I know some of you hate my long posts. Too bad, it's hard to tell these stories properly in less than a thousand words. This is about smoking with my parents and my children smoking with their mother ( my ex wife) and her new husband I think it's funny
:rasta:


Smoking with your Children / Parents

I suppose it??s obvious that when I started smoking with my children it was a special occasion. On their eighteenth birthday we went camping in the Canyonlands National Park. I had saved some special hashish and some kind bud and after a long days hike and a fine meal we got stoned together around the campfire. My number 2 son brought his best friend and shortly after the second Chilum of kind/hash mix his friend stood up and remarked
??I think I??m getting high? and fell over backwards in the sand.
For me I got my father high in the hay loft of our barn. Dad had converted the barn to an artist studio for my stepmother. There were skylights and a great stereo that I used to blast Jimi Hendrix into the neighborhood. My father came up into the loft while I was smoking some special African weed I had recently acquired and after a few uncomfortable moments he agreed to have a smoke with me. The only time he had raided my stash before it was some Jamaican pot that had been dosed with some MDA and it fucked him up so badly he threw it out when he was able to walk again. This time wasn??t much better.
He wandered up the stairs to the loft with a scotch in one hand and when he noticed the lucky strike sized joint I was holding he agreed to have a few hits. This pot was not the usual fifteen dollar a lid swag from the streets. At sixty dollars an ounce I was selling it to lawyers and doctors, and they were letting me know it was some of the most powerful they had ever seen. I suspect my father was at least half drunk before he started. He very quickly lost track of how many hits he had and as I put the clip on it to finish the roach he made some comment about just how fucked up he was. I made some reassuring comment not to worry about it and he decided to head back to the house to finish what ever he was doing.
As he took the first step down the stairs his foot was too close to the edge of the step and he lost his footing. Down the stairs he slid on his ass, holding his drink so it wouldn??t spill. At the bottom of the stairs he looked back up at me and I could see he was not pleased about just how fucked up I had gotten him, again. With a glare in his eye and a hand on his ass he stood up and made his way to the stairs to the ground without looking back. For some reason he never smoked with me again.

For my children it was a little different. After their mother and I divorced she started dating and eventually living with a pretty nice guy who also happened to be a stoner. My ex really is an old hippie. Hard working and heart of gold she is one of those people who loves clothing optional hot springs and on her vacations she would head to a series of natural springs in central Colorado where she would soak all day and make love with her boyfriend all night.
One vacation a couple of my sons chose to visit her at the springs. They camped out in the tent area and she rented a cabin. After dinner every one met at one of the pools and as they soaked in the hot water her husband to be asked permission to get her sons stoned. As the kids were over eighteen, and already getting stoned on their own she could see no problem. Bill reached into his shoes and pulled out a normal sized joint and suggested they should light it up. My number 2 son laughed and said he??d love to, but maybe they should smoke his first. With that he reached into his shoes and pulled out a small cigar he had rolled earlier in the evening. His mother laughed and explained it was just like her boys to want to get carried away and they might as well smoke his first.
With that my number 3 son got out his lighter and fired up the joint for his brother. Once they had the six inch cylinder properly burning they passed it to his mother and her beau. In the hot spring, stark naked, under the canopy of amazing Colorado stars, they passed the joint between them.
What his mother and her boyfriend did not know was that my son and I had been growing together and what he had rolled was a huge joint of Blueberry from our recent crop. At almost twenty percent THC this was no ordinary joint. Most people could only smoke a little, three or four tokes, before putting the joint down and giving up. Wrapped in the womb like waters under the Milky Way my ex and her beau did not realize just how stoned they were getting. My sons on the other hand had a pretty good tolerance built up from the last trip to Amsterdam and the general exposure they had to high quality weed. As the joint got closer to the end even her boyfriend started to show signs of being fucked up. My ex, the kids mother, had always been a giggler and she was fully gone by the time she stopped accepting hits.
By the time her boyfriend, Bill, had realized what he had been smoking it was too late. He tried to sit upright on the slippery rocks and lost his balance. He was barely able to keep the joint out of the water as he was dunked into the deeper part of the pool. My sons were able to rescue the joint. As they watched their mother break into uncontrollable giggles they asked if they needed to light another one, they had brought two; just in case. Neither of the parents was able to make much sense but they managed to shake their heads, no. My number two son asked if they had any objections to the boys lighting up another one and the parents decided they needed to get out of the pool and back to the cabin while they could. Several people in the next pool over asked if they could join in and made their into the waters.
With that the kids mother and her boyfriend wrapped themselves in towels and, giggling like teenagers, stumbled back to the cabin they had rented. My boys, of course, kept smoking and partying and watching the stars until well after midnight when they called it a night and headed back to their tent.

