The phone rang at 4:30am. Though I wasn’t sure who it would be on the other end, I knew what I was about to hear.
“It’s your father. Just wanted to let you know your grandfather passed away this morning at about 3:00. He was peaceful, and he was surrounded by his children and your grandmother. OK, I have to call the other kids now.”

That was my father. It only made sense that he would be the one to call. Always the pillar of strength when times were tough. It’s not that he doesn’t care or have emotion, but he has learned to put emotion aside to focus on the real issues. Many say that I am a lot like him. I would imagine at that time, in his mind, two things were going through his head. One, that he had to be strong for my mother and grandmother, and two, that it is what it is. A Circle of Life. I can take a good guess at this, even though I’ve never asked him, because that’s what would have gone through my mind. Don’t get me wrong. I was flooded with emotion, concern, worry, and now I constantly carry this cloud of thought about mortality over my head, but I have this inate ability to see through the darkness. This attribute comes directly from him.

It’s funny about life and death. My first experience with death, at least the first time it affected me personally, was when my grandparents best friend’s husband died after a stroke. I was 12. I wore a black velvet dress with a white lace bib and red satin sash, white tights with red dots on them and black patten leather shoes. Ever since then, I always think about what I’m going to wear to a funeral and if I want to place that kind of stigma on the outfit. I always thought about him being my guardian angel in heaven, looking down on me, protecting me. But I was 12, and death was a distant event in my life. Now, I am 35, married and have four kids. My parents are getting older, as well as my aunts and uncles, my husband’s parents and his aunts and uncles are getting older, too. When I was younger, I would convince myself that since my parents were young parents, they would be around to help raise my children and see them grow. They would be a constant in their lives like my grandparents were in mine. Here I am with four kids and they are only in their 50’s. It’s a great thing. But the thought that my parents’ parents would no longer be here to see my children grow seemed like light years away. And here we are. And now life and death has taken on new meanings for me, and caused me to re-look at how I use religion in my life.

My mother is a devout Catholic. She was raised that way. Sunday mass was an essential part of the social scene for my grandparents. They had relocated from Rhode Island with four small children, and were new to the Las Vegas community. Church is where they found their center. Where they met their people. Where they built their community. They sent their kids to Catholic schools, attended all the events, knew all the parents of their friends, helped fund raise and support the sports teams, education and the Church. When I came onto the scene, it was common place to go to Saturday mass at 4:30 because that was the mass my grandfather did the collections for. He was also an usher, if you can believe it, they actually had people back then to help you find a seat in the church. It was a great job for him because of his social skills…he was often referred to as “The Mayor.” I also attended Catholic schools. And when the upper middle class area we were all growing up in began to turn into inner-city Las Vegas, my parents moved us out to the booming new community of Green Valley. We attended public schools from then on out, but we still had Catechism class every week. We went through every sacrament…baptism, reconciliation, communion, confirmation, and even marriage, regardless of our actual standing with the church and our faith. So far, my brother and sister’s kids have all done the same as well, even my brother’s step-son who was not baptized when they met. My mother ensured that he was, even at the age of 7, and that shortly thereafter he received his First Communion and Reconciliation.

Our only option for the afterlife came in the vision of Heaven or Hell. You were going to one place or the other, and if you were really bad, you would be sent to Purgatory for eternity. Yes, that was worse than Hell because you were basically in limbo waiting for God to decide whether or not you were good enough for Heaven or bad enough for Hell. God forbid a baby dies before they were relinquished of eternal sin by baptism and had to spend the rest of their life in Purgatory. Now when I think about it, I wonder if it was a ploy to get Catholics to continue to baptize their children right away so their numbers stayed strong. All of my babies were at least 4-6 months old before they were baptized. Though she never said anything, I know my grandmother prayed the rosary for those babies every night until they were, just in case.

Even as a child, I had a really hard time envisioning Heaven. I just wasn’t convinced there was this immaculate, angelic place up in the sky where the angels were. I would lay awake at night knowing that I when I was done, I was done. My body would then return back to the Earth where it would be used to give life to others by enriching the soil. The thought of my mind turning off forever was so frightening to me. It still is. I wanted so badly to be an angel and see everyone again and have that big party in the sky, but it just wasn’t working for me. I wonder if these were the same thoughts my dad had, or has, as he was not raised with religion in his life. Thus, the constant realist. Then I went to college.

