The Mouth Tape, the Mystery Leak, and the Cancun Pickleball Camp

As with most of my finest disasters—I mean stories—it all starts the same way: there I was. A massive upgrade from my backup opener, which is basically, ‘Okay, this sounds made up, but I promise it happened.'

I had just gotten home from the gym and was about to take Cooper on our post‑workout ritual—a cool‑down walk for me, and a full neighborhood sniff‑and‑mark diplomatic tour for him. North Park is his personal kingdom, and every bush is apparently a border crossing. He also likes to kick things off with his morning poo, because he’s a creature of habit and zero shame.

This particular morning came shortly after I’d moved back to San Diego from Sicily. I returned a call from the Diva herself—my mother—just a quick check‑in. What she didn’t know was that the last few days had been… a lot.

The Leak That Tried to End Me

Within days of getting home, water started dripping from the ceiling of our downstairs guest bathroom. That kicked off a painful, mildly comical process of elimination: replacing a wax ring on a toilet, crawling around with a flashlight, and eventually cutting exploratory holes in the walls like I was searching for Pablo Escobar’s hidden cash stash.

But the leak was found, the leak was stopped, and now we were knee‑deep in the long slog of demo, drying, repairs, and the distant dream of fully restored bathrooms.

Everyone in my family already knew the saga. I’d explained the who, what, when, where, and why to all of them. So when I called Mom back, the very first thing out of her mouth was: “What did you do?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

Without missing a beat, and with that devilish tone she’s perfected over the years, she said:

“Did you stop up the toilet or fall asleep in the bathtub again?”

I’m never going to live that one down—the time I fell asleep in the tub and flooded my apartment. I sighed, shaking my head while Cooper sniffed his fifteenth bush in two minutes.

“No, Mom. I didn’t do anything wrong this time. Why does everyone keep asking me that? You all act like I’m a walking disaster.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“We love you, but you are like a bull in a china shop. And the biggest three‑year‑old we know. Plus, you have a track record. Remember shooting out your Uncle Johnny’s windows with your BB gun?”

“For the millionth time, I did not shoot out Uncle Johnny’s windows. And I’m not sure what that has to do with water damage.”

And honestly, I remember that day clearly—one of my earliest memories. Picture a Christmas Story moment, but in Deming, New Mexico. I had a Red Ryder‑style BB gun and spent my days shooting cans and logs. Never cars. Never windows. Never anything that would get me grounded for life.

The Mouth Tape Revelation

Trying to change the subject, I asked, “So, how are you doing this morning?”

Mom sighed the kind of sigh that tells you everything before she even speaks. “Oh, I’m tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Why not?”

“It’s the tape over my mouth that’s been bothering me.”

I paused. “Did you say… tape?”

“Yes. It’s this black tape I put over my mouth to keep it shut so I don’t snore.”

“That can’t be safe,” I said, wondering who in the world tapes their mouth shut like it’s an 1800s home remedy.

“When I snore, it wakes up Dave. So I’ve been putting tape over my mouth. Apparently, it bothered me last night, so I ripped it off. It got stuck on my hand and then in my hair.”

“Good lord, Mom. Dave has you taping your mouth shut so you don’t snore? That’s both hilarious and borderline cruel.”

“Oh no, it’s a thing people do now. Some nights it works well. Last night… not so much.”

“Why don’t you just use a CPAP machine?”

“I don’t have sleep apnea. Apparently, I snore pretty loud. I don’t know, I can’t hear it. And besides, CPAP machines are loud. It’s like hurricane‑force winds blasting down your airway.”

“Those machines have gotten way better. Mine barely makes noise.”

“That may be, but I’ll stick to the tape.”

“Or do you mean the tape will stick to you?” I said, laughing. “Mom, you’re the only person I know who tapes their mouth shut. Have you considered that you might not be getting enough oxygen at night? That might be why you ripped it off. You could suffocate. And let’s face it, your brain doesn’t need less oxygen.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? You think I’ve got a few loose screws?”

“I wouldn’t say loose screws, Mom. I’d say you’re missing a few. And you’ve complained about your memory… or did you forget?”

“I remember just fine. Anyway, never mind all that. I’m about to head out to play pickleball. I have to train for my trip to Cancun next month.”

The Cancun Bombshell

“Wait—what? You’re going to Cancun?”

“Who has the memory problems now? I told you I’m going to a week‑long pickleball camp.”

“Yes, you told me about the camp, but I thought it was like a summer‑camp‑in‑the‑woods situation. Not another country. Definitely not Mexico.”

“It’s going to be so much fun. All‑inclusive resort in the Riviera Maya. Close to where you and Chrissy got married. Every day has events, parties, socials, and even nightly shows.”

“I didn’t hear you say anything about pickleball.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of pickleball. Clinics and tournaments all week.”

“Well, shoot. I want to go.”

I immediately regretted saying that. The last thing I want is a week at an all‑inclusive resort with my mom and her girlfriends, surrounded by pickleball.

“That would be fun,” she said. “You should come—but you don’t play pickleball.”

Knowing full well I wasn’t going, I said, “Please. I’ve played a few times. Not that hard.”

“You say that, but you haven’t played with people who play all the time.”

“Fair enough. Just make sure you check in with me while you’re down there. I want to hear all your stories.”

“Why? So you can write about it? Oh shoot—Travis, don’t you dare write about me putting tape over my mouth. If I read about this conversation, you’re in trouble, mister.”

“Sorry, Momma. Too late. Mental notes are already in full force.”

“I seriously need to start saying ‘off the record’ before talking to you. But at least you listen well. Your other blog posts have been about 95% accurate. Who would’ve thought you could write? I’m still shocked. You were always a smart boy, but you struggled with anything involving reading, writing, and… what’s the word… comprehension.”

“Yep. Look at me now—writing stories to embarrass my mom.”

“I don’t get embarrassed. I end up laughing most of the time. Oh—speaking of embarrassed, have you talked to your sister today?”

The Case of the Missing Phone Calls

“No, why?”

“She was supposed to call me last night, and it’s almost noon, and I haven’t heard from her.”

“Check your texts and call log. I bet she’s called or messaged you.”

The phone went silent as I walked into the house with Cooper. I unclipped his harness, and he sprinted to his food bowl. When he found it empty, he looked up at me like, 'Hey dude, what the hell? Why is my bowl empty?' I filled it while he sat there giving me judgmental side‑eye until I told him he could eat.

Finally, Mom came back on the line. “Oh yeah, she called me twice—once last night and again this morning. I don’t know why I’m not hearing her calls.”

“Maybe you have her silenced. Or your volume’s off.”

“Oh! I bet that’s it.”

More fumbling.

“Yep, that was it. My ringer was off. Silly me. Guess I’ll call her this time.”

“Okay—and please tell her about you taping your mouth shut.”

“Oh, she knows. She tells me I should probably tape it shut during the day, also. Whatever that means.”

Knowing exactly what that meant, I laughed and said my goodbyes.

Closing Thoughts

Hope you’ve enjoyed this latest entry in Conversations With My Mom. For the record, there are several topics I haven’t written about because she’s threatened to strangle me. Don’t worry—those stories will eventually see the light of day. I’m just figuring out the best way to turn them into short stories.

Stay tuned. I’m planning to release something every few weeks, and soon I’ll be starting a third blog series—title still pending—focused on my ramblings, outlook on life, and whatever current events I feel like poking at.