Conversations with My FIVE Year Old

Well, today is 4′s birthday.  Making him 4 no longer, but a big, huge 5!  Are you getting that?  My youngest child, my baby, is now a 5-year-old and will soon be in kindergarten!!  Damn.  Way to make your mom feel old, kid!

Anyway, because today is 5′s special day, I decided to dedicate an entire “Convos with” post to him.  And since it’s been many months since I’ve posted one of these, I have plenty of material just from him, trust me!

Word.

5:  You know what’s inside pyramids?
Me:  No, what?
5:  Mummies.
Me:  Oh yeah?
5:  Yeah, you know how mummies hide inside pyramids, and then when people walk by, they jump out and scare them?
Me:   Um, sure.  Why not?
(Annnnddddd, cancelling my trip to Egypt, now).

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5:  I wish my name was Fisafer.
Me:  Christopher?
5:  No, FIS-a-FER.
Me:  Why?
5:  Because I like that MUCH better than my name now!
(Everyone’s a critic).

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Me:  When you finish dinner, we will watch the Disney World video.
5:  I bet Mickey Mouse will be on the video!
Me:  Yeah, I’m pretty sure you WILL see Mickey on the Disney video.
5:  That’s because Mickey is the BOSS of Disney World!!

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5:  Do we get presents on Green Patrick’s Day?

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Me:  You had a cookie?  But you don’t LIKE cookies!! (Said dripping with sarcasm).
5:  YES I DO!!
Me:  No WAY!  Since when?
5:  Well, I like candy!  Even though it sometimes feels all gloppy in my throat, I still like it.

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Hubs:  What’s the difference between a chicken finger and a chicken nugget?
5:  The name. 
(Literal answer for the win!)

Hubs:  How was your day?
Me:  It was ok.
5:  Was it a longer day?
Me:  Longer than what?
5:  Longer than expected.
Me:  No, it was about as long as it normally is.
5:  Was it a lover day?
Me:  What’s a “lover” day?
5:  You know, did you love it more than you expected?
Me:  Um, no.  Definitely not.

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Hubs:  You know not to drink the pool water, right?
5:  Yes.
Hubs:  And why is that?
5:  So I don’t swallow any criminals.
(And yes, we were apparently vacationing at Rikers Island.  Chemicals is the word he was going for, by the way).

Cooking by Numbers

When I was in high school, I was mistakenly placed in an AP math class.  I was already taking a few other AP classes in English and History, but there was no indication that I excelled in mathematical concepts.  In fact, the prior year I got a solid B in Algebra II.  I do not know why this prompted the powers-that-be administrators to feel I needed advanced math classes.  I should have been placed in the next basic class.  Instead, I found myself drowning amongst concepts that I could not comprehend.  Once it was discovered that I was struggling, the teacher and my parents discussed the option of moving me down into the lower level class.  This would have been the best option, but for some reason, everyone decided to let me stay in the advanced class and try my hardest.  Unfortunately, my hardest wasn’t good enough.  My parents had to hire a tutor for me.  And even then, I just couldn’t get it. 

Source

 

Fortunately for me and my GPA, the teacher took pity on me and was incredibly charitable with her grading.  She knew I was being tutored and that I was trying my absolute hardest to do the best I could.  Because of this, I managed to eke out a C-, when truthfully it should have been much lower, if not failing.  It is the only class I have ever taken that I truly almost did not pass.

The next year, everyone smartened up, and I was placed in the most basic of basic math classes.  And although I was finally in an appropriate setting, I never forgot the feeling of drowning in that one advanced class.  The feeling that I just wasn’t smart enough or capable enough to handle what everyone else around me was easily comprehending.  It was not a feeling I enjoyed or ever wanted to repeat in the future.

Yet somehow, despite my genes, my oldest son is a math genius.  Merely in 2nd grade, he is already appropriately in an advanced math class.  Math is apparently one of his skills.  Where that innate ability with numbers came from is anybody’s guess, because as I’ve established above, it is definitely not from his mother.

The other night, my son was helping with dinner preparation.  This is a task which he routinely enjoys and does without complaint.  We were making stir fry, and one of his jobs was to cut up some of the veggies.

While he was cutting up a head of broccoli into little florets, he made this comment:

Cutting up broccoli is fun because it’s like math.  Because when I cut them in pieces, it’s like doing fractions.  For example, this piece is one-fourth of this broccoli. 

© 2005 David Monniaux

 

I am 38 years old.  Much like Dana Carvey, I have chopped quite a few heads of broccoli in my day.  But not once did I ever think, “huh, this is just like math.  What fun!”

So, while I am happy for my son and his newfound sense of adventure and learning through cooking, this episode also scared the crap out of me.  I’m looking into the not so distant future, and seeing a time when my son needs help with his math homework.  Oh, say . . . probably sometime next week.  And I know for a fact that I will be absolutely useless in assisting him. 

I mean, if he needs help with English or composition or grammar, I’m your mom!  I am most definitely proficient in those topics.  But with anything math related?  No.  If I don’t have a calculator handy or the answer is more than 10 (the number of fingers on which I have to count), then I will not be solving for X.