I even went to a Catholic college, where it was required to take religion classes in order to graduate. They could be any religion class, it didn’t have to focus on Catholicism, and so being a History major, I took a class on Biblical Studies, the history of the bible. A priest taught this class. He wasn’t just any priest though. He was on a mission to bring the youth back to the church, and so he was laid back, and open, and honest. He didn’t use scare tactics to pressure us into believing, he used historical data and events. He broke down the parting of the Red Sea…a phenomenon that occurs when the east winds blow so hard that it exposes a land bridge for a few hours (coincidence or miracle?), and the reason why Catholics eat fish on Fridays…the fishing industry in Italy was not doing well, and so the Catholic Church declared it a Code of Canon Law. In college, I also learned the infamous Marx quote, “Religion is the opiate of the masses.” As soon as I heard that statement, in conjunction with the Bible Studies class I was taking, everything just clicked to me. There was no God. Religion was an invention to keep humans from doing what humans would do without law and order…freak out and start killing each other. I had convinced myself that the bible was written by guys who had taken LSD in the middle of the desert and were also suffering from dehydration, and so what they considered miracles were nearly delusions and out of body experiences because they were not of sound mind.

My mother and I fought about this constantly. At the time, I was a head strong twenty-something who had to be right, and if you know my mother, so does she. I found it difficult to respect her choices when they were not presented to me as choices. In her world, I was her child, and therefore, I would be raised Catholic, receive all my sacraments and when I died, I would meet her up in Heaven. I would threaten her with the thought that I wasn’t going to get married in the Church and that I would wait on baptism until my kids were old enough to make their own choice about whether or not they wanted to be raised Catholic. What if they connected better with Judaic Law or Hinduism? What if they didn’t want to be apart of a religion at all? I had enough serious relationships with Mormons and non-Catholics that my mother started to suggest I consider dating a Catholic because it just made things less complicated. To which I would retaliate with you can’t help who you love, and we’ll figure it out! When you receive your Confirmation, you are supposed to be given the independence to choose whether or not you want to continue with your faith, and how you choose to continue with your faith. There was no choice for me. Until I was no longer living under their roof, I would attend Sunday mass every week. I made a point to stop that right away once I got to college.

I stopped going to church, but I started taking yoga. Not that yoga was solely the answer for me, but it did help me realize that I do have a strong foundation of faith. I believe in myself. I believe in the universe. I believe in karma. I believe in community. I also began to realize that all those years of Catholic schooling gave me strong foundations on which I built my morals and integrity. With that being said, I think you can get that from any religious schooling, regardless if it is Catholic or Hebrew, my point being that it taught me right from wrong…a term that will haunt me for many years. Later, I was introduced to Landmark, which is the closest thing to atheism I have ever been exposed to, and I found it to not necessarily be a bad thing. I would still roll my eyes at my mother when she made comments about me not attending Sunday mass or contributing to the cause or not being stronger connected to my faith, but I was also starting to become more tolerant of her ideology. Maybe she would never understand mine, but I was choosing to be tolerant of hers.

When my husband and I got engaged, the first thing my mother said to me was, “You know you will break our grandmother’s heart if you don’t get married in the Church.” I knew grandmother=her, which I was slowly starting to come around to. I wanted a classic, respectful wedding that I would want to show my children pictures of one day. And, we were getting married in Vegas to the tune of 300+ guests…where on Earth would we house that many people at a ceremony?? I learned to pick my battles. When my kids were born, I negotiated baptism dates, though I assured her they would be baptised, but when I was physically ready to do so. I mean, I had to have C-sections with all my kids, I wanted to be healthy so I could relish in the experience as well. I did carry and give birth to them, I wanted to right to be physically and mentally present at something so important in their new little lives.

Our sweet angels on their baptism day

As I became more confident in my choices of faith, I also became more accepting of my mother’s. She grew up in a different generation with different circumstances. Religion wasn’t a choice for her, it was a way of life. And quite honestly, I think it’s impressive that she has stuck with it for so long. She is an active member in her Church and she is a believer in her faith. That is amazing. I, on the other hand, am just finding my place in the universe. My husband and I had this conversation in Mexico, and though relieved, I was also a bit surprised that his answer was similar to mine when I asked him about death and God. Though we both really want to believe all of our loved ones are waiting for us in these white robes living the good life up in the clouds, we can’t help but really think that when we are gone, we are gone. It’s difficult to have those strong beliefs and have to confront conversations about death with our children. We don’t want them to be scared, we want them to go through life thinking about life, not death. Since we don’t have all the answers, we decided to go ahead and talk to them about God and being Catholics, and go by what the religion practices, as that is how we chose to raise them. Give them that opium to get them through the challenging times, and as they get older, they’ll begin to form their own opinions, which we won’t be able to change either way, just support. It’s kind of like Santa Claus, you either believe, or you don’t. It’s not a right or wrong choice to make, it’s just a choice. And whatever you choose, you live your life that way.

