Random Randomosity & Randomness

When I spoke to my friend Andrea yesterday, she mentioned that she was crafting her Tuesday post.  Having absolutely no idea what I was going to post this week on my own blog, I asked her what she was writing about, facetiously threatening to take her idea.  When she responded that she was planning on doing another of her weekly “random” posts in a series, I decided to not so facetiously steal her theme.  What do they say about imitation and flattery and all that?  Sorry, Andrea!!

This past week was a very busy one, containing yet another birthday necessitating celebration, and adding Mother’s Day into the mix as well.  The hubs celebrated his birthday this past Friday, and as a special birthday treat, I decided to take him to Charlestown Race Track in West Virginia and just basically throw some cash at him so he could bet on the ponies up there.  On our drive over to our neighboring state, the skies decided to open up and flood us with a torrential storm.  This, of course, caused massive amounts of traffic heading out to our destination.  Oh joy.

Once we entered WV proper, the rains had stopped (or more accurately, had yet to travel that far west), but the skies were roiling with storm clouds in one of the most impressive ways I have ever seen.

Driving towards it, we could have sworn that we were viewing a far distant snow-capped mountain range, and not actual clouds in the sky.

Once we arrived at our destination, the skies opened up, making the race track very sloppy.  I had reserved a table at a restaurant overlooking the track, and we were treated to a front row view of the race track.

You can see the table, the little TV which showed the closed circuit race happening out beyond the window, and the very muddy track itself.

Once we finished our dinners and had bet on a few races (and won!), the establishment very kindly brought the hubs a dessert to celebrate his special day:

A little extra special birthday script made that key lime pie truly festive!

The next evening was to be yet another celebration of the hubs’ birthday, but this time it was a family event.  I had purchased tickets to a local minor league baseball game, and the special treat was that the first 1,000 people would get Manny Machado Bobbleheads (he’s an Orioles player, look it up!).  I had also called the ballpark ahead of time and requested that my hubs’ name be placed on the scoreboard to announce his birthday.  We were all set!  The only problem was that once again, the weather was not cooperating with us.  When it was about time to leave (we planned to get there early to ensure we all got a bobblehead) it was pouring down rain.  Thinking that we probably wouldn’t be going because of the weather, we all sort of settled in to the reality of staying home.  Then, only about 15 minutes later, the skies cleared and the sun came out!  So, it was game on, but we were leaving later than we had originally planned.  Nonetheless, we arrived at the stadium with plenty of time to spare . . . but not early enough to get the bobbleheads.  Drats!

Oh well, it would still be a nice night.  The weather was lovely, and we had amazing seats.  Second row, right between 3rd and home plate, and there was nobody in the seats in front of us.  Plus, the view was excellent.

My oldest son is a huge baseball fan and was very excited to be at the game, and watched every pitch and every strike out.  My other son . . . was not quite as invested in the game.  Instead, he spent the majority of the game doing this . . .

In the middle of the 5th inning, it was time for the birthday announcements.  So, I told my hubs to look up at the screen, and aimed my phone to take a picture of his name listed up in large glowing lights.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to capture the list of names on my camera because of the lights, and all I got was a glowing screen:

However, it didn’t really matter anyway, since my husband’s name was not one of the four listed up on that screen!  Despite my best  and most timely efforts, for whatever reason, they did not put his name up on that screen.  First no bobblehead, then no name in lights.  He was a bit disappointed in this birthday celebration, to say the least.

Before leaving the stadium, we decided to stop at this kids’ play area near the outfield that had some carnival type games and blow up bouncy things.  Earlier in the evening, as the game was about to start, a sort of “local celebrity” threw out the first pitch.  If anyone watched this most recent season of The Biggest Loser, you might remember a young boy named Bingo who was on the show.  Well, Bingo threw the first pitch.  While we were throwing some balls in the kids’ area, I looked over and saw Bingo standing at a game immediately to our right.  I pointed him out to my oldest son, who had watched the entire season of The Biggest Loser with me, and knew full well who Bingo was.  I asked if he wanted to go up to say hi.  Being my introverted and shy son, he said no, despite my repeated attempts to convince him to go over and talk to him.  But he just wouldn’t do it.  Not wanting to push him into doing something uncomfortable, I let it go.

