I spent last week cruising the Western Caribbean with my family. It was so much fun, my face still hurts from laughing.
We started our trip in Miami, where I was stoked to meet up with my favorite Floridian--my friend Lori. She was really happy to see my parents, too. During our visit, my dad shared a story about a trip to Germany, but struggled to remember the name of the little town where he stayed. We waited while he tried to recall it, but my impatient mom chided him, saying, "Make it up! Make it up! They don't know the difference!"
Lori and I erupted into laughter. She looked at me and said, "Oh my God, now I know where you get it from!" I just nodded.
Lori took us to my very favorite Greek restaurant, Opa Taverna, where we loaded up on Greek appetizers. She wouldn't let me break any plates this time, though.
Tim, Kim and their kids arrived later that evening. I was exhausted because I'd been up since 3:45 California time (after sleeping only 4 hours), and could barely think straight. Mark, however, has a much younger, less fuzzy brain, and ran off to a second dinner with them. I realized I'm an old fuddy-duddy that night, while I was drifting off to sleep in my hotel room on a Saturday night and Mark was out partying it up in Miami.
We boarded the ship the next morning, eager to get onto the seas. The whole family gathered on deck as the ship sailed away, the weather warm and sunny.
We watched South Beach slip past us, and cheered the coming days. Then we headed to the main dining room for our first meal of the cruise.
Dinner did not disappoint. I had lobster (the first of three for the week!), and Mark ordered fettuccine Alfredo.
"Order something I can't make at home!" I told him, pointing at the menu. "I can make pasta!"
Except I really can't. Not like that, anyway--his pasta was the best dish served, so good we ordered another plate and passed it around the table, family style.
The boat was such a blast. It was HUGE--the third largest cruise ship in the world, I read, and took a little while to orient yourself. I liked that it was much more casual than other cruises I've been on--no dressing up for dinner (unless you wanted to), which meant packing less luggage. Loved that!
The coolest thing about it was the boat was the entertainment. It was awesome--we saw the Blue Man Group, Cirque du Soleil, a Second City improv troupe, and a hypnotist we liked so much, we went to three of her shows. They also had a dueling piano bar (fun!) a blues club (we walked in with three hyper kids at a very quiet moment between songs, then immediately left), and a bowling alley. Tim, Kim and the kids spent most of their time in the pools or on the water slides, while my mom and I traveled around to all the wine tastings and demos.
I'm a white wine drinker, but my mom prefers reds, so during the tasting, I traded my reds for her whites. As I was filling her glass with one wine, she asked "What is it?" then dismissively waved her hand and said, "I don't care!"
I cracked up. Neither of our palettes were all that discriminating after the first few glasses! The only uncomfortable moment came at the end of the tasting, when we walked out, happy and laughing, and realized we had to exit right through an Alcoholic's Anonymous meeting (talk about bad planning on the cruise director's part!). I pulled it together long enough to zip past them, but I didn't exhale until we were safely away from them.
We also learned how to decorate a cake (although the volunteers showed us how NOT to decorate it!), how to make sushi, and realized Mark's future career choice should be a teppanyaki chef. He can tap and bang things together all he wants, and he loves to be center stage, so it's the perfect job for him!
Another family favorite was the ship's ice bar. It was a chilly 17 degrees inside, and everything was, in fact, made of ice. The bar, the benches, even giant ice sculptures of a Viking and a polar bear. The adults slurped down vodka drinks, and the kids enjoyed non-alcoholic drinks. Well, Mark enjoyed them anyway--he tossed back three in about 15 minutes!
My family came into the bar so loudly (I know, big surprise), protesting the cold (hey, we're wimpy Californians!) and taking a million photos in about three minutes. We finally settled down, until Hannah quietly said, "Hey Dad, can I take off my parka?"
Tim said, "Sure!" and we cheered on brave, crazy Hannah. We were cracking up at her standing there in a thin sun dress, shivering in the cold.
Of course, Nicholas took that as a challenge. ("I always take Hannah's good ideas, and make them worse," he told me later).
"Hey Dad, can I take off my SHIRT?" he asked, already stripping it off.
And off it came! It stayed off for a couple couple minutes as Nic posed, guns blazing, us laughing. I finally told him to put it back on before he got hypothermia and he asked, shocked, "Can that really happen?"