Speaking of right or wrong. My mom and I were driving the babies to Gymboree on Ash Wednesday, and she was planning our afternoon…First, we’ll go to Gymboree, then we’ll pick up my daughter from school, go to lunch (no meat!), go get my son, then we will go to Church where she will distribute the ashes to myself and the kids. I personally, do not stick to the “no meat” thing, but again, since we chose to raise our kids Catholic, we need to set a good example for them, more importantly that they get their ashes. My son started his Catechism classes in kindergarten, and is now in First Grade, so I see the importance of following through on something, even though it doesn’t take a priority in my own life. My daughter attends a Jewish school, and is exposed somewhat to religion in the form of learning bible stories and helping others, as well as customs in the Jewish religion. So I thought it would be a good idea to expose her to some of the customs in the Catholic Church now that she is at an age where she is understanding these things more. As we were driving to Gymboree, I began a conversation with my mom about this Millennium Generation and how it is bigger than the Baby Boomers. We talked about the parents of the Millennials and how they are referred to as Boomerang Parents, and how their parenting style has reportedly created this generation of over protected, co-dependent kids who, thanks to the introduction of technology, need instant gratification and praise for everything they do, even if it’s just standing there. We bantered a little bit, and I pointed out how her generation (the Boomers) carved and changed the way of thinking and what was considered socially and politically acceptable anymore, and how this generation, regardless of what we think of it, will do the same. We argued about how parents don’t discipline their kids anymore, and I pointed out about there not being a right or wrong. There are choices and consequences, and whatever choice you make, you have to live with the consequence. She gave the example of robbing a bank, saying that it is wrong to rob a bank. I retaliated with, it was the choice of the person to do that, and now he will have to go to jail, and deal with his consequences. What kind of quality of life did he just create for himself? She wasn’t buying it, and quite frankly, I knew she had a point, but I like to keep an open mind about things. If it came down to someone taking the life of one of my children, I’m sure my language would quickly change.

Ash Wednesday

In the meantime, I am OK with being a woman of faith. Whether that faith lies within the Catholic Church, or in the comfort of knowing that I create my life, someone or some being doesn’t create it for me. It has occurred to me that if I envision something, I can make it come true. I believe in the energy of the universe. I can’t help but to be a realist. I find religion far too coincidental, and there are researchers and scientists and archaeologists who are working hard every day to prove this. I guarantee if my mother is reading this right now, she’s saying prayers for me and telling God that I really don’t mean all of this. Under her breath she is declaring blasphemy and will post a thousand quotes about atheists on my Face Book page. That’s OK. I understand and respect where she is coming from. That’s what she knows and what she believes, and I respect other’s choices and beliefs. I know not everyone shares in my beliefs. I have girlfriends who are Catholic, and they attend church and pray on a regular basis. That works for them and their families, and I don’t judge them, just as I hope they don’t judge me. If they are devout Catholics, then they were taught to be non-judgemental.  But even if they do, that’s their choice, and I know who I am, so it doesn’t affect me to want change what I believe. I still believe in helping others, being kind, humble, compassionate, tolerant and grateful. I think religions provide people with the strength they need to get through life, all the while, giving them a community of support where they help others and build societies of respectful, compassionate people that help make the world a better place. I’ve taken those things out of religion and put it into my life, and I’ve allowed myself to be transformed in other ways as well. I teach my children respect and we talk about morals, values and integrity. For me, being able to take “religion” out of the way I live my life takes the emotion out of what I am trying to accomplish in my short time on Earth. I don’t think not praying to God or not going to Church every Sunday is going to send me straight to Hell, nor is it going to help me win the lottery. I mourn the loss of life and celebrate it as well. When things get rough, I look at myself first and try to figure out what went wrong, and how I’m going to handle it. Some situations are larger than life, and it feels like they will never get better, then I remember that life is short, and this moment will pass and I just need to know that I have faith. I have faith in myself and the people I surround myself with to give me strength, and I get the same results. There is no right or wrong here. It’s life, and we are all going to die, no matter what we believe. So whatever it is that helps you get through it, that helps you make the most of it, that helps you truly live life no matter your choices or consequences, do it. I can go to a church and listen to what the priest or pastor is saying, and take it for what it’s worth, and put it into my life the way it works for me. Just as I can become enlightened by what my yoga teacher is expressing during our meditation time. The reality is that we are all saying the same thing, just with different language.