Yet, when we were done playing games and getting ready to leave the stadium, I noticed that Bingo was walking in front of us.  I asked my son once again if he wanted to meet Bingo, as this would be his last chance, assuring him that I would take the lead in speaking to him if he wanted.  He finally agreed, so I got Bingo’s attention and then told him that my son and I watched his season and were just so impressed with how well he did, and that we wanted to congratulate him.  He was very sweet and said thanks, and then I asked if he would mind having a picture taken with my son, to which he graciously agreed.

Bingo & 7

So, at least the night ended with a fun occurrence.  Oh, but did I mention that my hubs had left us in the game playing area, while he ran out to get the car with my youngest in tow?  Yeah, so he actually missed out on this part as well.  It just wasn’t his night, apparently.  But then again . . . I did show him the picture!

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 Quest for Mickey

On my recent family trip to Disney World, which I talked about here and here, there were many parks visited and many characters met and photographed.  Strangely, though, it seemed that one was more elusive than I would have thought.  A certain mouse, who some might call “the boss of Disney.”  (Some = my 4 year old son).

As we journeyed through park after park, visiting shows and rides and character events . . . somehow, we did not get to see Mickey!  Mickey, where are you?  It seemed as if a sighting of that famous rodent was as rare as seeing a well-mannered, sober and punctual Lindsay Lohan. 

Even though we couldn’t seem to get face to face with Mickey the Mouse, his presence was felt and sensed everywhere we went.  It was almost like he was mocking us.

Starting with the tickets to the parks.  There’s his smiling face right there.  Taunting us with the assumed promise of his eventual presence at the parks.  Drawing us in like a siren song, only to crush our hopes and dreams on the rocks of Epcot.

And then . . . Mickey-shaped pancakes!!  Ah, surely we will see him today, after such an auspicious start to the morning.

Topiary Mickey?  Nope, just not the same as the real thing.  But pretty, nonetheless.

Hmm, now I feel as if you are just teasing us, Hollywood Studios.  Just the outline?  Those ears kept popping up all over the place.  It’s like they were following us . . . teasing, mocking, calling us names.  For shame, Mickey ears.  For shame.

We finally thought we found him, but alas, it was only a tiny puppet sized Mickey.  Only even half of him.  Disappointing.

All of this incessant and fruitless searching, made me very thirsty.  Very thirsty.  So, I decided that I would take a break for a couple tropical drinks from the poolside bar.  Mmmmm.  Wait, who were we searching for again?

Back to the search . . . I knew I was getting closer when I found Mickey’s balls.

There he is!  There’s Mickey!  But . . . he’s so far away.  How on earth will I ever get to hug him and squeeze him when he’s up so high on a moving float that is travelling right on by me?  Oh Mickey.  We were so close!

Obviously, I needed another drink to soothe my poor battered searching soul.  This was one I had my eye on all week, so I figured what better time to have a relaxing brew.  Even if it was non-alcoholic. 

Wait, what’s this now?  Backstage magic with Mickey Mouse?  MEET the master magician?  Oh boy, I think I might have actually found him.  He’s been hiding in this secret room the whole time!!  I will finally get to meet the big cheese himself.  Mickey Freakin’ Mouse!

Mickey & Me

It was everything I imagined it would be and more.  As you can tell from the above picture, I couldn’t stop smiling or hugging Mickey when I met him.  I felt like I was in the presence of greatness.  He was just a super nice and sweet little mouse, and I was so happy that I was finally able to track him down.  Even if it did almost take the entire week to suss him out of his little hidey hole.  Oh Mickey.  You’re so fine.  You’re so fine, you blow my mind.  Hey, Mickey.

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 . . . . . . . .

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 . . .

Mustaches and Bacon Make Everything Better!

I’m a giver.  I love sending random cards, gifts and other items to people who I feel might need a little something to brighten their day.  Whether it’s for a birthday, a get well gesture or just an “I’m thinking of you” gift, I just love the feeling of making someone smile because of something I sent to them.  And all except for Jen (stupid Portland P.O.), everyone I send presents to, actually get them.

