Sniffing I answered, "THAT smell. The one that smells like something is rotting. THAT smell."
Hubs shrugged his shoulders, glanced in the rear view mirror, and then cleared up the mystery. "It's Ethan. He took his shoes off."
***********************************************************************************
"Hon?"
"Huh?"
"Did you see that?"
"See what?"
Glancing over my shoulder in disbelief I answered quickly, "THAT! The lady that was changing her clothes in the gas station parking lot while you were buying coffee."
He chuckled, glanced back at the gas station wistfully, and said, "Nope. Didn't catch that one. Was it good?"
"Nope. Too little underwear to cover such a big lady."
****************************************************************************
"Hon?"
"Huh?"
"Did you see that?"
"What?"
Explaining I said, "THAT man." I pointed behind my magazine. "Him! The grandpa man. He is reading Playboy!"
"And?"
"And . . . he is reading about naked women right here as all of our kiddies are running past him to jump in the pool."
Hubs reasoned with a twinkle in his eyes, "Well . . . it does have good articles."
*******************************************************************************
One evening, after a day of running from ride to ride, the kiddies and I all snuggled together in the 5 seats that spanned the back of a Walt Disney World bus for transport back the hotel.
Directly in front of us in a seat that faced the aisle was Dalton.
Dalton, by the looks of him, was approximately 5 years old, had had entirely to many sugary Mickey treats, and was in a perfectly foul mood. His painted face that once had sported a pirate's mug a la Jack Sparrow, now resembled a pirate that had woken from a 3 day bender with his earring ripped from his ear.
Dalton was not in a good place.
Clearly.
And his parents? Oh, those poor people. Even though they had probably created Dalton's little menacing self with too many yeses and not nearly enough nos through the years, I felt sorry for them. Those parents looked beat. Mom's hair was spilling out of her low ponytail forming a frizzy halo around her face, and dad's shadowed face made it appear to be 5 o'clock . . . tomorrow. They were just surviving, but barely.
As the bus wound its way back to the hotel, Dalton cried, kicked at, and finally bit his dad. In an effort to diffuse and redirect Dalton's behavior, a well meaning grandpa-like man began to make silly faces at him. I knew that he was just trying to help, but I also had surveyed the situation, and I had a feeling about what would happen.
Cue Dalton.
"What are you lookin' at me for old man?" Dalton accused.
Mom placed a well meaning hand on Dalton's little leg in an attempt to calm him, and it did, momentarily. Unfortunately for mom, it was like she was trying to hold up an umbrella to shield herself from a hurricane. Inevitably, everyone was going to get wet. And good.
The grandpa man's eyes twinkled, and he said in a jovial tone, "I'm just watching you acting so silly."
And, even though grandpa man was a happy, kind man, Dalton didn't see that. Dalton went after him.
"You stop lookin' at me old man," Dalton paused and lowered his voice. Then he repeated, "You stop lookin' at me old guy. . . or I will kick your ass!"
Instantly the bus riders fell silent. We waited to see the drama unfold. I secretly said a prayer for Dalton's parents. The way Dalton was headed I was fairly certain that I would be seeing the family on Dr. Phil in the very near future.
It was then that Ellerie broke the silence and whispered in my ear, "Mommy! That boy needs a time out . . . or a spank!"
I chuckled. My three year old was absolutely right. Dalton needed some discipline for sure.
Then Ethan piped in, "Mom, if that was us, we would be dead."
Again. I giggled.
He was right too.
After I uttered one more silent prayer for Dalton and his parents, I hugged all my kiddies close and was thankful that they were mine.
Travel expenses for road trip to Disney World . . .
Snacks -$20
games from the dollar store- $10
candy for my sweet tooth- $5
oil change that turned into a rear brake replacement and power steering fluid leak fix . . . $436.00
Extra night in a hotel room to get on the road early to avoid a snow storm . . . $65.00
Windshield wiper replacement for the wiper that flew off at 70 mph during the monsoon that enveloped my van on I-75 . . .$8.00
Odd rumbling noise inspection while getting the wiper replaced . . . free
Results of odd rumbling noise inspection = broken tire rod . . . $237.00 (and two hours)
Snacks at the Dollar General while we were waiting for the van to be fixed . . . $11.25
Umbrellas purchased at the dollar general to walk back through the monsoon to the auto shop to wait for the van to be fixed . . .$10.00
Video games to keep the kids from climbing over the tires in the automotive showroom . . . $8.00
Another hotel room(this time with a pool and a hot tub for me) . . . 89.00
Advil . . . $4.85
Gas . . . my first born child
Arrival at Disney!!!