Do I think my grandpa is up in heaven? I don’t know how to answer that fairly.  But I do feel him all around me.  Whenever I talk about him to my twin sons, they laugh, which I can’t help but think they know him…my grandfather passed away the same day I found out I was having twins.To me, that’s the universe blessing me with two souls to make up for the one I lost.As a realist, I had it in my genes to ovulate twice, I’m in my mid-thirties, it’s the odds.As a Catholic, God blessed me with these two babies and as they were coming in, my grandpa was going out and gave them each a kiss on the head and said, “Be good to my Steffie.”I miss him so much.There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think about him.I even named one of my sons after him, that’s how much he meant to me.I’m always so sad to think my boys didn’t have a chance to meet him, he loved all his great-grandchildren and grandchildren so much.He would have just loved to have met these little guys.I feel his presence in the unity of our family and the bond that he and my grandmother worked so hard to create.  I get solace in the fact that he left a legacy of goodwill, love and support.  He showed us how to live a humble life based on morals and values.  He proved to us that respect and personal integrity leads to a life of fulfilment.  He will always be a part of my universe and play a factor in the way I choose to live my life.For my grandmother, my mother, aunt, uncles…he is in Heaven, and they will all be together again one day.They deserve the right to believe that.I hope they do, and I hope I am wrong.In the meantime, I will continue to live my life the best way that I know how.

Our time in Mexico had come to an end.  I was packing up the Villa while RSH was running around town taking care of last minute business.  How could two people possibly make such a mess in four short days??  I kept finding random pieces of clothing, toiletries, shoes all over the room, under the bed, under a blanket…right before we left, we thought we had everything packed, and RSH did a double check, opened a drawer and voila! Half his clothes were shoved inside.  Finally, with suitcases packed, I focused on my carry-on.  No First Class for me this time since there would be two of us flying home, meaning double the cost to upgrade.  So, I loaded my bag up with the iPad and some parenting magazines, checked for my Kiehl’s lip balm, passport, tissues, headphones, and gum.  I felt something at the bottom of my bag that was stopping me from keeping everything neat and organized.  I reached in and pulled out a book.  Man, I had some high expectations of myself on this trip!  Not only did I pack four running outfits and shoes, but I also loaded up my iPad with recommended reads, and brought a book my girlfriend gave me to borrow from my girls’ weekend before.  None of which I managed to do any of.

The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chau.  I remembered my friend telling me it was a super easy read, in fact she read the whole thing on the plane ride from New York City to Las Vegas.  I had heard about it from other bloggers and Twitter news feeds, but hadn’t had the time to explore it myself.  I put it on the top of my carry on, and committed to get at least most, if not all of it read by the end of my trip.  I had to accomplish something on my list other than catching up on my sleep and spending time with my husband!

What I had heard about this book, initially, was how offended the Mommy Bloggers were by being considered New Age and weak.  Instead of pushing their kids to work harder and disciplining them when they didn’t, the Western parents (as Mrs. Chau refers to them), would allow their children to make their own decisions and choices so their kids enjoy and plan their own lives versus being forced to do things they didn’t want to do (for example: play the piano or violin), thus, contributing to the creation of a new generation of ill prepared and unmotivated adults.  Because of all this immediate criticism, Mrs. Chau and her daughters were on the Today Show and other television programs pleading their case, explaining how this book was intended to be more of a farce on her own parenting style, and what she learned choosing to raise her children as a Chinese Mother, indicative of the way she was raised by her own parents.

I went in with an open mind.  Parenting is hard.  It is so hard.  It’s overwhelmingly hard.  There is no right or wrong answer, there is just experience, and it takes failures and successes to have that experience.  At that point, you’ve already raised your own kids, and the only thing left to do with that experience is to share it with your children as they raise their kids.  And, at that point, they probably won’t take your advice because, just like us, and our parents, and theirs, there is always a new way to parent your children.  And at the time, that’s the way you think is right, until it doesn’t work, or it stops working.  Before I read Amy Chau’s book, I actually thought I was doing a good job at being a parent.  Ugh…I was so wrong.

