Category: Family (Page 5 of 16)

“Oh, I just can’t take this.  Why is politics so stupid?!  U.S. politics are messed up.  Puerto Rico politics are messed up.  It’s ridiculous.   What do we do, Jaimito?”

“Move to Jamaica?”

*ROFL*

Got a pair of fancy-schmancy bicycle shoes – carbon fiber no less.  Kids call them the Ka-chow shoes.

See a resemblance?  I certainly feel like Lightening McQueen in my spiffy shoes.  KA-CHOW!

We watched “Alvin and the Chipmunks, the Squeakquel” the other night.  In the interest of not saying anything negative about the movie, I give you this:  my three year-old loved it.  Loved it!  I think it’s his favorite movie so far.  He got all excited and was dancing around as the girl chipmunks were singing, “Single Ladies.”

“Hey, Asier, are you a single lady?” I asked chuckling.

And as if sensing my humor and the incongruity of a three year-old boy being a “single lady,” he quickly responded, “No Daddy, I Batman.”

And he kept dancing.

“Daddy,”  Olaia said, “Dora has bad parents.”

“Why do you say that, Olaia?”

“Who lets their daughter go to China with a monkey?”

Asier Enrique O’Malley Gorbea has achieved a milestone of impressive proportions.  For the first time and perhaps the last first time in this family, we have achieved targeted evacuation.  Long has been the road to this operation and as diaper operations quickly come to a close, we breathe a sigh of relief at this most fortuitous success.  To what do we owe this completion?  Bribery?  Threats?  Time?  Patience?  Maturity?  I have asked myself the same question.  Did he actually understand the process?  What is his motivation?

“Asier, you can’t go to a playdate with Javier and his friend until you go caca in the toilet.  You have to show us you are a big boy,” Laura informed him today.

Upon arrival home, he dutifully called out a caca alert and made it so.

“Ah, so he gets it,” I said, “He understands the process; he just needs the proper motivation.”

“Hey, Jaimito, do you want to race in the park today?  I’ll kick your butt.”  You gotta talk smack with the little boys lest they get too uppity.  “Think you can beat me, Jaimito?”

It’s been fun racing with the kids in park.  It’s amazing how fun something as a simple foot race can be.  It’s invigorating, healthy, and makes me feel like a little kid again.  It’s beautiful to experience the sublime pleasure of racing toward the branches of a leafy tree in the distance.  Jaimito is fast though.  The first time we raced, I actually had to try to beat him.  Yikes, this little eight-year-old is going to be kicking me to the curb before too long.  I need to lose a few pounds if I am to have any hope.  We have since made running in the park part of our ritual.  I’ve gotten steadily faster, I’m happy to say, as I’ve lost a few pounds and my legs have gotten stronger and more accustomed to sprinting.

Jaimito responded to my gentle taunt, “Yeah, Daddy, you probably will win.”

“Ohhhh! Jaimito, that’s no attitude.  You have to believe you can win.  If you give up before you start, you will surely lose.”  He was quiet, so I continued. “Don’t you want to win?”

“Meh,” he responded with a shrug.

“Oh come on, Jaimito, you’re just worried that you’re going to lose and don’t want to pretend you care.  I see through you.  Don’t you want to win?”

Jaimito thought for a second and responded “No, it’s not that, Daddy.  I just like to run.”

So I turned 40 in January, the big Four-Oh. I don’t know why, but forty looms like some big scary milestone. I’ve tried to put it out of my mind. Look, it’s just arbitrary; 40 doesn’t mean the same thing it used to. We are younger, fitter, and more vigorous, so Laura and I have decided that forty is fuerte.  I like that and to celebrate I didn’t really want a big bash; I just wanted to ride my bike around Puerto Rico.

So off I went in an attempt to do 320 miles in four days.

Here I am departing from our little house in Guaynabo on my 20 year old Casati Bicycle. It’s old, yes, vintage perhaps, but it’s only been ridden once or twice a year for the past ten years.  Remember, it’s not the years, it’s the miles.  My everyday ride is the mountain bike.

With Laura and the kids in tow, we headed north through the city, and with the awful traffic only averaged around 4 miles an hour for the first hour. Once we got the coast it opened up a bit and I had more fun. You see, here’s my butt. That’s pretty much the view my lovely family enjoyed for four days.

Now, some of my cycling compatriots might chastise me for not shaving my legs, having a spiffy carbon fiber frame, fancy clothes, and an uber-light wheelset. In my defense, I present the following:

1. Shaving is a lot of pain for no gain.
2. What father of four has 3 grand to drop on a bike?  I like the old bike.  I can fix whatever I need to.
3. Fancy clothes?  I just wanted to be seen by cars and not die.  Functional clothes are more to my liking.
4. Well, yeah, I have wheelset envy.  *Chuckle*  Some of the new wheelsets are awesome.  I’m saving my money.