During our marriage I was always growing weed and occasionally I would bake some special treat for us and our adult friends. I loved Elizabeth very much but she really could not cook. I on the other hand had been cooking since I was five years old and am quite comfortable in the kitchen. When we got divorced she missed my cooking more than my company.
I was always making some treat or another for us and the kids. One night I baked five dozen cookies. Two dozen had been baked with pot butter and three dozen were for the kids to take to school. I had learned earlier to hide the ??special?? cookies and leave the kids cookies out. One time our half-wolf dog got into the special cookies and before I could stop her she had ??wolfed? down fifteen of them. It was less than an hour later I found the dog laying on her back in the living room watching, and occasionally trying to bite, her front paws. There was no point in trying to help, she would sober up in a few hours.
So I learned to keep the cookies separate and hide the special ones before I had sampled too many of them. The night I remember best I had baked a lot of cookies and had gotten the green ones put away over the refrigerator and generally out of harms way. I finished the family batch and left them on the table. I knew the kids would smell them in the morning and I figured if they could find some easily they wouldn??t bother looking for the other ones.
Wrong. My oldest was maybe six. His brother was three and the youngest was still in a crib. I slept in that morning and by the time I got up it must have been nine o??clock. As I made my way to the kitchen to start the coffee I noticed my eldest and my wife sitting on the couch in front of the TV watching Sesame Street. I was some what surprised to see some cookies left on the table but I gave it no consideration.
As the coffee dripped I pulled out a couple of coffee cups and set up a round for my wife and I. Then I noticed the container of special cookies. Someone had pulled it from it??s hiding place and opened it up. I don??t think there were ten cookies left.
Now I don??t make weak cookies. When I bake pot cookies I use at least an ounce of fine weed and I make sure you will get off on just one or two. Once I took some into a factory I was working in and the night shift was never the same. Half the personnel got so stoned they had trouble making their way back to the machines. I hurried out and looked at my wife and eldest son.
My eldest was propped up on the couch like some invertebrate. My wife was no better. She could not open her eyes all the way. My son had half a cookie in his hand and when he tried to put it to his mouth to take another bite he missed his face by a good foot, The act of lifting his hand was enough to throw his balance off and he would be leaning into the pillows for some support. I asked Elizabeth if she wanted some coffee and she looked at me without understanding. I could see the crumbs around her and I asked just how many she had eaten. She could almost shake her head, before she collapsed back into the pillows.
I brought her a cup of coffee and set it down next to her. I headed back into the kitchen with my cup and gathered up what was left of the special cookies and looked for a more secure place to keep them. Maybe in the lock box where I kept the weed, I thought. Then I heard the coffee cup hit the coffee table.
Her eyes had opened a little more but they were still no more than half way open. The cup was on it??s side on the little table and was dripping coffee on to the rug. I got a towel to wipe it up. It was like trying to talk to a raccoon. She was completely unable to communicate. I was worried about my son as well as he was not responding to anything around him. TV on, TV off he continued to stare blankly at the general direction of the screen and with his mouth half open he would occasionally try to take another bite of the cookie in his hand. I substituted a plain cookie for the dosed one and he really did not notice. I knew they would sober up eventually so I finished my coffee and went into my shop to go to work for the day.
doctor G Reviewed by doctor G on . Doctor G, Smoking with your Parents I know some of you hate my long posts. Too bad, it's hard to tell these stories properly in less than a thousand words. This is about smoking with my parents and my children smoking with their mother ( my ex wife) and her new husband I think it's funny :rasta: Smoking with your Children / Parents I suppose it??s obvious that when I started smoking with my children it was a special occasion. On their eighteenth birthday we went camping in the Canyonlands National Park. I had saved Rating: 5