When you work with amazing people who have opened their minds to all the different things the world has to offer, you can learn so much.  Not only did my experience working for the Guru Fitness Company expose me to the many different dieting options of Vegan, Raw and Vegetarian, the different levels of yoga, and the transformational way of thinking and dealing with people and life in general, it also opened me up to a new way of parenting.  Somewhere along my path, there was a discussion about the year 2012, and how the Mayans believe there will be a shift in conscientiousness.  I found this to be rather intriguing.  What did this mean?  I already felt it happening on some level with all this talk about transformation and how we speak and think and act and feel and relate with others in this universe.  But what they were talking about in this discussion is how children will start to be born with this shift already in place.  It will be natural to them to know how to utilize the many tools we have spent years trying to understand.  I thought back to a time when I was in Telluride, Colorado, having a pre-pregnancy massage.  My son was born, and I was pregnant with my daughter.  The massage therapist came highly recommended for pre-natal, as she also worked in essential oils, yoga and was a Doula.  She also did not stop talking.  As she spoke through my entire massage, she was telling me about how amazing this generation is going to be, how in-tune to the universe they are already in the womb, and how intellectual and observant they will be when they are born.  I don’t know why, but I really did find this part of the conversation to be fascinating, thinking about how our brains and insight evolves and adapts to the changes in our environment socially and physically, with the introduction of every new generation.  She went on to talk about how this generation is going to produce the most influential and powerful leaders we have ever seen.  And I couldn’t help but feel a little envious of what my children were going to experience in life that I didn’t have the opportunity to because my generation was boring and dull.

Fast forward to the discussion happening with the people from my work, and it all clicked.  We were producing some of the most fascinating, intelligent, compassionate human beings that will ever walk the planet, or at least the start of them.  I had decided right then and there, that going forward, I was no longer going to be the Drill Sergeant parents I had thought of my parents to be.  I was going to guide, and discuss and involve my children so they could become these phenomenal people.  And I worked hard at that…making sure I included them in the discussion, helping them make choices and teaching them why and what the consequences would be for those choices, encouraging them to do things they enjoyed and to complete projects, teaching them compassion and acceptance along the way.  Then two things happened that altered my life and my outlook on parenting.  My son turned six, and we added two more children to our family.

During my pregnancy with the twins, I was so sick.  All my plans to be healthy and fit were flushed down the toilet when I was admitted into the hospital for hyperemsis- extreme nausea and dehydration.  Once I was maintaining with medication, I was already too big to keep practicing yoga, and because I was carrying twins, my doctor terminated any thoughts of daily walking.  I was huge and tired all the time, and I carried most of my pregnancy during the hottest months in Las Vegas, so my kids and I were home bound for most of the summer, unless it was to the Purple Penguin Snow Cone Shack or the ice cream or custard shoppe.  My son had just turned 6, and though Santa brought him a wii for Christmas, being stuck in the house with his over sized mother who was usually energetic and kept them busy with swim lessons, yoga, the park, etc., forced him to explore other options to keep him busy.  Thus, his love and infatuation of Super Mario Brothers and the wii was born.  Shortly after, he discovered his Nintendo DS, and the games and applications available on my iPad and iPhone.  We couldn’t go anywhere without him wanting to play one thing or another.  Our dinners and lunches, though quiet and relaxing for me, also became a topic of concern as I was realizing that I was hearing less and less from my son and more and more from his hand held video game device.  After the babies were born, I realized how much harder it was to keep him from spending all of his free time playing video games while I was indulged in nourishing the babies and finding any extra minutes to sleep.

Trust me, I weighed all the options, justified every argument…he’s learning to be a logical thinker, he is practicing his fine motor skills, blah blah blah.  But I was finding that as soon as he woke up in the morning, he was playing the wii, as soon as he came home from school, he would play the wii, on his way from downstairs to upstairs, he would grab his DS, and when I sent him to his room for quiet time, I would find him quietly playing on the iPad.  Enough was enough!  We have established routines, but they weren’t being implemented or forced.  So we started giving him boundaries…in the morning, he had to get dressed, brush his hair and teeth, eat breakfast, take his vitamins and get his school belongings together first.  If there was time after, then he could play wii.  When he came home from school, he had to do homework first, bath, dinner…free time meant wii time.  Here’s the deal though, he’s a smart kid, and those things only held his attention for so long.  He would get through them quickly, and correctly, so he had all the free time in the world to play his video games.  What was wrong with that, right?  Wrong, so wrong.