These are going to be some long school years.  I mean, how sad is it when an 7-year-old boy is smarter than you at an elementary school subject?  All of a sudden, I am starting to experience that drowning feeling again from many years in the past, when trying to tackle an untenable subject.

In related news, I am going back to the hospital to do some research about any babies born the same day as my son.  If I find one that is really good at reading and writing with brown hair and brown eyes . . . there are going to be some hard-hitting questions, is all I’m saying.

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Do your kids have any traits and/or skills that have you wondering where they came from?

A Hot Cup O’ Joe

Holy crap, you guys!  Y’all really want this mug, huh?  Which is spectacular, because I spent my hard earned duckets to get that thing for you.  I mean, this is by far the most expensive thing I’ve ever given away, and I was so worried that nobody would think it was as rad as I did.  And I know what you’re probably thinking right now, “most expensive?  A mug?  What the hell?”  Well, the hell is that it’s from Disney, and everything there is stupid expensive.  I think it’s the extra magic particles they put in all of their stuff.  Or the fact that they need to pay extra to the fairies on the production line.  Whatever the reason, this was no ordinary FIVE BELOW kinda mug, ya dig?  So, I am very pleased with the responses I got for it.  Ok, then.  Enough of all that.  Let’s get to it.

Once again, my kids came into play.  Sorry for those of you who voted for certain people and/or comments (ahem Hippie ahem), but this also limits my ability to pick a favorite as well.  So it’s all fair-like, capisce?

This time, I enlisted the services of my eldest son, 7, to help me.  There were a larger than usual amount of people who entered, which meant lots and lots of little papers which needed folding.  (Yes, I do actually type up each name, print them out and then cut them into equal sized pieces, before folding them into little squares and putting them into a hat to be picked . . . what?).  So, because of the extra volume of papers, I told 7 I needed his help folding them all up.  And after folding up a few, he commented: “huh, this is kinda fun.”  I love my little dork. 

So, since 7 was on folding duty (and hat holding), I let 4 pick the name:

And who, praytell, is the lucky new owner of this super mega ridiculously fabulous drinking vessel, you may ask?  Well, it’s none other than:

AGIRLWHOGAMES

Woo-hoo!!  I am very excited for this win.  I think she may have needed a little special something more than anyone right now, being from Boston and having a very heart heavy week.  The fates (or 4) apparently knew she needed a little pick me up in the form of a mickey mug.  So, agirl, congrats on this super mega wonderfully rad win!!  I hope it will make you smile.

Go ahead and send over your deets and I’ll send this out to you.  mistyslaws at gmail dot com.

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And, because everyone was so keen to know the answer to my little riddle from the last post, about whose face was on the other foot (if you didn’t read this, go back, and that phrase will make much more sense) . . . the answer is:

MARILYN MONROE

A few of you guessed it, so good job.  You don’t get a prize or anything.  I mean, except for having the knowledge of 50′s era stars who died young and guessing the correct one, which is a prize in and of itself.  So . . . go you! 

Put Me In, Coach

It’s that time of the year again . . . baseball season!!  The family and I were fortunate enough to get opening day tickets for the start of the Baltimore Oriole’s season this year.  The only problem?  We would be on a plane headed home from Disney during the game.  Drats.  So, we decided to do the next best thing . . . get tickets for the next night’s game.  Which is where we found ourselves one brisk spring evening in April.

Baseball in Baltimore has a long legacy.  The Orioles have been really good for some of those years, and just plain awful for many more.  And in fact, excepting last year’s playoff run, the birds have stunk up the joint for about 2 decades past.  Luckily, Balmorons have a short memory, and it seems that every spring, no matter how bad they have been or for how long, there is still a feeling of hope.  An optomistic thought of, “maybe this will be our year.”  And with the playoff run at the end of last year, the citizens of this fine city may just have a reason to hope this year.  Fingers crossed.

So, it was with this resurgence of hope and optimism that we entered the stadium, with a couple of thousand other hopeful fans.  It was our first game of the year, and the entire family was in attendance, including even some extended family who had seats in another part of the park.  We were all very excited.  My husband had ordered our seats specifically so we could be close to the field, hoping that there might just be a small chance that my oldest son, 7 years old and in love with all things baseball, might just get lucky enough to get a foul ball.  Our seats were front row on the left field side of the outfield.  Pretty nice, really.

We arrived at the stadium about an hour before the game, intending to get there early enough to relax, have some food, and settle in.  Instead of our usual m.o. of running late, rushing around, and showing up mid-way through the 1st inning.  This was a far better way of dealing with this kind of event, especially with young kids.

While we were settling into our seats, we saw the Oriole Bird come onto the field a little ways from where we were sitting.  My hubs took my youngest over to see what was happening on the field.  That is when we realized that they were grabbing kids from the stands to come out and “play baseball” with the bird.  Once we realized this, we asked our kids if they wanted to go over to be picked.  My youngest was all for it.  My oldest . . . you know, Mr. I Love Baseball . . . wanted no part of it.  No thanks, not interested.  I’ll just watch.  (Oh man, he is so my son).