So, that leads me to the point of this post.  It’s time for another . . .

GIVEAWAY!!

But we’ll get to that in a bit, so bear with me.  First . . . a story.

The other night, I came home from work and found my husband in the kitchen, busy fixing dinner for the boys.  He had gotten a bug up his butt to prepare a meatloaf for them, searched online for a good recipe, and then started whipping up a jam.  When I walked in the door, he was elbow deep in ground beef and eggs.  I then saw that he had even concocted a homemade batch of tomato pepper relish that was to go in and on the meatloaf.  I left him in the morning, a sleeping bear in the bed, and came home to Emeril Lagasse, apparently.  Not that I mind.  I mean as far as the cooking goes . . . I’m not exactly hot for Emeril or anything.  Don’t get it twisted.

Homemade tomato pepper relish. Yum!

Oh, and did I mention that after the meatloaf was put it the pan, shaped, and topped with relish, it was then topped with . . . wait for it . . . BACON.

Of course, I asked if there was something I could do to help, and he directed me to the fresh brussels sprouts sitting on the counter, saying he was going to try to whip up a side dish of brussels sprouts with bacon.  When I asked if he had a recipe, he told me he had planned on just “winging it.”  Uh-oh.  So, I offered to handle it, not that I had ever made anything like that before, either.  But off to Google I went!  And found a perfect recipe for the ingredients on hand.

Everything turned out incredible.  But I will advise you, as to the brussels sprouts, if you make this, you may be tempted to not use much salt, thinking the bacon will take care of the salt quotient, but if you think that as I did, you would be very very wrong.  Salt.  Use salt.  It needs it.

Here are the finished products:

Click picture for recipe.

Click picture for recipe.

And I will tell you that both of my boys gave the meatloaf high marks, and my youngest gave the brussels sprouts two thumbs up.  Not only that, but they actually requested the meatloaf again the next night.  I think one of the ingredients in there might be magic.  True story.

Ok, now that you’ve got your bacon fix for the day, even if only tangentially through the pics, it is now time for the promised giveaway.  I saw these items at The House of Blues gift shop in the casino, and just knew that I had to get them . . . for you!

Awesome, yes?  You want it, right?  Worth playing for?  (Ok, I might be channeling Jeff Probst right now, sorry).  Ok, here’s your objective, should you choose to accept it . . .

Tell me a story.  A story about something unexpected that someone did for you.  Did your husband surprise you by whipping up dinner?  Did someone send you a surprising pick me up?  Something nice and not requested or expected.  Tell me all about it in the comments . . .

I’ll have one of my boys pick a name next week.  Good luck to all.  And let me know if you try the recipes and how they turn out.  They are 4 & 7 approved!

The AC Experience

This past weekend, the hubs and I escaped from our shitastic lives kids and responsibilities home to go up to Atlantic City, New Jersey for a few days, ostensibly as an extended birthday celebration.  We ran away from the city on Thursday evening, and drove directly to the sparkly shininess that is AC.  Once we arrived and checked into our room, we discovered that somehow, despite our status as the most unhigh rollerest people ever, we were given a suite.

I mean, seriously.  It had a living room/dining room, a bedroom and a huge bathroom with soaking tub and TV in the bathroom.  The suite had 3 TVs in total.  We don’t have that many TVs in our entire house!

Once we got over the shock of our amazing high roller room, we went downstairs to find a restaurant so that we could get some grub . . . and some drinks.  I was on vacation, bitches!!

The next day, I learned a new game . . . 3 card poker.  Anyone ever play this before?  It’s like regular poker, but with only 3 cards.  I mean, there’s more to it, but that’s the basic gist.  It’s a table game, which is something I usually avoid (interacting with other people?  Um, pass), but the hubs sat me down and said he’d teach me.  And it was quite easy to learn, since I know the basics of poker and this was just a bit different.  The toughest part for me was getting the betting part, but they were really nice and understanding of my foibles.  The good news is that I went back later in the day to play all by myself (yep, I had my big girl pants on and everything!), and I did this:

That right there?  Straight flush.  I walked away with $200 for that little hand.  Of course, I then went ahead and gave that all back to the casino in their slots, but it was a nice feeling while it lasted.

