Smoke My Body

My husband says some outrageous things to the kids, many of which have been documented in this blog. It’s not that he’s going for shock value, he shoots from the hip and hopes for the best and many times, he truly believes that his candor and colorful vocabulary are actually preparing them for the real world. This latest instance, was not, I think, one of those times.

We were getting ready for bed and Natalie was looking at pictures on my phone. She found a picture of my grandfather, Benito, who passed away when I was in junior high. Natalie has always had a bizarre fascination with death so telling her about Tatay Benito opened up a flood of questions. As we talked about death, dying, heaven, hell and if it hurts when someone dies, Paul looked up from playing Sodoku on his IPod Touch and said, “Hey kids, when I die, I want you to cremate me, then divide the ashes between you. When you do something big, like win the Superbowl or somethin’, I want you to sprinkle some of my ashes in the end zone. Whatever you have left, I want you to smoke. It’s what the Indians used to do.”

Even the kids knew that Paul had just gone to crazy town. Max looked at me, to Paul, back to me again and nervously smiled. Natalie grinned and started to giggle, preparing the next round of questions on how exactly to smoke his ashes. Aidan looked up and said, “What’s smoke?” Paulina asked for more apple juice.

I don’t know how the kids will remember this conversation, or if it will ever come up again. I asked Paul about it later. “You weren’t serious, were you?” “Yes, I am,” he replied, “And if you’re still alive, I want you to smoke me too.”

Max is now a Bulldog

I’m not shy about the fact that I’m a big time football fan. I mean, I don’t face paint, wear football jersey’s everyday or have a big blow-up football guy in front of my house during football season (I said I was a fan, not a wing-nut!). That said, I have done the following: organized my travel to accommodate for kick-off times, cried a little (pathetic, I know) when my team (The Chargers!) has lost an important playoff game and bought NFL network premium cable service to be able to watch them on Sundays (I live in Giants country where they never play AFC West teams).

So, it’s not a surprise that my oldest son is a football fan too (and loves the Chargers, much to the chagrin of his Giants/Vikings loving father). He’s wanted to sign-up for football for the past couple of years but I was hesitant because football takes on a whole new meaning when it’s your son playing. Any mother who watched Joe Theisman’s leg snap on live television (as I did) after being sacked by the other L.T. (who, by the way, lost all street cred when he went on Dancing with the Stars) has a whole new perspective on the game of football.

As always, Paul thinks I’m being over-protective. He played football all his life and is over-the-moon that Max is so enthusiastic to play. I’ve suggested Max play tennis, basketball and golf which was met with the reaction of eye-rolling and comments of, “Any sport that allows a kid to wear a sweater during competition is out of the question!” I was on the losing end of this argument from the word go.

So, he’s officially signed up as a Rumson-Fair Haven Bulldog and he starts practice in July. Paul started to explain the equipment that we would have to buy, including a protective cup to which Max said, “I didn’t know you had to wear gas masks to play football.”

California Dreaming

My children are desperately missing California. When I told them I was leaving for a business trip to San Diego (23 whole hours!), they begged to come with me. Natalie said, “I miss California. When are we going back? I miss my Papa and Nanay.” “Yeah,” Max said, really kicking me in the gut, “I miss all of my cousins and riding my bike.” Even Aidan got into the conversation, “Mommy, take me to California. I like oranges.”

Not to have a pity party, but the move to the Northeast has been very rough on the kids. Two houses in two years, two new schools in two years, two got walking Pneumonia, Natalie spent nearly 6 months crying at school every day, the winters have been exceptionally snowy and as I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, giant, blood sucking mosquitoes seem to follow and bite them all summer long. On the plus side, they’ve seen a little bit of four states (NJ, NY, PA & MD), they’ve eaten really good pizza, bagels and subs, they’ve been able to spend time with their Jersey cousins and grandparents and they get to visit their cool Uncle Ben in NYC every once in awhile.

I was really lucky growing up. Even though my father spent more than 20 years in the Navy, we only moved twice and I was in Kindergarten when it happened so no BFF friendships were at risk. We think that living in the Northeast for a few more years is inevitable now that we’ve bought a house, but there isn’t a single day that goes by that I don’t think about our former quality of life in San Diego; no shoveling snow, no 2 hour commutes, no sea sickness, no mosquitoe bites, no driving down streets where yards are brown and trees are completely barren for months, lots of really good Mexican food and Sushi and the kids can play outside nearly every day of the year.

Paul says, “If we’re gonna make a move back West, let’s do it now so that we don’t have to hear the kids whine about leaving friends behind.” It seems we’ve hit a milestone as parents of kids ranging in age from 3 to almost 9. We just got through the diaper phase but we now are dealing with kids that have an opinion. I’ll take that on either coast.

Freezing, Wild Ponies and Poop Questions

The big build up to our Spring break trip was talking about the wild ponies at Assateague Island, Maryland. I was a tiny bit worried that we’d get there and they would be no where to be found. There are more than 115 ponies on the island, but since they are truly wild (the rangers to do not provide food, shelter or medical care for the ponies), there is not one spot on the island that they are guaranteed to be.

The forecast on our trip was all over the map. Two days before our departure, the temperature was listed in the low 70’s. When we got there, the high was a balmy 59 degrees. We got to the island early (because nothing says vacation like two three-year olds waking you up at 6:30AM!) and the fog had set-in over the coast. We couldn’t see the water on either side of the bridge as we drove onto the island and as we pulled into the first lot by the beach, there was only one other car. A very bad sign.

As we walked up a wooden pathway to the beach, the kids started complaining that they were freezing and that sand was blowing in their eyes. I started to tell them the sun would come out soon and so would the ponies but before I could finish the sentence, they had turned down the path headed back for the warmth of the van.

Paul was determined to at least not waste the $15 we had spent to park so we drove down further onto the island. We hadn’t got more more than a quarter mile when the fog opened up to a small field teeming with wild ponies! Before Paul could put the van in park the kids had unhooked their seat belts and practically jumped out of the van.

As we watched the ponies graze a park volunteer walked up to Natalie and asked if she wanted to know anything about the wild ponies. Without skipping a beat, she asked, “Why do they poop in a big pile like that?” Oh kids! The build up, the big reveal and what do they want to know about? Poop of course!

We spent the rest of the morning exploring trails around the island, seeing birds, racoons, deer and various little fish in the freezing water. On the last trail of the day, Aidan asked to be carried and slept on my shoulder the entire way. He was clearly enthralled by our little adventure! Later that night, we went out to a local Carabbas for warmth and some Italian food. As the waitress was taking our order, my speaking-challenged little boy said clear as day, “We went to Assateague Island and saw wild ponies!”