Secret Tag

I don’t think I accurately described the joy of vacationing with two children who aren’t in constant danger of drowning.

Previously, I would spend 99% of my vacation with Luca clamped onto my side like a koala, his little talons digging into my skin for foothold. I would also have to be on constant lookout for Elijah, who had zero fear of water combined with zero swimming ability. He would leap into any deep end, surf or scalding hot tub, fully expecting his father to rescue him by the elastic waistband of his Avengers swimsuit.

But now, both boys have been through hours of YMCA swim lessons. They aren’t going to make the Olympic team any time soon, but they can keep their heads above water, which is all I care about.

So I can now actually have fun with them. If you read previous posts, you saw our Jason Borne (“Jesus Christ, it’s Jason Borne!”) antics and attempts at the jumping off a ledge and catching a football World Record.

My favorite game we concocted was called “Secret Tag.” I would pick an unsuspecting pool goer and the boys would have to tag them without them realizing they were part of the game. Mostly by accidentally bumping into them (“Excuse me, kind sir.”).

When I write it out, this game sounds super creepy. But it was more slapstick than gropey. Besides, I tried to pick people who wouldn’t call the cops or beat us up when they got tagged by an eleven year old.

Yeah, it really was only Eli who played the game. Luca would try his hardest to play, but every time he got within 10 feet he would shout, “I can’t do it! It’s too weird!”

Eli has no shame. Man, woman, baby, Eli would tag every one of them. He wanted to up the ante by trying to get a stranger mom to hold his hand. But Diana caught wind of it and shut the whole game down.

So we went back to diving for that piece of onion that dropped from my taco.