Margarita for mommy? . . . $9.00
. . . and worth every penny!!!!
******Special thanks to the lovely gentlemen at the automotive shop in London, Kentucky for helping out. My sister-in-law, my 3 kiddies, and I all owe you a debt of gratitude for keeping us safe on our 15 hour journey. :)
Yes, a burp can hit the spot after drinking a 44 oz Big Gulp, or maybe after inhaling a big bowl of steaming chili, or even after consuming the yummy loaded bacon cheese fries I ate the other night on vacation.
In any of these situations, a burp could be considered an appropriate response to its stimulus. And, as long as there is the required, "Excuse me!" no one would be the least bit offended.
But, as I was checking out at the local discount store while on vacation, I couldn't believe my ears. The checkout lady was busily checking out my items. She would grab one, quickly run it over the scanner, and when the computer registered a loud BEEP, she would deposit the item into my shopping bag. It created its own music. Grab, swish, scan, BEEP! Grab, swish, scan, BEEP! I listened and watched intently until I heard it.
Immediately, I jerked my head upward. That was some impressive burp! Quickly, I looked over at my Ethan. I shot him the motherly look that said with my eyes . . . I know what you did! Fess up!!
He knew that look, and replied out loud, "Mom, I swear. It wasn't me!" Then he glanced at the checker expectantly.
My gaze turned to the checkout girl. Truthfully, I was a bit surprised that a burp that loud and that disgusting could emanate from this very, obvious adult lady. As I was wrapping my head around it, I must have forgotten to turn off my mom-guilt gaze, because the checker stopped her grab-swish-scan routine, darted her eyes up to me, and said, "Umm, yeah, excuse me, I guess?"
And then she rolled her eyes at me.
Now, I am usually a go with the flow kind of gal when it comes to bodily functions. I live with a man that pollutes my bathroom on a regular basis, and a son that can burp up to the letter J when he burps the alphabet. Clearly, I am no stranger to the music of our bodies, and although it is gross, I can usually let it go, if there is a mannerly, "Excuse me, " or even a timely, "Pardon me!"
After all, farts happen. Burps happen. I can deal. Really, I can. At times, I can even appreciate their comic timing and eye watering aromas. . .
But, if you roll your eyes at me, WATCH OUT!
Not only does an eye roll completely negate the previous "Excuse me, " it blatantly waves a red flag in front of the bull. It says, "Yes, I know that I am supposed to excuse my poor behavior, but I am only doing it because I am supposed to. I. don't. really. mean. it!"
And that, my dear friends, is what got to me. If I was not in vacation mode and instead in my full mom-mode, I think I may have just given that checker a tongue lashing . . . after I had slapped her eyes back to their rightful position.
So, in conclusion. . .
A burp? Gross, but usually OK.
A burp and some manners? Positively acceptable.
A burp ( reminiscent of Booger's burp in Revenge of the Nerds), a pseudo apology, and an eye roll?
I confess . . . it's been awhile since my last confession post.
Forgive me?
Yes?
Good. I feel better already.
On to more absolution . . .
I confess that I love Disney World. I wear the goofy hats, made the kids wear the goofy hats, and I even hugged on all of the characters that I met! I know. I know. I am a grown woman. I should practice a little more restraint, but, it is just soooo much fun to partake of the silliness. Seriously, if a 5 foot mouse were to approach me say, in my home, I would be after that rodent with a bat in less than a heartbeat. But, in Disney World a 5 foot mouse inspires nothing but love and affection, go figure!
Ab with Princess Minnie ears.
Ethan with Sorcerer Mickey ears that lit up!
I confess that on our recent Disney adventure, when an old teacher of mine that works as a stage manager at one of the parks was able to work a little special Disney magic, I almost peed my pants with excitement and enjoyment. My kids were jedis!! We all got to meet Darth Vader and denounce the dark side! Darth tried to tempt us with signed light sabers, but my kids used the force and said, "Step off!" Sure, it was dorky and geeky, but it was heaven! Nerd heaven, but still heaven!!