Things I did not enjoy nearly as much included the line at the purser's office. I stood in it the first time to set a spending limit on Mark's card key. (The key was linked directly to my credit card.) Mark stood beside me grousing the entire time, trying to convince me that he's very responsible, almost grown up, and that I should quit treating him like a baby.
"I'm not gonna lose my key!" he complained.
I wavered, then agreed. "You're right," I said. "You're almost 14--I do trust you."
I stood in line at the purser's desk for the second time a scant four hours later, after I found Mark standing in front of our cabin, locked out, and he admitted he'd lost his key.
"Already?" I asked, sighing. This time I DID block his card, and he was smart enough not to challenge me on it.
The third time, when Mark de-activated his room key, I sent him to the purser's office alone.
"Why do I have to do it?" he whined.
"You told me you're responsible now," I reminded him. "So take care of it. You can't get on or off the boat without a key, so decide whether or not you want to see Jamaica." To his credit, he did take care of it.
Other memorable moments on the ship included our daily greeting at the buffet. Each time, the same loud, happy crew member waved a a bottle of hand sanitizer at us, shouting out "Washy, washy!" Sometimes she shook things up a bit, adding "Happy, happy" or "Smiley, smiley" and sometimes she called out all three. If I close my eyes, "Washy, washy, happy, happy, smiley, smiley" still haunts me!
The whole vacation was just amazing. I loved the time with my family, and the memories that we shared, including the washy, washy lady and the Jamaican life guard. I think Mark ate his weight in hamburgers and drank MY weight in Shirley Temples. We came back tan, relaxed, and very, very happy. And I'm pretty sure that's what vacations are all about.
Tomorrow, I'll share pix and stories from our ports of call.
Yesterday, my funny, wonderful, goofy son turned 14 years old.
He said that so far, it doesn't feel any differently than 13 did, but I disagree.
It feels a lot different. It feels like the years are passing in a flash, in dog years, or maybe light years. It's mostly on my part, though--I'm not sure how, but every time Mark celebrates a birthday, I'm the one who actually grows older.
Mark's growing so quickly, and I can't keep up. I'm just now hitting my parental stride, just now getting good at this mom thing, and suddenly, I'm almost out of job. In a few months, Mark starts high school, and then he's off to college. I'm desperately trying to live in the present, to embrace and enjoy these moments, but all I really wanna do is scream ACK! and smoosh him back down to a chubby-cheeked 6-year-old. I just wanna stuff him in my pocket and keep him young forever.
But I won't. Mark loves getting older. He's your typical kid, telling me all the things he's gonna do when he's an adult, and in charge of his own life. (The things are all variations of his two favorite past times--eating candy and playing video games). I smile, and say "Tell me more," because I don't wanna be the dream crusher who scoffs and tells him what it's really like to be a responsible adult.
But candy and video games aside, he really is maturing. He didn't want a big deal family dinner, which I understand, because we just got home from vacation the night before. But he also didn't plan his birthday party since the day after Christmas, like most years. It wasn't until I kept prodding that he finally agreed to a small party with just a couple friends, sometime in the near future.
"I just wanna stay home and rest for the next couple weekends!" he told me.
But before I could get too melancholy or worried, Mark reminded me he wasn't all that grown up. He excitedly picked out his own birthday ice cream cake topped with M&Ms. He stuck in all the candles himself, though I stopped him when he tried cramming on the whole box.
"I want 24 candles!" he told me.
"You'll get them," I said. "In 10 years. But today, you only get 14."
He agreed to 14, but only if I let him light them all. Which he set about doing, starting with all the outer candles.
"Uh oh," he said, trying to light the inner candles without burning himself. "Can you help me?"
I did, glad that he wasn't old enough to do everything on his own after all. It took us a good five minutes and an additional layer of melted wax on the cake, but we lit them all.
Mark smiled as I started to sing to him.
"Happy birthday to--" I started.
But Mark immediately blew out all the candles before I even finished the first line. I stopped singing, shocked, and watched the smoke curl up around the cake. Mark started laughing hysterically.
"You little rat!" I said, also laughing. "You didn't let me finish the song!"
