the fabric, and also reminded me that this was a new couch. I told her that, sure, we could tear off the fabric, as we would just staple it back. I went to the kitchen and opened that junk drawer that everyone has, and retrieved a stapler. We had this conversation:

HER: That won’t work.

ME: Sure it will.

HER: Don’t you have a big stapler out in the garage?

ME: This will work.

So, let’s fast forward about 30 minutes to when I’m at the hardware store, having realized that (a) a junk drawer stapler won’t re-attach fabric to a couch and (b) my stapler in the garage is broken.

When I got back to the house, we began to pull apart the fabric, giving us a clearer view of the underside of the couch. Nothing there.

I peeled back more and more fabric. Still nothing. But, I could get my hand in more places and probe a little deeper into the nooks of the couch you couldn’t see.

And then, after exploring this pocket and that pocket, boom. Jackpot. I felt the remote. But I could just feel the edge of it. Despite my efforts, I could not grab the remote.

Time to tilt the couch. Shift it a little to the left and the remote would no doubt be right there.

Apparently, we tilted a little too much, as it jumped into a new hidden cavern of the couch, one where I could touch it, but still not get a hand on it. The problem was there was more fabric blocking my hand. How much interior fabric does a couch need!?!?!

So I made the executive decision of getting a knife from the kitchen and cutting away the fabric that was impeding progress. My hand still couldn’t get in there, so my daughter took a stab. After a few tries, success. Remote retrieved.

She was very pleased with herself, as she should have been. And anyone who knows my daughter can absolutely hear her voice when she made this comment, as she proudly held the remote up high: “Yay, me! I ruined the day AND saved it!”

Indeed you did, child Indeed you did.