(That's me in the front holding a terrified Ellerie.)
I confess that Darth invaded my dreams that week. Does that mean I will join the dark side? Or that secretly, I want to be bad? Very, very bad? Hmmmm. I confess that I don't have the answer. (But, it sure is fun to think about!)
I confess that for the entire week in Disney, I did not formally work out.
I confess that it didn't matter that I didn't work out, because I walked approximately 7,000 miles while carrying a 40 pound Ellerie. No. I am not kidding. (My back sincerely wishes that I was!) Apparently the little turkey decided that she did not want to be restrained within the confines of her stroller. She even escaped a time or two when forcibly put in the seat. Consequently, I probably burned at least 20,000 calories trekking all over the kingdoms with her 40 pounds of love in my arms. (The insane things that we do for our kids . . . and for myself for that matter . . .)
You know. The one where Kevin Costner follows his dream and plows under his corn field to build a baseball field? Along the way, he semi-kidnaps his favorite author, played by James Earl Jones. Soon, both Kevin and James are enjoying their journey to find their dreams.
While on their trip, Kevin's character picks up a newspaper and remarks to James' character, "Hey! Do you know you are missing?!"
James laughs good-naturedly, reads the headline, and utters a grim, "Uh-oh!" Even though his kidnapping turned out more than OK, he had forgotten to let his family know where he was, and, more importantly,that he was OK.
So, let's just say that I am James Earl Jones in this scenario, off on an adventure, and never dreaming that I would worry anyone!
I am so sorry to cause my bloggy friends and family worry. Really. I am just fine. I am not under mounds and mounds of snow. I have not been trapped by falling kitchen remodeling debris. And, I have not been kidnapped by my kiddies and held hostage for the exchange of more Nintendo DS games. (Although, now that I think about it, if they had thought of that idea, I may have been in trouble.)
No, dear friends. I am OK.
I am perfectly peachy, here in sunny Florida, visiting with my family. In fact, I am a bit sad that tomorrow, I have to put on 17 layers of clothing to return to the winter wonderland that is my home. After all, I have such a nice tan. It's a shame it has to be all covered up!
So, yes, I will be back soon with loads of sunny stories and photos to share with you. Florida (especially Disney) has been great, but, quite frankly, I am pooped.
I am ready to return to the world of making school lunches, chauffeuring and refereeing children, and battling the evils of Jack Frost.
In short, I am ready to go back to the real world.
At least, I think I am.
Ask me again when the alarm goes off on Wednesday morning at 5:45.
Just developed these vacation pictures( finally )and had to share this one of Ellerie. I mean seriously, folks. What is going on in her head? She is too much!
I just love, love, love all those scrumptious, yummy rolls and bouncy curls. Don't you?
Hubby finally finished the Rubik's Cube using the online tutorial. It was a triumphant moment when he made that final turn on the cube and each side was uniformly one color. We did a mini family celebration with improvised drum rolls and and whoops and shouts. Ethan, however, did not get the significance of the moment when he asked innocently, "Can I mix it back up now?" I think Paul was planning on shelving it like a trophy up until that point.
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I survived vacation with my mom's dog. If you don't remember the saga with her pooch, click here or even here for a refresher course on the world of Cappy, the dog. In truth, this vacation Mom was very good about her dog on the whole. He only had one vet appointment in our vacation city, and Mom refrained from carrying him around in the front doggy carrier, so, overall, not too bad, I say. I even made a gesture of goodwill and brought Cappy a present. I had found a doggy tuxedo at a garage sale for a dollar, and I knew that my mom would have fun with that. Cappy, however, apparently doesn't like to wear clothes, as he snapped at my mom when she tried to adorn him in his fourth of July doggie sweater. Even Cappy realizes that he is, in fact, a dog, and dogs don't wear clothes.
Hmmm.
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After his defeat during his pizza eating contest, hubby has decided that he will not eat another slice of pizza until July 4, 2010. This fact however, does not mean that the rest of us will forgo pizza for the year. For me, that would be impossible! We have dubbed this the year of no pizza for obvious reasons.