But my 4 year old leapt out there onto the field when it was his turn.  And he hit the ball(s) thrown to him, and got to run around the “bases” set up out on the outfield there.  He thought it was pretty awesome.

But then, as my older son is just standing there watching, not even right in front of where this was occurring, but probably about 2 sections over from where all the commotion was happening, one of the “handlers” comes running over to him.  He points up to him and says, “hey, do you want to come down?”  And my son is like, “sure.”  Wait, what?  Oh, and did I mention that at this point there is a line of children waiting to go down on the field in the area they had been picking kids from?  Yeah, I have no idea what prompted this guy to run over and grab my son, but I was just glad that he agreed to do it.  Because he had so much fun.

What was even cooler was that the Bird kept doing this thing where he would pick up 2nd base as the kids were running towards it and play keep away with it.  With my son, he picked it up, played keep away, and then tossed it over his shoulder, so that it landed about mid-center field.  My son, who is a very, “huh, ok then,” type of kid, just altered his course and took off running to the newly distributed second base . . . all the way out in the outfield of Camden Yards.  So, basically, he got to traipse all around the field because of the Bird’s nonsense.  Pretty sweet for that huge baseball fan.

So, once my kids were done playing with the Bird and making their imprints all over the field, it was time for the game to start.  A couple of innings in, I started to get very thirsty, so I figured I would stretch my legs a bit and go get a beverage.  As I was walking around the outermost ring of the stadium, where all the food and beverage kiosks are, I chose one that basically had the shortest line.  As I got up to the girl serving the beers and ordered 2 (1 for the hubs, I wasn’t that thirsty), the girl said something that endeared her to me for all time:  “May I see your ID?”  Yep, that’s right, people.  I got carded!  I did notice a sign posted that said they carded everyone under the age of 30, but still, that would make me look 29.  I will totally take it!

After I got back to my seat, and then everyone played a few rounds of “take a child to the bathroom to empty his bladder,” it was time to settle in to watch some baseball.  It was getting dark, and subsequently, the temps were dropping.  Everyone was pulling out their winter accessories . . . hats, gloves, earmuffs, etc.  It was really quite chilly.  And we had just returned from 80* Florida weather the day before, so it was pretty jarring. 

Accordingly, when a player from the Minnesota Twins hit a foul ball straight to our section, landing in the outstretched winter gloved hand of the man sitting 3 seats to my right, instead of actually catching the ball, it bounced of his highly padded paw and dropped back onto the field.  And subsequently, the outfielder, Nate McLouth, jogged over to pick it up, then looked up at the outstretched baseball gloved hand of my 7 year old, and tossed it right up to him.  That’s right, he got that foul ball, after all!  Good planning with those seats, hubs!

Thanks, Nate!

All in all a pretty stellar night at the Yard.  Kids got to run around on the field, foul ball straight from a player’s hand, and I was indirectly told that I look 29.  Yep, a good night all around, I’d say.

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If you haven’t already, make sure you visit my last post, and enter to win the raddest mug ever!  All you have to do is tell me about your Happiest Place on Earth.  And really, can’t we all use a little happy right about now?  Go on . . .

The Disney Diaries: The ReDisneying

Continuing on from the first post about my exciting trip to Disney . . .

We continue our journey to the next park we visited . . . Hollywood Studios.

Wait.  I can hear what you’re thinking right now . . . “but Misty, didn’t you already do Hollywood Studios?”  (And if you aren’t asking that, you apparently didn’t read the first installment, or just weren’t paying close enough attention.  Hey!  You.  Yes, YOU.  The one over there just scrolling through to look at the pretty pictures . . . pay attention!!).

Ahem, where was I?  Oh, yes . . . the revisit to Hollywood.  The first time we visited was the first night we arrived, and we were only there for dinner and a show.  We didn’t get to actually DO anything, so we planned a whole day there later in the week.  We clear now?  Same page?  Ok, good . . . let’s move along.

This was one of my favorite parks, as it had lots of shows and activities and characters and events.  Not a ton of rides, but the one we did go on was a very popular and fun ride, and we only waited about 5 minutes for it.  Score!  We also went to a live action stunt show with car chases and motorcycles and guys catching on fire.  Pretty cool, especially with my crew of boys.  And speaking of my boys, they got to be Jedi knights in training and fight Darth Vader!  Well, one of them actually got to fight him.  My youngest was all for it until Darth appeared on the scene all big and bad, and that’s when he got scared and opted out of that activity.  There may have been some tears.  But he was proud of his brother and still got a little scroll thing for participating in the training, so it was all good.

But then again, he did have a brush with fame in that he got to shake hands with a real life celebrity during the Pixar parade!

The one thing we didn’t do at Hollywood was go on the one and only ride that I had specifically said that I wanted to go on.  The Aerosmith Rock & Rollercoaster.  This thing looked hella cool, and I am a fan of rollercoasters.  And although we were there for the kids, I figured mom should get one.  Just one.  But alas, it was not to be.  It was a very popular ride with huge wait times, and there was just never a good time for me to run off by myself and wait in line for 2 hours just for one ride.  So, maybe next time.

