How Did This Happen?

I was born on April 15, 1970 and spent most of the first 28 years of my life very happily in the 9 square miles that is Paramus, New Jersey. The furthest I ever wanted to travel was to the Bella Roma for a pizza. Then, the tsunami that is Rebecca Eichler kissed me, packed me onto a plane, and flew me to India. Still not satisfied, Rebecca tricked me onto the most temperamental of camels and marched me at least a dozen miles into the Thar Desert. There, I was tied to the ground among the dung beetles and the 35-degree (Celsius) heat, until I proposed marriage. Anything for a cold beer.

Having secured her “Don’t Hit on Me” travel insurance, Rebecca immediately booked a trip to Nepal, where carrying both my own and Rebecca’s backpack, I was mistaken for a donkey. After sorting things out with customs, I arrived back in the United States and was sent to work 8-hours a day, 5-days a week. "Ahhhh," I sighed. The life for me. Soon, however, I found myself on a plane to Hong Kong so that I could be fed ginger-flavored cat food and have uncooked eggs put in my pants. Of course, this led to Rebecca becoming pregnant, so she booked us a trip to Costa Rica which had to be cut short because I was actually enjoying myself. Our next trip, with child in tow, was to Baja California in the summer of 2004. This month long excursion proved mostly uneventful but for the birth of the hit family song “The Whoa-Whoas Poo-Pooed Everywhere”.

All Rebecca could muster after the second child arrived was a week-long trip to Puerto Rico at a place that, in a few years, might actually pass for a resort. At this point, I thought, she’s slowing down. I can settle into my preferred rut of drinking beer, watching baseball on TV, and occasionally, reading “Go Dog Go” to the children.

But then, the tsunami that is Rebecca came roaring back with her crowning achievement of upheaval to date - a 4-month trip to Quito, Ecuador, where they don’t even speak English! So, in order to be able to make intelligent conversation and perhaps find myself a senorita that just likes to stay at home and iron clothes, I embarked on the grueling task of intensive Spanish language training - reading books such as “Say Hola to the Circus” and “Hola means Hello, Adios means Goodbye”; looking at the Spanish newspaper headlines through the glass as I passed the newsbox on my way to work (sample headline – “Bush es un idiot!"); drinking Corona beer; and trying to put my daughter's bed together by using the Spanish instructions (she’s still sleeping with us). And, as our departure date (May 15) nears, I can honestly say, “Oh well, here we go . . .” .