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I was actually caught up on laundry when I arrived home from vacation. This has never happened to me before and I was quite proud of myself. But now, I have been home for 6 days and I have not done one, single load of laundry. The mountain has resurfaced in my basement laundry room, and I am dreading scaling it. I have actually been toying with the idea of hiring a college kid to come to my house once a week to tackle this chore. Either that or I will have hubby remodel the house to accommodate a second floor laundry room near the bedrooms. I am convinced that the proximity of the vacation house laundry room aided in my laundry skills. I think that the college kid solution may be a bit cheaper.
________________________________
I am enjoying being fabulously tan. This is especially cool since I acquired my glowing hue with the use of liberal sunscreen. It reminds me that I will really have to investigate to find a good self tanner for the winter months. One that doesn't make me look orangy brown like a Willy Wonka Ooompa Loompa. I just can't stand my olivy winter white skin. Blame it on my Florida upbringing. One of my favorite comedy authors likens skin to bacon. She says winter skin is like under-cooked bacon. White and grisly and unappealing. Crisp up that skin however, and you get a lovely brown color that is just beautiful and appealing. I couldn't agree more.
______________________________
Finally, I am dreading going back to my healthy gym-rat habits. Before I left for vacation I was down about 5 pounds and was feeling great, but after a vacation that included fried oreos, cheese steak hoagies, ice cream, ice cream and more ice cream, I have a feeling I will be back to the drawing board. Oh well. The fried oreos alone were worth it.
Update: Apparently I do not know my Abc's, because on my original post, I forgot the letter D. Fortunately, my lovely mother reminded me and suggested dog. Go figure. So mom, you ask and you shall receive. Don't say I've never done anything for Cappy.
There are times when I think that I am married to the most competitive man alive.
This is not a new revelation for me. I see his penchant for competition almost daily. On our weekly dates, we often go to a local hangout for wings (his favorite), a beer, and a trivia game. We agonize over questions like, "What do a movie, a car and a tuxedo have in common?" And we are uncommonly tickled when we are the only team to figure out the answer . . . they can all be rented.
So, no, I am not surprised at hubby's love to compete. I hear him start his trash talk at dinner each night with the two older kiddies. He starts with something like, "Are you ready tonight? Are you ready for Dad to kick your butt in Wii Mario Kart?" The kids giggle and trash talk right back, and after dinner clean up, they head down to the basement for the tournament. Once there, I can hear their voices waft up through the air vents, and I smile at how much they too enjoy competition.
Heck, hubby loves competition. I know this. Why else would he love coaching so much? In my estimation, even though he can no longer go long for a pass or even post-up under the basket, he can still be a competitor when he coaches. I get this.
That's why when the family saw the sign on the boardwalk for free pizza, I should not have been surprised when Paul's interest was piqued. The sign read, "Three Brothers Pizza . . . Eat a whole pizza in 15 minutes and win 100 pizzas." Hubby looked over at me, smiled, and I knew. He actually thought that he could do it! Hubby was seriously considering eating an entire pizza to win . . . more pizza.
"Annie, what do you think?"
Playing dumb I answered, "What do I think about what?"
"You know," he replied. "The contest. I think that I could do it."
Not wanting to burst his prideful bubble I answered, "Well, I have seen you eat a whole Domino's pizza before, so . . ." I trailed off in thought, but he jumped right in.
"I know. I know," he said excitedly. "And look, if I eat it in one hour, I can still get 10 free pizzas!"
An hour definitely sounded much more reasonable to me, but my more pressing thought was about how we would utilize and eat 10 free pizzas when we lived more than 3 states away. I should have realized that hubby was not in it for the prize. I quickly learned that he was in it for the bragging rights when he trotted back to me after speaking with the owner and stated, "Only 4 people out of 3500 have done it!"
This would have scared me away. That and the sight of the Three Brothers large pizza that measured 26 inches in diameter. It was one monster pizza. No measly Domino's special here! Hubby was undaunted, however, and later that week he did it.
He entered the contest.
According to him, the first two slices were delicious and went down in less than 8 minutes.
The second two went a bit slower but still were consumed at a good pace.
The third two went down . . .
with some difficulty . . .
and then . . .
to put it politely . . .
tried to make their way back up.
Hubby fought valiantly and kept those pesky slices down, but it was over. He could not take another bite.
No free pizzas.