This was just the entrance to the courtyard IN FRONT of the ride. How cool is that?

That same evening we visited Downtown Disney.  This is basically an open air mall type place with lots of themed restaurants and Disney type stores, including the largest Disney Store ever.  Seriously, it was so big it was actually kind of overwhelming.  Like a funhouse of huge rooms filled with more Disney crap than you can imagine.  Somehow, I only bought 2 things.  Not sure how that happened.  Maybe because of the overwhelmedness of it all.  I kind of just wanted to escape.  Too much stuff.  Too many people.  Just too much.

Our goal in going to Downtown Disney, was to go to this fun restaurant someone had recommended to us as something the kids would like, called the T-Rex Cafe.  Sort of like a Rainforest Cafe, but with dinosaurs.  So, the hubs dropped me off and went to park, so I could run through the pouring rain to put our names in.  But when I got up to the restaurant, I discovered it was a two and a half hour wait.  Um, no thank you.  Luckily, there was no shortage of restaurants around us, including a Rainforest Cafe.  So, I checked at the next closest restaurant, which was this huge riverboat replica on a lake, and the wait there was 2 hours.  Getting better, but still too long.  So, I went to the restaurant beside that one:

Now, if you have been reading this blog for a while, you might be familiar with both my love for Italian food, and my complete and utter disdain and hatred of all things mushroom.  And as you may know, Portobello is a type of mushroom.  So yeah, it took everything I had for my soaked to the bone and dripping self to walk inside this joint to ask how long the wait was.  But here, it was only an hour and a half, which was the best yet!  Fearing it wasn’t going to get much better, I gave our name, told the hubs where to meet me, and decided I would try one more . . . the Rainforest Cafe.  Which was all the way at the end of this huge area.  But, I figured it wasn’t like we didn’t have time.  So I trekked down there and asked them how long the wait was.  And that is where they had the audacity to tell me . . . three hours and twenty-five minutes.  Are you kidding me?   That girl is lucky I didn’t punch her in the face when she told me that.  There is no food in the world that is worth waiting that long to eat.  Especially when it is a kid themed restaurant and that would have us eating at 11:00 at night.  The fuck?

Anyway, while we were waiting for Portobello’s to vibrate me (What? They gave me a buzzer.  Sicko!), we visited some of the massive stores that were nearby.  I already mentioned the ginormous Disney Store, but there was also this super cool Lego Store there as well.  And they had all these amazing Lego sculptures (not sure what you would call them, so I’m going with that), in and around the store:

Pretty cool, right?  How much time did those take, do you think?  Oh, and while we were walking around, I got buzzed by the restaurant . . . only a half hour after I gave them our name!  How awesome is that?  Oh, and in case you are wondering . . . my meal was delicious (spaghetti and meatballs) and free of all fungi.

Moving on to the main show . . . the Magic Kingdom.  I will admit that we actually went to this park three times.  The first day we were a little too touristy, what with all the picture taking at the entrance, then down main street, then in front of the castle, etc.  By the time we finished with all of that crap, the park was filling up and the ride lines were getting super long.  So, because we a) hadn’t hurried to get on the most popular rides first thing and b) didn’t have a plan, and figured we’d just wing it . . . we went on about 3 rides before it was time to go.  Yep, you heard me.  So, although we had planned to go twice, once in the beginning of the week and again on the last day, we had to rearrange the schedule and throw one more visit in there.  The next day, we had smartened up.  Enough of this laid back crap.  That was not gonna work at this joint.  So the night before, I spread out the Disney map, my list of activities and itinerary, and I made a plan.  And you know what happened the next day?  We got on a fuckton of rides, and the kids were happy, satiated and exhausted by mid-afternoon when it was time to go back to the hotel and take naps.  That’s how you do Disney, hubs! my friends.

Here is a random picture of a pigeon on Walt Disney’s head. Because . . . why not.

The last day we were in Disney was to be our third and final trip to the Magic Kingdom.  The day started off with a torrential downpour.  But we were determined to go anyway, so I opted to buy an overpriced umbrella in the hotel gift shop before we caught the bus to the park.  I had ponchos in my bag, but figured an umbrella would be needed as well based on the massive amount of rain coming down.  It was one of the only things I forgot to pack, and I paid $14.00 for that neglectful thought.  When we arrived at the park, after a half hour bus ride, then a 10 minute monorail trip, it was still overcast and dreary, but the rain had abated almost completely.  Of course, I attribute this to the fact that I bought an overpriced umbrella first thing in the morning from the hotel.  If I had neglected that one detail, I’m sure it would have poured all day.  You’re welcome, everyone at Disney World!!

Because of the rain, the crowds were definitely thinner that day.  Once we ventured a bit further into the park, it was eery how empty the place was, when the previous days it had been wall to wall people.