You’re probably wondering to yourself, “Self . . . where are all the pictures of crazily dressed people we have come to expect from our dear Misty on this here site?”  And to that I answer, um . . . yeah, I was kinda busy with all the losing of the monies (except for that instance above, of course) to really pay too much attention to those around me.  Plus, I just wasn’t feeling it this time. 

Then again, I just might have taken just a couple pics of some crazies.  I mean, it is me afterall.

In that last picture, for the girl in the middle, that part on her legs that is between the black short shorts and black knee highs . . . is her skin.  Just in case it wasn’t clear from the crappy picture and you thought those were pants or leggings or something.  Yeah.

This one gets points for cleverness.  Always gotta appreciate the clever . . .

And thus ends the tale of my not particularly exciting weekend.  It was nice to get away for a few days, but we didn’t win anything, I slept like crap on the super hard bed (I don’t usually have any problem sleeping!), and the hubs and I may have gotten into a few disagreements during the trip.  So yeah, not the best weekend, but still.  No kids, so that’s a win, right?

Addendum:

My secretary, hearing I would be in New Jersey for the weekend, was curious as to whether we would see any of the devastation from Hurricane Sandy that hit there recently.  She asked me to take some pictures if I saw anything.  Well, seeing as I didn’t leave the hotel at all while I was there, I didn’t see much of anything except the inside of the casino.  I mentioned this to the hubs as we were driving away, and he told me, “well, if she wants to see devastation, you can show her this:”

When I texted the picture to her, saying, “a picture of the devastation wrought upon people in Jersey . . . ” Her response was:  “Jersey appreciates your support.”  I love being surrounded by rad peeps.

Birthday Extravaganza

So, I’m not sure if you know this, but Wednesday was my birthday.  I don’t know how you would have realized that, since I hardly even mentioned it at all on any format, including my own blog, other people’s blogs or even on Facebook.  I mean, really.  It was practically a secret.

As with all of my birthdays, I was a bit trepidatious as to how the day would go.  Would there be slapping?  Would there be forgetfulness?  Would there be tragedy?  None of these are unprecedented events for that most holy of days . . . the day of my birth.

The day started for me before sunrise.  A most unwelcome turn of events, but not at all unexpected.  However, the reality was much harsher than the theory of “having to go to work on my birthday.”  When the alarm sounded, there commenced numerous slaps of the snooze button before the battle going on in my head between GOOD (Get UP!  You have to go to work!) and BAD (It’s my birthday!  I want to sleep . . . and this bed is so warm and cozy!) was concluded decisively by my full bladder.  So, once I was out of bed and pee-free, I figured since I was vertical, I might as well get on with it and get ready for work.  Screw you, bladder.  You vile betrayer!

Once I was marginally functional (showered, spackled, dressed) I proceeded downstairs to greet the onslaught of family members (sans my travelling hubby) for birthday wishes.  I was greeted by this:

Hand-made banners.  Yes, that’s plural, there were three (third one not pictured in my super messy kitchen).  To add to that, my boys also assaulted me with hand-made cards:

Sticker card courtesy of 4.

Card by 7.

Please note that I am “the best mom ever xoxoxo best mom.”  He says it twice, in two different colors, so it must be accurate.  Everyone else can just put their batons down now.  Sorry.

After the cards and hugs were all given out, it was time for me to go to work.  Horribly-made coffee in hand (I mentioned the hubs being out of town, yes?), I was off to see what this day of days had in store for yours truly.

Apparently, the immediate answer to that was . . . traffic.  Lots and lots of traffic.  Oh joy.  Wait, why am I not still in bed?  Oh yeah, work.  Goodie.

Finally arriving at work, I discovered a few things in my office.  First, a gift from my secretary (Costa Rican coffee and a brownie).  I believe I have extolled her amazing qualities previously ad nauseum, so I will refrain from rehashing, but she is seriously the best.  Then when I booted up my computer, there was an unexpected birthday wish:

Aww, Google.  How sweet of you to remember!  I mean, I don’t even know how you knew it was my birthday, but it was a lovely surprise upon opening up Explorer on my computer.  A little Big Brotherish, but I’ll take birthday greetings where I can get them.

