Today we spent a few hours sorting out the toy bins and reorganizing the boys’ room a bit. The conversation wandered from helpful hints at telling the difference between Lego and K’nex to the price of college tuition, and eventually the topic got onto whether or not the boys would get married when they grew up.
“Eh,” said D noncommittally. “Why do people want to get married?”
“It’s nice to have somebody to love,” I said.
“We will have you to love forever,” D told me. “Well, until you die.”
“Yes,” I agreed. They’re quite cavalier about mentioning my future death. These practical earth signs, I tell ya.
“So when you die,” C said, “you can be buried, or what’s that other thing?”
“Cremated,” I told him. “They burn your body to ashes.”
Then we discussed what burial entails for a few minutes, including embalming which they thought sounded like a waste of time (“you will just turn to a skeleton anyway”), and then C asked me, “Which one do you want to be after you die?”
“Why?” D asked.
“Because it’s cheaper,” I told him.
“How much does it cost to be buried?” D asked.
“Like twenty thousand dollars or more,” I said.
His eyes got huge. “That is a lot of money. How much is it to be cremated?”
“More like a thousand, I’m not sure exactly.”
“That is still a lot of money,” C put in, with the sort of expression on his face that I have when I look on craigslist and see delusional prices on used furniture. “Maybe we’ll just set you on fire ourselves when you die.”
I started laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe, and C kept saying “What?” and staring at me like I was crazy. Then That Man called from Jordan and I told him what they’d said, and he gave them permission to burn him themselves after he dies in either a Jedi or Viking style, either way. They thought that seemed like a good idea, especially the boat-in-a-lake-flaming-arrow Viking burial.
I guess they’ll save a few bucks when Mommy and Daddy die by DIYing the cremation.