But don’t worry . . . once the weather improved, so did the crowds.  It was once again packed full of vacationing families by late morning, and we had finally had enough Disney by around noon.  So, we bid a fond farewell to the mousehouse, and headed on back to our lovely hotel (The Hilton - Bonnet Creek, for those of you who inquired on the previous post), so we could nap, take one last dip in the amazing pool (hubs & kids), and start packing up all of our crap (me).

However, we still had one more evening at Disney, so we decided we would have a nice dinner in the hotel at a place we had been eyeing all week.  A sushi bar!!  The hubs and I are big fans of sushi, and we were getting tired of the same old boring fare.  We figured we would find something for the kids there, and that we would finally get some sushi.  Luckily, they had a kids’ menu, so the kids happily ate chicken fingers and fries.  What was super fun, was that they also actually experimented with chopsticks and with sushi, and by the end of the night, my youngest was using chop sticks on a shrimp tempora roll all by himself!!  He is a natural.  My oldest had a bit more trouble getting it, and he also was not a huge fan of the sushi he tried, but at least he was game.  That’s really all I can ask.

After dinner, we went to this little coffee shop next to the sushi restaurant for dessert.  They had various delicious ice creams to choose from (which I may or may not have tried about 4 of before deciding, and the girl working there may or may not have given me a bunch of snarky shit about it . . . loved her!), and we all got a scoop.  It was exceptionally good, but what I loved the most about it was the sign in the shop about the ice cream.  I like my scrumptious fatty foods to be completely and totally unapologetic, thank you:

But not just dinner and dessert . . . but a show!  We discovered on our last night that there was a convention in the hotel, and that there was a dance competition right there at the hotel.  So as we were walking around, we got to see all of these couples out in the hallways, practicing for the big event.  It was like being backstage at Dancing with the Stars, although with less, you know . . . stars.  Or maybe about the same, really.

So, that wraps up my fun-filled tale of Disney.  Pretty short and simple, yes?  Yeah, sorry about that.  I tried to keep the first one manageable, but this one got away from me.  I just kept adding more things and realizing there was something else I needed to add, until you got . . . well, this behemoth.  Oops.

I’ll keep it short and sweet tomorrow (I’m going to reveal the winner of the old farts book), and then have another giveaway for next week of something Disneyish, so please don’t leave me yet!  I can buy your love with gifts.

The Disney Diaries

My family just returned from a week long vacation.   It was a whirlwind week full of fun and festivities at The Happiest Place on Earth.  No, we didn’t go to Target.  Nope, not to the liquor store, either.  Even though those are my happiest places.  We took a trip to the magical land of Disney World.

Our journey began at the ungodly hour of four a.m., where your intrepid heroine (that’s me), dragged her tired ass out of bed and into the shower, so as to leave her home surrounded by pitch black, in order to catch this plane:

Yes, that’s right, boys and girls . . . I had to entrust the safety of myself and my family to a plane which was coated in rival football team colors and emblem!  Seriously, we almost didn’t get on.  But, it was only a hop up to Philly on this abomination, so we reluctantly boarded this thing as dawn broke over the horizon.

As we were awaiting take-off, I happened to notice a very strange thing on the plane.  It seems that the gentleman seated directly in front of me was prepared for both cold and warm weather.  He had his sandals on . . . with socks.  But the truly noteworthy thing was . . . they were the same sandals that I own and expected to wear throughout our trip.  Only thing is, I would not be wearing socks with mine.

Upon arriving at our hotel, we inspected our rooms and looked outside to see a lovely view of some of the Disney parks, and also the hotel’s massive pool.  Complete with mile long lazy river.  The kids were stoked!!

But, there was no time for swimming at that point.  We had reservations for dinner and a show at Hollywood Studios.  So . . .  we were off!!

The dinner was a mediocre but wildly overcharged buffet, but the show was fantastic.  Actually, it was Fantasmic!

The next day we travelled over to Animal Kingdom and went on a real life animal safari, sans the actual Africa.  We took a vehicle through a huge animal preserve and saw all sorts of African animals just going about their little animal businesses.

After the safari, we happened upon a live action Finding Nemo show, where the fish were these sort of big puppets being controlled by actors/singers on the stage.  It was actually pretty cool.  Or as one character would say . . . righteous, RIGHTEOUS!!

It was all perfectly cool, until the ginormous dancing penis came out . . . then it just got a little weird.

Later in the afternoon, we went to a “character lunch,” which is lunch at a restaurant where a bunch of characters walk around and meet everyone as they eat.  I know it is a complicated concept.  Try to follow along.  On the way out of the restaurant, there was some sort of street performance going on, and we hung out for a few minutes to listen and watch.  But then, the lead singer seemed to start leading everyone in some sort of mousekercize, so at that point, I was out.

After a long and tiring day of trekking across the African plains park, we decided to spend a little time at the pool.  So, we relaxed and watched a pool-side movie under the stars.  Not a bad way to end the day.

