My husband wants to be cremated because of water pollution

Late in bed, he says to me,"Can I ask you a question?"

Wow, I think, he wants to talk to me.

"Sure."

"Do you want to be buried or cremated?"

I pause. This is not what I wanted to talk about. Especially this is the day that I found the I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it lump.

"Cremated, I suppose," I say, like it's a flippant thing and in the end I won't really care. And then, because I'm overly hormonal, I tear up a bit. My back is to him so he can't see, but I can't help it. The image of him telling my kids that their mom is DEAD is just too painful to even hypothesize.

"Yeah, me too," he says.

"What brought that up?" I just want to keep talking so I can get away from this image in my head.

"Ground water pollution."

Ah, my romantic husband strikes again.

"Huh?"

"Well, the human body is mostly water, and when you die that water has to leave. So, if you're cremated it comes out at steam, and that's okay. But, if you're going to be buried, the inject you with all these embalming chemicals, and those seep out in the grave and become part of the groundwater. Nasty stuff."

"Oh. I just said groundwater because of that Pogues song... the worms crawl in and the worms crawl out..." He laughs a bit. "I thought you always said that if you died, I'm to chuck your body into the woods somewhere."

"Yeah, that would be the best, but I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Thanks."

"No prob."

And so, he touched my shoulder and said good night.

I love my husband incredibly so. I still am expecting so much from him, and yet get things so different from what I thought I wanted. Then, in the end, what he gives me is far better than what I ever could have imagined for myself. Hmmmm...... lovely man.

And then, the boys eventually come to our bed before the sun is up. They make fart jokes and wrestle between us. Owen sings a snowman song and Riley rolls his eyes. It is loud and sometimes painful when they step on my head, but it's exactly wonderful.

And on to the reality of today.

I had to go see the surgeon in the middle of the day, so I took the whole day as a sick day. As a lovely result, I felt incredibly free to do whatever the hell I wanted. I was all "YES! I'll do the dishes!" and "YES! I'll grade 50 papers!" - but then, before I ate a loaf of bread on the couch, I observed the boys at school, and hung around for their early Chinese New Year celebration.. this "Lion Dance" thing they do at school is "huge in tradition" as one other mom put it, and I was so excited that I could watch it. Riley, age 5-going-0n-a-nervous-breakdown, first said that he didn't want to do the dance because dragons scared him, even the pretend ones. Then he said that it was too much running and he doesn't like being exhausted. Then, he proceeded to Velcro himself to my leg and cry. What do I do? I told him I'd come and watch, then he freaked and I knew it would be worse if I was there. So, another teacher - because she's a mommy too - told me he didn't have to participate if he didn't want to. He heard her and, because he's smart as a whip, felt incredible relief. I felt sad that he would miss out - no, that I would miss out - on this tradition of watching my kindergarten student dance like a scary lion/dragon thing.

We both were teary.

So, avoiding being sighted by the little one in the classroom, we hugged and then he just wouldn't let go. He was supposed to walk down to the gym, but refused without my hand. He was supposed to line up with the kids, but shook his head and hid behind me. When he finally did, and started the practice dance before the audience arrived, he stared me down and with his face turning red, started to cry and shake. I motioned him over, and both of us sad, we watched from the sidelines.

Sigh.

I'm sad that he might be a kid who misses out on things like this. I'm sad that I'll miss out on my kid enjoying stuff like this. Because a lion dance on Chinese New Year, being under that fabric dragon costume and running around the gym while the audience pounds the floor with open palms to scare you away, is a memory for him that he'll never have. I don't want him to be a side-line kid, but I don't want him to be sad. Who has fun when they're told to?

Meanwhile, I can spot Owen across the gym. He hasn't seen me and won't. He's too preoccupied with pounding the floor and laughing with his friends. I can see him in two years in tears if he's not the one who gets to wear the dragon head and run the fastest and be on stage the longest.

Chris and I are taking a parenting class called "Siblings without Rivalry" and it advises us to not place our children in roles. But, come on. Riley is a nervous genius and Owen is a funny, creative goofball. That's that - and I bet serious money that they will both be that way for the rest of their lives - or until a therapist beats it out of them.

(And here's a lovely photo of them displaying the opposite of their typical emotions... Riley is all smiles and Owen looks pissed off. What a duo.)

So, after that kerfuffle, I got some expensive groceries from the Co-op I'm banned from and ate the loaf of bread. Watched 15 minutes of "Family Feud" - do you know it's J.Peterman as the host now? - and then decided, on a whim, to start this blog.

We'll see how far I go with it. Not much extra time for writing these days, but a girl must keep herself off the streets and out of trouble somehow.

Now, I just need to figure out how to add more photos - because, come on, who wants to read all of this without some imagery to go with it? Like tea with no cookies....