And then I happened to notice something a bit odd on my desk.  A manila file folder with a sticky note on top directing one of my colleagues to “sign and then give to Misty.”  When I opened the file folder to see what was inside, I realized that although the signer had in fact followed the note writer’s directions explicitly, she did not exactly follow along with the intent in which the note was meant.

Not quite what was intended, methinks.

Another interesting thing during that day was that not one person at my office wished me a happy birthday.  Now, don’t get me wrong . . . I received tons of birthday wishes on both my personal Facebook account and my blog Facebook account, along with many texts from friends (including a couple of colleagues not at work that day).  So, I’m not trying to be all “woe is me, nobody remembered.”  And I mean seriously, how can you forget when Mark Zuckerberg so helpfully assists you with a reminder right there on your FB page?  But during the entire day of being in the office, not one actual person told me “Happy Birthday.”  I found it odd.  Especially since most of them had just signed a card for me, so it’s not like it was a big secret.

Once I was finally released from captivity work, (and when I say “released,” I mean I ran out of there an hour early . . . it’s mah birfday!!), I headed home to what I expected to be a low key evening of celebration.  I expected carry out for dinner (sushi) and a pie for dessert, per my request.  I also assumed there would be presents.  It’s how my family rolls.

I was greeted upon my arrival with both balloons and yelling by my children that I was home too early and that they were still working on a surprise!  Fine by me.  I took myself up to my room, changed out of my work clothes, and vegged in front of the TV for about an hour.  Ahhh, now this is my kind of birthday!

Tinkerbell and Ariel . . . because I’m a GIRL.

Once my family deemed themselves prepared for the evening’s revelry, I was allowed to descend into the pits of despair den of iniquity celabratory spaces of my home.  This was also when I discovered that not only would I be receiving presents from my family, but TWO of my blogging friends had sent packages my way, which had arrived appropriately and timely on my special day.  The first was from Rachel, of bloggy brunch fame, who ordered a book for me that we had discussed this past Saturday.  It is her favorite book, and when she discovered I had not yet read it, she decided to right that wrong by sending the book to me.  What an amazingly sweet gesture.  Thanks so much, Rache!!

The next surprise was a gift from my bloggy buddy, Jules.  She and I share an unholy love for all things bacon.  She translated this bond that we have into a gift of a book celebrating this unholy love.

I am SO making these for Thoughtsy.

When I unwrapped this gift, I laughed so hard.  My family wanted to know what was wrong with me what was so funny, and all I could do was hold up the book.  Seriously, though, this is one of the best things I have ever received.  Jules, it’s like you just know me or something.  Thank you so much for your gift, your hilarity, and your friendship.  They all mean the world to me!

Ok, on to the gifts from my family.  First . . . another book.  Truly, a perfect companion to the one above.

It’s like he KNOWS me or something.

And now we have . . . joke giftapalooza:

Please note that all of the above were handed to me, lovingly, by my small boys, and I unknowingly started opening them in front of said children without nary a warning from the hubs.  Bad form, hubs.  You stay classy, San Diego.

My oldest son then gave me a special gift which he assured me he had not only picked out himself, but also helped pay for.  It is some serious bling bling, y’all.

The finest CZ allowed by law.

On to cake!  Well, cakes and pie.  When the hubs asked me earlier in the week what kind of cake I wanted, I threw him a curveball by saying, “I don’t want cake at all.  I want pie.  Key Lime Pie to be exact.”  But since no one has ever heard of a birthday pie, the hubs decided to get something for everyone.

That’s right . . . two different cakes AND a key lime pie.  Booyah!!  Plus, the hubs tried to burn the house down . . .

Anytime we seriously consider getting the fire department involved in our celebration is a good time, no doubt. 

And thus ends my thrilling tale of a birthday celebration that will go down in the history books as, “at least nobody died” and “could have been much worse.”  For my birthday . . . I call that a win!  So now, I am in Atlantic City, hopefully resting and relaxing, sans my lovely and adorable spawn.  What better way could there be to end a birthday week?  Except for that jackpot I’m hoping to win . . . none, I say!

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?