The following day found us at Epcot.  Honestly, there isn’t a whole lot to do at Epcot for kids, unless you want to wait 2+ hours for the most popular ride there, which we did not, thank you very much.  But we did go on a Finding Nemo ride, and afterwards, we visited something called Turtle Talk with Crush, where the turtle dude from the movie appeared on a screen and gave info to all the assembled kiddies on the floor in front of him, and even took some questions.  My 2 kids were in the very front.  And if you can believe it, Crush picked on 7 as his first victim subject to interrogate question. 

That’s my boy in the hat with the microphone in his face.

Which was all well and good with the “what’s your name?” and ”where are you from?” questions.  It’s when he got to the “who are you here with?” and “parents, raise your hands . . . let’s talk to them” part where it got interesting.  And by interesting, I mean getting a microphone shoved into my face and having to answer questions from an animated turtle on a big screen.  Yeah, so there was that.  I guess that makes me a star?  Autograph lines start to the left . . .

After our brush with fame, we walked around the big lake at Epcot and visited a few of the “countries” there.  We even stayed to see the fireworks show, which was nice.  If you like fireworks, that is.  My feelings towards them can pretty much be summed up with a resounding, “meh.” 

The next day, we awoke to find a pretty cool site outside our hotel window:

Hot Air Balloons flying high over Disney.  You can also see some of the main Hollywood Studios buildings there as well (the Tower of Terror to your right, the big magic Mickey hat in the middle, etc.).  It was a pretty magical way to start the day.

And then we were ready to finally head over to the Magic Kingdom . . . the mecca of all things Disney.

And since I’ve probably lost most of my audience at this point, this having become a forced family vacation slide show of sorts, I will release all of you from further vacation stories . . . for now.

To be continued . . . . . . . .

Mustache Winner!!

A couple of weeks ago, you might have noticed this little giveaway post.  It was buried underneath a couple pounds of bacon, so you might have been a wee bit distracted.  Perfectly natural.  Mmmmm ,bacon.  Oh, sorry . . . what were we talking about?  Oh yeah, that’s right.

In case you were too busy attempting to extract yourself from the bacon porn that was dominating that post, and somehow missed the giveaway part of it . . . these were the items being offered up for the chance to win:

Luckily, some people were able to get past the deliciousness of that post, and actually contributed with a comment about something nice someone had done for them lately.  Those lucky participants’ names were placed in a hat, and a name was chosen by my son.  That chosen individual has won the above items.

And the lucky winner is:

Sorry about the blur. The boy would NOT stop moving his hands.

FRESH GINGER!!!

Congrats, lady.  Just send me your deets at mistyslaws at gmail dot com, and I will send out these fab items to you pronto!!

For those of you who were not lucky enough to be the chosen one, blame my kid.  I had nothing to do with it.  Oh, and also . . . stay tuned for another giveaway soon.  I’m contemplating what to feature, although I just might wait until Disney to see what kind of fab items they might have for me to give to a lucky participant.  Decisions, decisions.  Hmmmm . . .

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Wait!!  Don’t go . . . even though you might not have won any prizes, how about you do something for me??  I’m up for nomination as one of Oh Noa‘s Funny Bitch All-Stars.  I would really appreciate it if you would take a minute to visit and vote for me (and a bunch of other truly funny bitches as well, of course).  I mean really, I don’t ask for much, people.  Just your undying love and affection for all time and eternity!  Is that too much to ask?  Hello?  Where are you going . . . ?

Missing Snowmen

As I was preparing to leave for work a few days ago, my son asked me a question that hit me deep in the cockles of mi corazon.

He said:  Mom, are you going to come to my last karate practice tomorrow to see me get my belt, like last year?

Thwwwwaaaappp!!  That’s the sound of an arrow of guilt striking me right through the heart.

Of course, I had to respond:  “No sweetie, mommy has to work and won’t get home until after karate is over.”

And once again, I had to break my son’s heart just a little bit by telling him that mommy can’t be there for him when he asks me to.

This is not the first time I’ve had to miss one of my sons’ events because of my job.  And it won’t be the last.  It is just the nature of the beast of being a mom who works outside of the home.  There are many things that I can’t be there for.  And it is weighing very heavily on me.  Each time I miss another special event and once again disappoint my kids, I feel more and more like a horrible mother.  And while I know that the whole “super mom” thing is a total fallacy which only sets parents up for failure, not being able to participate in special events with my kids just makes me feel like I’ve failed.

A few weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to experience the joy of joining my kids for one of those special events.  It snowed on a weekend, for once, so I was able to go out with them and build snowmen, throw snowballs, make snow angels and then make hot cocoa for them afterwards.  It was a lovely day in which I was able to spend some real quality time with my kids, and just be a fun mom for a change.  Instead of the mom that is always running out of the door, headed to work.  Or the tired mom at the end of the day, home after a long commute and eternal day in court, cranky and snapping at them during dinner.

Of course, this one snow day set a precedent in my 7 year old’s mind, so that the next time it snowed, on a weekday this time, he asked if I was going to go outside with him to build a snowman.  But it was a Wednesday.  And even though my kids’ school was closed, I still had to go to work.  So, I would be forced to miss the snowman building, which I reluctantly informed my son when he asked.  I was then once again treated to an all too familiar sight . . .  watching his face morph from hopeful anticipation . . . to disappointment.  I abhor that look on my son’s face.  Especially when it’s me who is the cause of it.  It carves a chunk right out of my heart each time I experience that sad puppy dog face of his.