We introduced him to Cub Scouts and piano.  I didn’t have the time to take him, so my in-laws offered, which was great, but since I wasn’t there, I didn’t know what he was learning, or needed to be doing, so it was difficult for me to enforce rules around practicing or getting badges done.  In late December, he was invited to play on a basketball team with some my girlfriends’ kids who were the same age.  He talked about it non-stop for weeks leading up to the practice.  I thought, this is going to be so fun for him!  My husband and I were so excited for him to learn a team sport and be active.  The first practice was on a Sunday afternoon, and it was windy.  I took the twins and went shopping, and my husband took my son and daughter to the practice.  I was looking for a bathing suit for Mexico and am in the dressing room of Nordstrom’s when my phone rings.  It was my husband, stating in a calm, low voice that our son had no interest in playing and was on the monkey bars while the other kids were playing basketball.  What?!?!?  I demanded he get him on the phone.  Realizing I’m in the dressing room, at first I was calm, and asked him to tell me why he wasn’t playing.  What I got was that he was very insecure because he was smaller than the other guys, he didn’t know how to dribble a ball, or shoot a basket.  I talked to him about being faster, being passionate, and practice makes perfect.  To which he still whined and cried and said he wasn’t playing.  It wasn’t my proudest parenting moment, but something just snapped and I wanted him to play.  I knew once he got out there he would love it, I mean after all, he was the one who couldn’t stop talking about it.  And maybe, there was a little bit of my ego mixed up in there.  My sister’s son is a natural born athlete, seriously, the kid could throw a perfect football pass at 2 and plays soccer like a pro at five.  I wanted my son to be good at something he loved, but I could see that if I didn’t push him to do something, he wouldn’t love anything.  I don’t know who was around me, or if anyone heard, but I became a madwoman on that cell phone…threatening to take away his wii, his DS, the iPad, the iPhone…no video games, no shows, no TV unless he got out there on the court and played the whole practice.  After a minute of silence on his end, and concern someone was calling the Child Protective Services on mine, he said, “Fine!” and hung up the phone.  I didn’t hear back from my husband, so finished my shopping, went home and waited anxiously to see how it went.  They walked in the door and he was like a new kid.  He had discovered a new sport and he was in LOVE.  I felt relieved that my tactics worked this time, but I knew there was a good chance of it not working again.  Not only that, but I didn’t want to be that kind of parent.  I just didn’t know how to not be.  Until I read the book.

So, as I said before, RSH had been in Cabo for four days with his buddies deep sea fishing before I got down there.  I’m thinking, man, I cannot wait to get to the villa we were staying at, and relax in the hot tub, with of course, more Coronas, watch the sunset, have a quiet dinner, relax, sleep…did I mention relax?  But we are sitting at The Office, enjoying our late lunch, and the beautiful day, and the guys start talking about their fishing and how much fun they had and how great the fishing was.  How RSH caught a 98lb Wahoo and how they brought it to a local sushi restaurant and had the chef serve it up for them.  Tales about his buddy catching a shark…they were in shock that the shark took the bait, and they reeled it onto the boat.  How they almost got their fingers bitten off by this shark, and how they threw it back into the ocean, not knowing it was actually OK to keep it, and how the locals told them the meat was supposedly delicious.  And, how perfect the weather had been, and how they would love to stay one more night to get in just one more day of fishing.  I kind of felt like I was in a TV show, and they were waiting for my cue.  I kept glancing around the table where I would catch glimpses of “puppy eyes” coming from the guys, directed at me.  The two guys got up to use the restroom and RSH and I were finally alone for a minute.  He mentioned again what a great time he had with the guys, and how he would love to get in another day of fishing.  It dawned on me that he was waiting for my permission.  We had a villa with three bedrooms in it and could sleep 10 people very comfortably.  Obviously, it was not a problem to have the guys stay for one more night.  Normally, if it was our vacation, I would have said, “No, not this time,” but since we were there to celebrate RSH’s 40th, and I know how much he loves to fish, something inside me just said, “Go with it,” so I did.

“Of course they can stay,” I answered, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.  I could tell he was excited, and couldn’t wait to share the news.  When they sat back down at the table, RSH let them know they were in.  Smiles so big, it was like telling my kids we were taking them to Disneyland.  I thought, OK, whatever, I’m going to sit on the beach and read, and have a cocktail, and relax while they spend the whole day fishing.  Fine with me.  I really wasn’t feeling the whole having to get up at the crack of dawn, riding on the ocean all day and having sea legs all night.  Frankly, it wasn’t appealing at all.  But then, the guys began to insist that I go with them.  At first I said I would think about it, then RSH kept dropping little hints like, “This is a great opportunity, the boat is really nice, the water is warm, the fishing is great, you should really come.”  Again, going through my mind is that it was his birthday, that’s why we were here.  Not to mention that we have very few moments to spend together alone, or doing one of his favorite things.  OK, FINE!  I’ll go!  But the weather had to be perfect and the water had to be flat.  The last time he took me deep sea fishing was in Anguilla on a rinky dink boat.  He was so angry about his luck down there he made the guides (our cabana boy and his friend) take the boat clear out to where the Caribbean meets the Atlantic.  We rode 20 foot waves out and back, catching air a dozen times.  I was so sick the whole time.  I had never been sea sick before, but I couldn’t get my bearings.  Come to find out that I was pregnant.  Needlesstosay, it wasn’t the best deep sea fishing memory of all times.  I figured he was right though.  I had heard so many great stories about the fishing in Mexico, and his buddy did have a nice boat, so I thought, what the hell.

