Don’t judge me, but I get a serious kick out of teasing my kids. It’s the funniest thing ever. I don’t mean tease them in a “I have candy and you don’t” way, but in a “I have a secret and you’ll have to wait” way.
They love it. Deep inside, everyone knows the anticipation is sometimes the best part. So I was totally game when my husband suggested we take a daytrip and not tell them where we were headed. We loaded them into the car and told them we were going “for a drive.” This makes them groan every time, because even though we often travel to places filled with wonderful and amazing things, we just as often go “for a drive” to the bank or the grocery store. This made it all the more fun—for Ron and me, especially since we were going to the bastion of all that is sweet and delicious in the world: the Jelly Belly Factory.
Knowing that we were misleading them into thinking we were going on a boring drive and seeing them get disheartened not knowing that in reality they would soon have bellies full of joy made us laugh wickedly at each other. Muhahahaha. Or something like that. Or maybe it was just quiet snickering and clandestine high fives that I’ve built up in my head, but that’s the way I remember and so it goes.
“Where are we going?” started right away. After a few miles, we’d point to an abandoned warehouse off in the distance, and say “Right over there.” Then they’d sit back in their seats, roll their eyes and groan some more. Then we’d enjoy some more wicked laughter.
The Jelly Belly Factory is in Fairfield, which is a long drive from the Central Coast. And as we got closer, there were fewer objects to point out and lie to our kids about visiting. Soon, it was just a lot of driving, staring off with no answer to the burning question.
When we got to Fairfield, just minutes from the factory, the first thing we approached was a large Budweiser sign in front of an even larger warehouse.
“I knew it! I knew it would be something like this,” my oldest said. “No fair!”
“We’re not going to the Budweiser factory,” I told him, feeling a little sheepish.
Then he saw it. Right behind the beer factory was a giant, red, and (despite having a face) succulent jellybean.
Warning: Building up anticipation can backfire if you build it up too much. Thus, the next thing I heard was a matter-of-fact, “Oh, I know where we’re going. We’re going to the Jelly Belly Factory.”
What? No screams of delight? No declarations of undying love and loyalty? No bestowing of the royal titles of Best Mom and Dad ever? Of course there were. They were only able to hold their cool long enough for us to find a parking spot, and then Chase opened the car door before we turned off the engine.
The Factory requires—yes I said requires—everyone who takes the free 40-minute tours of its jellybean-making process to wear little white candy-making hats. Then they usher you through a tour that’s funny, educational, and filled with oddball facts. Since the tour is a little long—and, as I said, educational as well—the tour guides are directed to pass out interestingly flavored jellybeans at various points.
Jake volunteered to taste a secret flavor—it turned out to be booger. Besides the factory tour, there’s a place to eat some diner food and lots and lots of stuff to buy.
Fairfield is a long way to drive to buy some jellybeans, you say? But I say: Did you know the Budweiser factory next door gives free tours and tastings as well?
Uh, I mean, the looks of happiness and bliss on a child’s face completely make up for the drive.
Arts Editor Shelly Cone totally did not go to the Budweiser factory tour on the way home. But you can send her a cold one at scone@santamaria sun.com.
This article appears in Nov 25 – Dec 2, 2010.