Lately, I really feel as if I am missing so much of my sons’ lives.  Not just the special activities like snow days and karate belts, but the day-to-day minutia.  The everyday little things that a stay at home mom experiences, and gets frustrated with, of course, is something that I never really have to deal with.  And while most of that is just annoying or boring daily activities, and I don’t necessarily miss all of that, I still feel like a huge part of my children’s lives are just passing me by.

I am very fortunate to have an au pair.  Someone who is there to take care of my kids and tend to all their needs.  This way, I am able to work, knowing that at least someone is on hand and available to my kids at all times.  But there is a serious drawback to this, as well.  Like when my youngest calls out to ask me a question, and instead of saying, “mom?” he says, “Maria?”  The au pair’s name.  Because he is so used to calling on her, instead of me.  As far as I know, he doesn’t call her mom, but I assume that can only be the next step.  And it terrifies me.  I am no longer “mom, the caregiver.”  I am “mom, the neverthere.”  And I’m not sure how and when this happened.

I have always worked.  Before my kids were born and throughout their lives, I have always been gainfully employed.  It is part of who I am.  I am a lawyer.  A professional woman.  I have never identified myself as a mommy.  I mean, I am a mommy, but that never seemed to be the role that defined me.  I hear stories from stay at home moms about how they lose their name and become known only as “Junior’s mommy.”  I have never been “Junior’s mommy.”  I’ve always been Misty.  But lately, I have this crazy feeling welling up inside of me that is pushing against that sense of self.  A feeling that I want to be Mommy.  Not just Misty.

Really, for the first time in my children’s lives, I want to be home with them.  I want to be the one doing all of those little annoying daily things for and with them.  I want to be the one they call on instinctually when they need or want something.  I want to be there for them.  Not just for the special moments, but for all of the moments.  I want to be a mom.  Just a mom.

Wait, what?  Holy hell!!  Am I crazy???  Who the hell just wrote all that crap?  Did my blog get hacked?  I’m not even sure what is going on any more . . .

I may be having some sort of mid-life nervous crisis breakdown or something.  Somebody, please send some help.  Or some drugs.  I may be having an out-of-body experience right now.  I don’t even know who I am any more!

And how friggin’ bass ackwards am I?  Whereas, most stay at home moms quit their jobs to stay home with their newborn babies, and if they return to work, it is usually when the kids go to school.  Me?  Yeah, I work throughout my kids’ babydom, then decide I want to be home with them when the youngest is just about to start kindergarten.  I am the most appropriate, ever!

As you can see by the disjointed and schizophrenic nature of this post, I don’t really know what I want right now.  But this feeling of possibly taking on a new and previously undiscovered role in my children’s lives has been steadily and persistently surfacing in my mind as a possible option for what to do with my future.  But also, as much as it has become a real thought, it also scares the hell out of me.  On the one hand, if I were to take the leap and become a stay at home mom (oh my god!), I would never have to miss any more of those little moments.  The snowmen, the karate, the class parties and trips . . .  I could be present for all of that.  No more absent mommy.  No more, “Maria?”  But on the other hand, am I ready to quit my job, ending a much needed source of income, and completely abandoning all sense of professionalism that I have always maintained and strived to obtain?  Not an attorney and a mom.  But just a mom.  It’s a possibility.

Who knows what the future holds.  But the thought persists.  It is pervasive.  And I am considering it . . .

The Big Reveal

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was planning to take my kids to Disney World for the first time, and I was looking for some advice from some of you more experienced peeps who have been there before.  Well, this past weekend, we finally broke the news to the kiddos that we were going.  And we did it like this:

That’s right . . . it was a scavenger hunt!!  The boys had to go around to different rooms, collecting gifts (one for each, in 4 different rooms), until they had them all and could go to the final room.  I had also attached 6 little cards to the presents with a letter on each.  Those 6 little letters would eventually spell out the final destination for our trip.

And so it began . . .

The first stop was THE PLAYROOM!

In case you couldn’t figure that one out . . . it’s THE BATHROOM.

Next stop . . . THE OFFICE.

Pretty obvious that this spot is THE KITCHEN.

Our last stop was THE LIVING ROOM (where we began our journey).  Then, the boys had to take all the little cards attached to the gifts, each with one letter printed on it, and unscramble it to discover what word those letters spelled out.  I was actually surprised at how long it took my oldest to figure it out, as he is very bright and can do crazy math problems in his head.  I figured those 6 little letters wouldn’t stand a chance.  But he struggled for a while, and my youngest just kept asking, “can we open our presents now?”  So, even though my son doesn’t get my math idiocy (thankfully), he did inherit my inability to see the solution to scrambled words.  It’s one of my very distinct weaknesses.  I just can’t see it.  It is so frustrating.  And apparently, I passed this down to my son.  Sorry, kid.