After permission from the wives back home, and a few dropped calls to the airlines to change their flights, we were on our way to the Montecristo Villas at the Pueblo Bonita Resort.  The check-in was like a small hotel room and it was filled with Americans from the Mid West.  I swear we were the only West coasters in the room, as well as some of the youngest.  It seemed like forever, but we finally got our key and headed off to find our villa.  It was so deceiving from the outside looking more like a clay adobe, but once past the front doors and off to the right was a staircase leading to the two bedroom suites downstairs and the infinity pool.  To the left would be our room, which had a gigantic closet, a lush, feathery King size bed, and a balcony leading to the hot tub I had been fantasizing about.  The concierge had emailed us before about groceries, and inside the refrigerator waiting for us were a dozen Coronas and sliced limes.  Life was good.

Hot Tubbin’ it at the Villa

The hot tub and beers got to me, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open, so headed off to the bed that was calling my name, for a siesta.  When I awoke, the guys were waiting for me on the balcony, cocktails in hand, to take me to dinner in town.  Though it was late for me, I was in Mexico, so thought, “Just go with it,” and so I did.  We opted to go home after dinner so we were well rested for our fishing trip the next day.  I personally couldn’t wait to go back to bed, dreading the 6am wake-up call, so I was happy to oblige.

The next morning, I pulled on my black bikini, hidden well by my lululemon Stride jacket and board shorts.  No plans to take them off, no matter how hot it got…body was not bikini ready.  Thank God for Juicy Couture and their adorable swimdresses!  Perfect for lounging at the pool or beach, but not well suited for deep sea fishing.  Fortunately, I had brought these clothes with me after having received a text from RSH before I got down there indicating there may be a possibility we would be going fishing while I was here.  It read something like this:

RSH: My buddy is so awesome!  He is letting us use the car while you are down here so we don’t need to take cabs.  He also said we could use the boat, and he bought you a fishing license.  Isn’t that awesome?!

Yeah! Awesome.  Though I linger on the realm of sarcasm, it really was awesome.  It is not cheap to operate and maintain a fishing boat, nor buy the gas it takes to get in and out to sea, and the license, which is probably the least expensive necessity, but even that is around $100 and each person has to have one.  So, yes, it was a very generous offer by his buddy.

The dock was already busltling with fishermen getting ready for their trips.  We stopped at the little coffee/ tackle shop and grabbed a breakfast burrito.  As I waited for RSH to pay, I noticed a little boy about my son’s age, all geared up and ready to go out to sea with his dad.  He was looking at a rack that had a few boxes of candy and chicklet, there was also some random baby products, then I noticed some Advil, and a little further down, right next to the big lollipops the boy was checking out, were packages of condoms.  Sweet.  Only in Mexico would you find no separation of sex and candy.  I guessed the condoms must be a big seller out on the dock, remembering the famed Booze Cruises back from the Spring Break days.

We jumped onto the boat and headed out to sea.  For about the first hour, we just drove towards the horizon.  I was feeling pretty good, trying not to focus too much on the movement of the boat on the water.  To keep my mind off it, I thumbed through a Marlin fishing magazine.  I came across an article featuring the boat we were on.  A few months back, around the time the twins were born, RSH told me the story about how his buddy’s boat was being used for this huge fishing tournament in Cabo.  The goal was to find the biggest Marlin in the sea, catch it, and bring back to shore within the time limit of the tournament to win a $1million purse.  They had flown in a top fisherman from Texas, who was a pretty rough and tough kind of a guy.  A few hours to the deadline, and they snagged something like an 800lb Marlin, the biggest fish ever caught in that tournament.  At dinner the night before, our buddy told us the story about how the Texan fisherman reeled that sucker in for hours, and how at the end of the night, he was awoken by his hands cramping up and the rest of his body stiffening up so bad they thought he was going to die.  They had to fly him out of Mexico and back to Texas immediately.  Something about lactic acid build up.  Anyway, they raced to the dock trying to beat the clock, knowing they had the prize winner, but they didn’t make it.  Missed the time by 7 minutes.  Missed $1million by 7 minutes.  Their story was in the magazine, featuring a photo of the crew and the Texan fisherman with bittersweet smiles.