"Who cares," Mark said. "Let's eat this cake!"
And so we did. Happily. Because just maybe my kid wasn't growing up so quickly after all...
Last fall, Mark told me he'd joined a football pool at school. He gave his friend Antonio $2 to join, then spent each Tuesday morning telling me how he moved up or down in the rankings, according to the games that week.
Well, he was completely stoked to find out that he'd actually won the pool. We were out to dinner when he showed me his odd assortment of winnings--a five-dollar bill, a two-dollar bill, a one-dollar coin and a bunch of quarters. They were stashed in an old cell phone box, jostling around behind the plastic cover.
"I won 15 bucks!" he told me proudly, counting out the bills and coins.
"That's awesome!" I said, smiling. Then I looked over his cash, and said, "Doesn't look like $15."
"Well, I spent some of it on candy bars," he admitted. "But I still have $10."
I thought about this for a minute.
"I thought you said it cost $2 to join the pool," I said.
"It did."
"Then how come your winnings are an odd number?" I asked. "How many kids were in the pool?"
"Ten," Mark answered.
"Huh," I said. "Shouldn't there be $20?"
Mark giggled. "Well, Antonio lost five bucks," he said.
"'Lost' it?" I asked. "Or spent it?"
"Probably spent it," Mark admitted. "But hey, I'm still ahead. I put in $2, and I tripled my money!"
"You more than tripled it," I corrected.
"Double, triple, whatever," he shrugged. "I made more than I put in."
"True," I said.
"It's not even that much," Mark told me. "He only lost, like 2% of the money."
"Actually, it's more like 25%," I told him, hoping he never tries his odds in Vegas.
"Whatever," Mark told me. "It's not like it was 50 bucks."
"Twenty-five percent of 50 bucks is--"
"I know, I know, it's like three dollars," Mark finished.
"Or like $12.50."
"Whatever," Mark said again. "Did I mention I have FIFTEEN WHOLE DOLLARS?" He waggled the money box at me again, to prove I was missing the whole point.
He really didn't care about the amount, he was just excited to have a bunch of cash (his very own money) in front of him. "Hey, I'll trade my quarters to you for dollar bills," he said. "And check out this two-dollar bill!"
And so I did. I admired his earnings, in all its different denominations, and I congratulated him again on being the big winner. He was so cute and excited about his money that I realized the actual amount didn't much matter. He was flush with cash and thrilled about winning, as he absolutely should be.
"Great job, kid," I told him, as the waitress set our bill on the table. I eyed it, then glanced at Mark. "What are you gonna do with all that money?" I asked, nodding toward the bill.
But he just shook his head. "I'm SAVING it," he said. "Just like my mom always taught me to do."
I laughed, and swiped up the bill. "Good boy," I said, standing up.
He may not be good at percentages, but he's lucky at picking football winners and not hung up on technicalities like missing cash.
And that sure makes him a winner in my book.
My friend Matthew worked at a contemporary art show last weekend. He had extra tickets to the show and texted me, asking if I wanted some.
"Heck yeah!" I answered back. (I actually texted "Beck yeah!" because autocorrect changes every word I type to gibberish, which is a story for another day. So no, NOT Beck yeah, autoINcorrect! /Digression.)
I texted Matt again, asking if the show was age-appropriate for Mark. He confirmed that it was, and told me to say hello to Lucky Cat. I had no idea what that meant, but I assured him we would.
Mark was not nearly as thrilled as I was about our plans. He groaned when I told him about the show.
"I wanna play basketball with Tyler," he whined.
"Tomorrow," I answered. "Today, we get culture!"
"I don't even like art," Mark huffed.
"That's why we're going," I told him. "To broaden your horizons. Go in with an open mind--you might even like it."
"I'm not gonna like it," Mark muttered, and I knew we were both in for a long afternoon.
I picked up our tickets and squeezed Mark's hand excitedly as we entered the show.
"This is gonna be fun!" I said.
My enthusiasm lasted all of two seconds--the amount of time it took Mark to visually scan a tower of concrete blocks and sneer, "I could make that!"
I squeezed his hand again, but in warning this time. "The artists are all sitting next to their work," I told him through gritted teeth. "They worked hard--please keep your comments positive."
"I just said I can do that," Mark complained.