Finally though, with just a little help from his dad and me, he finally figured it out.

And that’s when we told them we would be going to Disney World in 3 weeks for their spring break.  And then there was much excitement and cheering.  And present opening, of course.

Now I have to start the overwhelming process of planning all of the details of this whole trip.  Oy vey.

Wish me luck!!

Year of the Snake

When I was a kid, I loved all things pig.  And in this instance, I’m not referring to my absolute love of delicious pork (Mmmm, bacon).  I’m talking about pig, the animal.  It was my animal.  Everyone has one, especially as a kid.  My one goal in life was to eventually own a pot-bellied pig as a pet, as that was all the rage at the time.  I thought pigs were adorable and I was completely enamored with anything having to do with cute little piggies.

So, pretty much every birthday or holiday, someone in my family or one of my friends would get me something with a pig on it.   Calendars, stuffed animals, magnets, shirts, etc.  Once, my Aunt even bought me a truly bizarre faux flower in a little wooden flower-pot, with a pig face where the flower should have been.  Yeah, she was a bit kooky.

I grew out of my porcine phase when I was a teenager, but it didn’t stop people from continuously gifting me with pig items, long after I asked them to stop.  In fact, the above mentioned pig-flower was received when I was about 20.  My Aunt refused to get the message.

In college, I found that I had a preference for less classically adorable creatures . . . like snakes and rats.  I bought a small snake in college and named him Incognito, because we weren’t allowed to have pets in the dorm.  We called him Cog for short.  I loved that little guy.  I used to let him crawl all over me and get himself tangled up in my hair.  I have pictures that make me look like some sort of Medusa apprentice.  He was rad.

© Tobyotter WANA Commons

Then came the day when my roommate decided that she would adopt a rat from the science lab, since they were giving them away post-experiment conclusion.  I was cool with that, never really thinking about the irony of having both predator and prey in the same room.  Cog was small, though, and still only ate itty bitty baby mice, so I never really thought of it as an issue.  And in fact, Lexi (the rat) was a big ole thing, and probably could have clawed the life out of my little guy.  Not that we let them play together or anything, so there were no worries.

Eventually, the roommate moved out, and I inherited Lexi.  Thus becoming the owner of both a snake and a rat.  My parents were so proud.  Actually, when I brought my pets home, they grew to love them as well.  They were cool little critters.  (The animals, not my parents).

Unfortunately, Lexi did not have a long life expectancy and passed away after only a year or so, and we were forced to find another home for Cog, after multiple escape attempts, ala Steve McQueen, and when he finally become somewhat bad-tempered and a bit too . . . bitey.  It was just too much and we had to find a more appropriate home for him.  It was painful to say goodbye to him, but not quite as painful as the multiple puncture wounds I had in my hand.

Once I was older and married (to a man who fears snakes), we adopted a traditional pet of the canine variety.  We then had kids, who proceeded to win 2 goldfish at the State Fair.  No more crazy pets for us.  And no pot-bellied pig.

But now I find myself devoid of an animal.  I mean, I have pets, but that’s not the same thing.  They’re just pets.  I feel like I need an animal.  Or am I too old for that?  I don’t think so.  I seem to believe that everyone has a spirit animal that is the representation of themselves, or at least something that makes them ooh and ahh and feel warm and happy when they see it.  And I don’t need to be a 12-year-old girl to have that.

Now I just have to figure out what my animal should be.  Hmm . . . what to choose, what to choose.  Maybe a monkey?  Well, while I do appreciate a good cartoon monkey or stuffed representation, the real thing is just a bit too . . . smelly.  Dolphins?  A bit too fishy and drippy (I know it’s a mammal, hush).  A bear?  Nah, too shits in the woods-y.  Wow, this is tough.

Wait, I’ve got it!  My son just recently gave me a belated Valentine’s present (belated . . . not just for birthdays anymore) of an adorable stuffed penguin.  It is really quite cute, and he told me that he got it for me so that I can have something to snuggle with when I go to sleep at night.  He is really the most thoughtful and precious thing.

So, I think it’s something I could get behind.  Real penguins are indeed adorable, right?  I mean, I haven’t spent a whole lot of time in the colder climes in which they habitate, but I saw March of the Penguins!  Ok, fine . . . I didn’t actually see that movie, but I saw a commercial for it at least.  So, I know what a penguin looks like!  They are sweet and adorable.  So, I think this could be my new thing.  Why not?  Everybody needs a thing.

Plus, I totally embody penguin-like qualities.  I’m cold, I like to swim, I love to eat seafood, I . . . wear a lot of black.  Yep, I am very penguiny.  I’m just not very fond of cold weather.  Then again, not all penguins live in Antarctica.  And it’s been pretty freezing around here recently, so I’m apparently right in my element.

So, it’s settled . . . the penguin it is.  Plus, if I ever did decide that I wanted to adopt my special animal friend, I’m sure the hubs would appreciate a little tuxedo wearing bird moving in with us more than a slithery bitey snake.  You’re welcome, hubs.  It’s all about the love.

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So, what’s your spirit animal?