When my son was little, my job was to act as the litmus paper for the movies or shows he wanted to see. We had a rule that if I deem the show/movie to contain mature themes, then he would have to wait until he was of age to see it. I remember one time when I had to rush to the movies to see X-men. I was rooting for it to be acceptable because he wanted so much to see it.
When I got to the movies, I realized that I had so little cash in my wallet (not unusual) that I only had enough to pay for my ticket and a child size soda and popcorn. The counter staff was looking at me with pity. I must have looked pathetic in my nice suit and without cash and I would not use a credit card for the darn popcorn. They were urging me to supersize but I refused, which made me look even more pathetic. I deemed X-men to be age appropriate; he and I went to see it together but I had to cover his eyes during the trailer. He kept saying, “I love you, Mommy.”
A summer ago, we took my son to the Netherlands. While there, he had certain ideas that my husband and I expected but could not encourage. I noticed that son was melancholy for the first two days of our stay, he said, “I cannot believe you took me here and I could not do whatever…” I told him, “Your Dad and I wanted you to see this city and tour the other cities outside Amsterdam. What is your problem?” I knew the problem. So despite our struggle with the issue, we told him one afternoon that he was free to do as he liked. He went around the corner and came back all stupid but happy. He said he was at the coffee house for a couple of hours. He was gone only an hour. He promptly went to sleep and I swear he ate the whole breakfast spread minus the tables and the chairs the next morning.
Here is the lowdown. I wanted to be a litmus paper once again so I asked my husband if I could also go to a coffee house. My husband, always accommodating my craziness agreed to research the city and found a perfect place for me to smoke. Okay, so let us cut the crap and let me tell you – I had a trip from hell.
Husband (HB) and I got seated at a very comfortable full- sized sofa. The place was dim but there were rare decorations. HB ordered some drinks and then left momentarily. When he came back, he was holding the joint. I wanted to get the show on the road. What was the big deal?
I had no problem smoking it. After about four puffs, the world started spinning. I could hear all the chatter around me. I could understand Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, English, and French. I could hear everyone talking in Dolby sound, and understood them all! I could hear the music and furthermore, I could see the musical notes, like they were on a big screen for me to see. They were spiraling, G-Clef, Base Clef, C, E, F, flats, sharps - they were coming out of a white grand piano and the notes were in gold floating into this creamy background. I could hear the saxophone and see it opening up to bare the musical notes. I would narrate when I could what I was seeing. HB would say “Really? Wow!” Then there was a giant cake opening up like power-point and as it opens up, musical notes would come out of it. I saw mouthfuls of teeth grinning, skewered in Popsicle sticks, dancing like a chorus line. I could see a shadow of a cart being pulled with a silhouette of a giant rabbit. HB would again say, “Wow! You are having such an awesome trip!” No! It was so weird that I told him that I was about to die. I asked him not to let me die. Not there. Not like that. I confessed my sin to whoever saint was available to help me at that moment and promise not do it again. OMG, I implored, "Let me live through this mess. I am a good person and I am really just a regular working mom. I am just a stupid mom at this moment. " OMG, what would my son think when he learns I died from smoking a stupid 7-Euro joint? Wait, there is a giant slice of cake passing by---
Then, I worried about my jewelry; I was convinced they would be stolen from me. But I was also aware of the time; I kept looking at my watch and then I would “pass out.” I kept wondering if I took my allergy medicine and in fact I opened my backpack to get it. I was in between sanity and total madness. It was awful.
Later on, after what I thought was eternity, I did not die. My husband was holding me close and told me “What a waste! Geez, people pay for the kind of trip you had and you were totally, stupidly wasted.” He said he thought I was sweaty and I was having a panic attack and I would not disagree. It was not worth the time, all 30 minutes of it. It was a “bad trip.”
HB said, “You know, next time, I should be the one to try it and you can sit there and babysit me like I did you.” He affectionately told me that I was a total loser! We went back to the hotel quietly where I experienced such blissful sleep. This was better than watching the Dog Whisperer or American Greed, or Forensics File. Dude, it was just total blackout. And I kept saying "I love you!" to my HB. Let us face it, he did not let me die!
I woke up the next day and went down to have breakfast. I ate the bread, fruits, yogurt, more bread, more fruits, more yogurt. I ate everything minus the tables, chairs, and tablecloths. When my son came down for breakfast and nodded at me, I just looked at him like he does to me with the defensive “What, I have not done anything” stance.
Later, he said, "Mom, why don’t you and I go to Babah together and we can do the wax museum later?" “Are you out of your mind? I am too old for the kind of foolishness you want to do? No!” “I will treat you, Mom!” “You know what, I am scared for you. You will find yourself without your wallet and passport, without your IPod and your Blackberry. You will be homeless in Amsterdam and I would not know about it?” He could not deal with the drama so instead he went to the museum with us. Then we gave a stern warning: What happened here stays here. You will be in college in a few months. You do it, you are in breach of your contract with us; you lose the chance of going to college; you go to jail. This is non-negotiable. We did not raise a pothead. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Now cheer up! Really.
Here is the deal. My son is not interested in being my FB friend; he is not interested in some old lady’s blog. So let us keep it between you and me.
I am living with a secret and I dread the day, when one day, in the next ten years, he would come to me, and say, “Hey Mom, remember when we were in Amsterdam for my high school graduation? Did you get high?” I would ask, “What made you say that?” “Because the only thing you did not eat that one morning was the tablecloth and the table and chairs!” I will give him one of those bite-my-lip cannot really smile and say, “Peace!” I will then LMAO. But only when he is not looking.
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