The steady motion of the sea was rocking me to sleep.  There were three bedrooms on this boat…two with a Queen sized bed and one with bunk beds.  RSH’s buddy suggested I lie down in one of the rooms so I could sleep, so I did, for like two hours.  After I regained conscience, I started to feel bad, like I should be out on the deck enjoying the boat and water and the sun.  So I forced myself to get up and take a look around.  RSH showed me to the Tuna Tower, where there was a sun deck right below.  We sat there together quietly watching the ocean.  As we passed the point where the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean meet, he said, “There’s Lover’s Beach.”  Immediately I experienced Deja vu…thoughts of my two girlfriends and I popped into my head as I remembered us taking a water taxi out there.  We were hot bodied and 21 (at least so we thought)…we had boyfriends at home, and I remembered us getting lost on the beach behind these huge rock formations and taking topless pictures of each other to give to our boyfriends when we got back.  I don’t know about them, but I have no idea where those photos are to this today.  I’m not even sure I gave my pics to my boyfriend.  I laughed outloud, and RSH asked what was so funny.  We chuckled together at the fearless story of my youth.

All of a sudden, we heard the quick spinning of the reel.  We both raced down the ladder as our buddy was yelling for me to get into the chair.  The Chair being the fighting chair where I was to reel in the first fish of the day.  Apparently, this is quite an honor when you are on someone else’s boat, so I was anxious to experience my first catch out at sea.  I was demanded to pull and reel, or was it the other way around?  It was all happening so fast…and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, or lose the fish, so I focused hard, almost too hard, on what he was telling me to do.  Reeling in that fish was like dragging one of my twins out of the water…an 18 pound yellow tail tuna had taken the bait and was going to be our dinner for the night.  It was physically, one of the hardest things I had ever done.  My hands were cramping, and all I could think about was the Texan fisherman whose entire body went into an almost rigamortis state from all the work he did to pull in that 800lb fish.  No wonder!  I was trying to reel in an 18 pounder and for a minute didn’t think I was going to be able to do it.  But there was no way I was going to let these guys down, or myself, so I just went with it…and up and out of the water it came.

Reel and Pull!

The captain of the boat was fast and furious.  He grabbed the fish, pulled out the jig, and threw him into the box where he was left to die.  Sad.  The first time my husband took me fishing was in Northern Nevada.  I totally loved the experience.  We hiked and followed a river and he taught me how to fly fish.  I caught two trout.  The first one, I made him let go even though it was eating size, I couldn’t do it.  I was in tears.  The next day, he gave me a few beers, and we drank them as we fished.  I caught another one, this time, bigger than the last.  He looked at me and said, “Are we throwing this one back, too?” Since I was relaxed from the beers, smart man, I said, “Hell no! That’s dinner!” To this day, when he takes me to those fancy restaurants where they bring you the live lobster before they cook them, I always tell him, “Do not let them bring that lobster to my table,” because forget it, then I can’t eat it.

I was sad about the tuna though.  I think there is something that happens to mothers when you are faced with situations of death, no matter if it’s a fish, there’s something that makes you feel sad, like that fish was just taken away from its babies or that baby was just taken away from its mother.  Regardless, I couldn’t think about the fish anymore because I knew I wanted sushi that night, so I quietly went back into the cabin while the guys drummed up more excitement and stories about the experience, and I read an article about Lil’ Wayne in the latest Rolling Stone magazine sitting on the table.

My 18lb. YellowFin Tuna

We didn’t catch any more fish, and it was starting to get late.  We were out of the prime time day light for tuna, or anything else at that point, so we headed back to shore.  As we were on our way back, the biggest school of dolphins I had ever seen, were riding and playing on the waves of the boat.  It was like being at a Sea World show.  They were jumping and diving and playing.  Literally, jumping like 15 feet in the air.  It was so amazing.  I wished my kids could have been there to see that.  It was also whale season, and again, I’ve never seen so many whales, and so close to the boat.  Before RSH and I were married, we took annual trips to Hawaii, and it was always during whale season.  We would maybe see two or three whales the whole 10 days we were there, but this was incredible.  They were feet away from us, breaching and diving.  We could see their tales come out of the water as they dove down deep.  They truly are a magnificent creature.  Our final glimpse of nature was a lonely sea turtle, just surfing the rhythm of the waves, he bopped his little head out of the water to take a look at us as we cruised by.  I hurried to get it on video knowing sea turtles are my sons favorite.  I wanted to bring our kids back here to see all of this!  They would love it!

RSH had taken the guys to the airport, and we enjoyed a sunset cocktail before heading to town for our sushi dinner at a local joint called Arts and Sushi.  Alone at last, I was happy that he was happy.  He got to take his wife out fishing, and we caught a tuna and were having it for dinner.  We had Saki and beer, and great conversation about our life and our goals, and what we wanted for ourselves and for each other.  It was a fantastic day.  What a way to start a 40th birthday celebration!  What more could he ask for?

Well, that’s for the next story….

Sushi