Let the Ibuprofen Games Begin!

“Why are you grimacing?” my wife asked.

“Shhh. I don’t want the others to know I’m injured.”

Pat looked around. “By the others, you mean…”

A couple of eight-year-olds walked by. I quickly stopped rubbing my shoulder, smiled confidently and whispered, “that boy was good, but his sister caught a dozen pom-poms in a row.”

“Maybe you should just compete with Jack. He’s only six.”

Yeah right. My left calf was still throbbing from racing Jack up the hill at the Santa Barbara Botanic Garden’s new Backcountry area for kids. He didn’t even use the ropes like you are supposed to. How’s a guy supposed to win when the competition scrambles on all fours faster than a chimpanzee? Plus, he was able to run through the new maze exhibit without stubbing his toe even once. He went around the maze like three times, while I limped to the nearest tree stump to sit down. 

“Is your shoulder injury from getting stuck in the bee pollinator structure at the Botanic Gardens? Or when you tried to follow Jack and walk across the log exhibit?”

“No more Botanic Garden talk, huh? I’m trying to concentrate.” 

I put a bright blue pom-pom into the air tube and watched it quickly zigzag its way to the top. Then it flew out. “I got it! I got it!” It hit me in the forehead and bounced to the floor. A kid in a Disneyland tee-shirt picked it up. “Can I try it now mister?”

“Of course,” I said, reluctantly. Then I crossed the room to the rocket launcher just in time to see some teenager send his rocket all the way to the top of the wall, besting my last attempt by, well, a lot. Sigh.

Pat and I were kid-sitting our grandson, Jack, for a week, so we were doing every kid thing in Santa Barbara, including MOXI, which has 17,000 square feet of interactive devices, designed to engage kids’ minds and challenge overeager grandparents. 

“I told you that you were too old for hopping, skipping, and jumping,” Pat thoughtfully reminded me.

“But did you see that fall? People were lining up to see the replay.” They had a video setup that captured you in silhouette doing a funny walk, cartwheels, or the old hop, skip, jump from my track team days.

“You were on the track team?”

“Not exactly a team, but they had an event at Opechee Park in Laconia open for all kids and if I hadn’t stepped on my shoelace I think I would have won, hands down.”

“Yes, I… we… everyone… saw the hands down part.”

At least the cramp in my wrist had gone away. Earlier in the week we had taken Jack to the Butterflies Alive! exhibit at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History.

“Remember,” the young volunteer had told us, “do not touch the butterflies. If one lands on you that’s okay, but no touching.” She looked at Jack and smiled, then at me and narrowed her eyes. “Both of you.”

Jack, who’s too cute to get into trouble, immediately put his hand out in front of a white peacock butterfly and tried to get it to crawl up on his finger. So I put my finger in front of a giant owl butterfly. I could tell Jack was really concentrating, but I knew the secret was not to move your hand no matter how much it started to hurt. “Look Ernie,” Jack said. He held up his hand with the white peacock carefully balanced on his finger. My butterfly turned his back on me and flew away. It was several minutes until I could bend my wrist again.

So I had suggested MOXI because I thought it would be easier. We headed to the third level, the roof, which had… “Water features!”

Jack and I began pumping things trying to fill basins and make rivers. How the heck did a six-year-old have that much stamina? I started pushing my lever harder and harder… That’s when I felt the pain and grabbed my left thumb. “Old baseball injury from when I used to play first base,” I said loudly. No one seemed to care.

“What’s next, MOMA?” Jack asked Pat.

“Lunch,” she said. “And, I’m guessing, ice packs.”