"Awesome," I told him. "See, the work is already inspiring you!"
Mark grumbled down the row, barely stopping at any of the booths. I took my time, enjoying it, especially the photography. I thought the work was cool, which was more than Mark thought. He didn't show any interest until he came to a giant lit-up sculpture, which I could see him reaching for.
"Cool, huh?" I said cheerfully (and loudly), moving his hand away from the sculpture. Then, in a much quieter tone, I warned Mark not to touch any of the art unless invited to do so by the artist.
"I wasn't even touching it," he grumbled, then turned and tripped over a wire, almost toppling the whole piece. My heart skipped three beats, then I chased after him.
Mark was already moving into the next row. He was staring at a work of mixed media that used boards, canvas and purses splashed with paint.
"I can do--" Mark started, and I smiled, walking him away again.
We went down another row. Mark was in a bigger hurry than I, trying to end this as quickly as possible, I think. But I walked slowly, taking in all the pieces.
As we strolled, we passed a giant photo of a topless woman. There were other photos in the booth, but Mark didn't see any of them. He just kept walking, staring straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the photo. It was huge, so I couldn't imagine how he missed it, but he never said a word about it.
A sculpture in the next row caught his eye--a display of sports sneakers. But he moved on quickly when he realized it was all the same shoe, and not even a good brand.
"See, art can be anything," I pointed out. "Even shoes."
"Or naked women," he snapped back.
I looked at him.
"Yeah, I saw it!" he said. "You think that's appropriate art for a little kid--naked women?"
I immediately burst into giggles at his righteous indignation.
"It's just a body," I told him. "Stop being such a prude."
He snorted and kept walking. Right past a photo of another semi-nude woman. He glared right at me and my bad mothering skills.
Next up was a black canvas. Actually, two canvases painted black and joined together at an angle. Mark opened his mouth, but I beat him to it.
"Yeah, I can do that, too," I whispered. "I never realized I'm so artistic!"
And that was the turning point. Mark didn't even bother feigning interest after that. He let out a running commentary of snide remarks under his breath.
I continued to play my part, too, pointing out all the positive artistic aspects. Mark listened politely, then finally shut me up by pointing to a poster of a car whose angry driver was holding his hand out the window, flipping us off.
"Really, Mom?" he asked. "The middle finger is art?"
I sighed. He had me there. The whole trip seemed more hopeless with each row--not only was Mark having a miserable time, he was also killing any joy I might find.
I was floundering. There had to be something Mark liked. And then, around the next corner, I saw it--a giant cat! He must've been seven feet tall, an enormous sculpture, but all I could see over the wall was his head. I pointed toward the statue and said, "There's Lucky Cat!"
I was thrilled to find something Mark might actually like. I was less thrilled when I turned the corner to see the rest of Lucky Cat--and realized he was engaging in an act of...well, let's just say he was having a good time all by himself.
I immediately panicked. "Turn around, Mark!" I said, hoping Mark didn't realize what Lucky Cat was really doing. "Let's take a photo for Matthew!"
I moved Mark strategically in front of Lucky Cat's arms, then sent a WTH?? picture to Matthew, asking what exactly Lucky Cat was doing. Matthew answered back, telling me, and I said, "Yeah, I KNOW what he's doing!!!" I shared my little story with him.
And that's how Mark finally won. I put him out of his misery and left. But not before we passed one more nude photo, this one of a man, who, unlike the women, was fully nude.
"It's just a body," I reminded Mark, who simply shook his head in disgust at me.
"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I said, as we left the building.
"Not so bad?!?" Mark shouted. "I saw one, two, THREE naked people!" he said, counting them out on his fingers.
"So what?" I said, still trying to save the afternoon. "They're just--"
"Bodies, I know," he said. "Naked bodies. Seriously, is that really appropriate?"
"So besides the naked people, what was your favorite work?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
But Mark was done with my optimism. He shot me down, saying, "The guy flipping me off in his car. That was my favorite artwork, a guy giving me the finger. Are you happy? Can we go home now?"
"Yes," I said, falling victim to another bout of giggles. I ushered him to the car, all the while praying he did not re-enact his favorite art work during our drive home.
And vowing to find a more suitable companion to accompany me to the next art show.