Let me digress for a moment here.  Before the trip, I knew I was going to have to get a new rear cassette.  The existing cassette was a hold-over from my racing days, mostly flat riding and the largest sprocket only had 21 teeth, way too few if I should ever encounter any hills.   I went on Ebay and found a nice old 7-speed Shimano Hyperglide cassette and called it a day.  Once the thing came in the mail, I went to take the wheel off and realized my old one was a Uniglide cassette.  D’oh.  That’s bike talk for incompatible.   I hadn’t taken my rear cassette off in a couple of years, and I had forgotten it wasn’t Hyperglide.  Sigh, senior moment?   Now, granted, I should I have worked all this out well before the trip, but I put it off, and now I was leaving the next day, and all I had was this leg breaking gearing that was just not going to do.  My solution:  Grab an 8-speed Hyperglide cassette off an old mountain bike wheelset, and shim it with a loose cog.  Nice.  It worked, and my legs were saved if not shaved.

Day one took me along the north coast heading west.  I had a gorgeous view of crashing waves and beautiful beaches for much of the trip from San Juan to Barceloneta.  I made it 43 miles that first day, before I kind of ran out of gas and sunlight far short of my original goal of 75 miles.  Seeing as how I had not ridden farther than 30 miles in a day for over 10 years, I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself.

That night, we found a little pizza joint called “Jimmy’s Pizza.”  How fortuitous.  Pizza wasn’t all that special, but we had fun and Jaimito and I told the uninterested staff we were Jimmys.

Here we are pictured in “I roll with the O’Malley crew” shirts graciously provided by my cousin Genevieve DeBose.  It’s like I had my very own team.

Stay tuned for part two.  Hopefully it won’t take as long as this one.

I brushed my teeth and turned to get into bed, but was impeded by various space-faring vehicles: an X-Wing, Rocket, and some little people.

“Oh look at the little space port that someone built in our bed. Isn’t that cute?”

“They are so cute, with their little spaceships,” Laura agreed.

“I hadn’t realized that the NASA budget cuts would take affect so quickly. Seems they’ve gotten pretty desperate if they’re using our bed as a launch location.”

*ROFL*

“Hey, Javier, can you get Asier’s shoes for me?” We were heading out to the hardware store to replace our butane tanks. Need some fire for grillin’. I asked Javier, if he could put on Asier’s shoes for me.

“Yes, Daddy, I can do it.” And he scooted off looking for Asier’s shoes. I watched him unstrap the velcro on the little red, blue, and yellow Superman shoes and carefully place them on Asier’s little twinkly toes.

“Good job, Javier. That’s great. I didn’t know you could put Asier’s shoes on.” Javier smiled. “Okay, let’s go get in the car.” I looked down and noticed that Javier’s shoes were a mess. The laces were dragging in a tangle. “Javier, do you need me to tie your shoes?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Hey Javier, we need to practice tying your shoes, so you can tie them yourself.”

“I already tied them, Daddy,” he declared.

“Oh really?”

“Uh, huh. I tied them myself.”

Now it was becoming clear. They were in a tangle because he had attempted to tie the laces himself, looping and pulling and twirling this way and that until they held together.

“I like your style, Javier. You’re a can-do boy.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” He understood from my tone it was a compliment, but didn’t quite grasp why his failed attempt at tying his shoes would warrant praise.

“I just like that you just tried to do it yourself. I liked that you didn’t let anything stop you. You didn’t know how to tie your shoes, but you tried anyway. That’s cool,” I said.

I looked back at almost five year old Javier sitting in his booster seat, his shoulders straight, his head held high.

All the kids are in nine million different after school activities, and as per our lot in life, Laura and I get to drive them all over God’s creation at all hours of the day.  Recently, Olaia, auditioned for a local production of the opera La Boheme.  Awesome, she made it.  It’s an honor, and our talented little singing girl is excited beyond measure.  But – the rehearsals are murder.  Tonight for example, she has a rehearsal from 6:30pm to 10pm.

“Olaia, do you know we’ve made 4 round trips to Santurce today?  Twice for Jaimito and now twice for you,” I complained.

“Daddy, you and mommy are like Miracle Max and his wife – making miracles.”

I laughed, ’cause that little girl knows how to tickle my funny bone.  She knows I’m weak for Princess Bride quotes and uses that knowledge to her advantage.

“Hello,” she said next, “my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

“That’s funny, Olaia.” And I launched verbatim into the battle of wits and other snippets.  Suddenly I forgot that two hours of my day had been spent as a bus driver.  I was just hanging with my wise and funny little girl.  I am one lucky daddy!