When I asked him if he regretted entering the competition, he looked at me incredulously and said, "Nope! I gave it my best shot, I'll get my picture on the wall, and I now know that I never want to enter another pizza eating contest again."
Well said.
I figured that he had learned his lesson.
I was wrong.
Two nights later hubby and my brother-in-law ordered all-u-can-eat crab legs. My brother-in-law ate 4 rounds. Paul ate six.
On the beach yesterday, I had that all too familiar feeling. I needed to find a bathroom . . . and fast! So, being the polite and discreet mom that I am, I calmly let my family and hubby know that they were on kid patrol for a bit, without me.
"Hey ya'll! I need to go use the facilities quickly, OK?" I quietly announced.
Knowing nods accompanied a few waves of hands, and I was free to go.
Except for E. Being the literal kid that he is, he didn't get my turn of phrase.
When I was only about 10 feet away, E said loudly, "Hey mom? Where are you going?"
Trying to be discreet, I answered in a lower decibel, "I am going back to the house to go to the bathroom, buddy."
Remembering what I had shared with him earlier in the week, E proudly said, "Well mom, just go pee in the ocean!"
I blushed, smiled, and visibly shook my head to indicate that that was not going to work for me in my current situation. I turned and walked another 15 feet toward the house when E shouted the following . . .
"OH MOM! I GET IT! DO YOU HAVE TO POOP?!?"
I didn't even turn around to the chorus of laughter that erupted.
It is Monday, and I have some dooozies for the Not Me! carnival of therapy today. If it gets too much for you, may I suggest that you step away from your screen, catch your breath, and return when you can. Remember! I have warned you!
On to the insanity . . .
It was Not Me that advised E to add his part to the water balance in the Atlantic Ocean rather than walk all the way back to the beach house to use the facilities. Clearly, I would not have advised my five year old to pee in the ocean rather than the toilet. I would never! I would also not have laughed as I witness his shocked face turn to pure glee as he realized that I was actually serious. Nope! Not Me!
It was also not me that attempted to bake a Fourth of July treat and almost poisoned the family with chemical fumes. I would have checked that the oven was not being used for snack storage before I turned it on to preheat. I would never have melted 5 bags of snacks in their plastic snack bags all over the oven. Ridiculous!
It was not me that ordered fried oreos (Yes, you read that correctly. Fried. Oreos. Ummmm. Heaven???) on the boardwalk under the guise that the kiddies needed to try new things on vacation. It was not me that walked down the boardwalk with a look of pure pleasure on my face as I munched happily on that hot and sweet, fried doughy goodness. It was not my children that begged me to get a second order of the treats after they scarfed down the first order with me in about 2 minutes flat. They would never get off on such junk food. Neither would I.
It was not me that promptly googled a calorie count for a fried oreo when I returned from the boardwalk.
It was also not me that fainted when I saw the dreaded calorie count.
I t was not me that allowed dear Ellerie to have her very own ice cream. It was also not me that allowed her to solely feed herself the said ice cream. It was not me that laughed with El as she dumped the soupy, melted contents on her head and then licked the drips as they ran down into her mouth. Nope! Not me!I would realize just how much of a mess ice cream in your hair creates. I would never indulge a kiddie for my own enjoyment. Silly!
Sharing a vacation with my family and with my mom and dad is a joyous occasion. Yet, I also find it imperceptibly difficult, too.
Why? You ask.
Simple. It is hard to be the mother when your mother thinks of you as the daughter.
Role definition has never come easy to my clan. In fact, there is a running joke in the family about asking a question and getting an answer. No matter who poses the question or who is supposed to answer, inevitably, my mother answers it for him or her. Never fail! It used to make my sister and my own skin crawl when mom would do this. Now, we just shrug, giggle, and realize that mom means no harm. She is just being a mom in her own mom way.
But, when you are used to being the mom and being responsible for your own family day in and day out, it is very difficult to have someone (even if it is your loving and dear mom) try to up and take care and take control of you and yours. Next to impossible I would say. Really, even when it comes to deciding on food for dinner, my family looks to me and hubby, but mom also wants input too. Because she is, of course, always a mom first. And, even though my brain logically understands this, my heart sometimes jumps first. So, instead of two adult moms coming to a rational decision about dinner. We get one older mom with hurt feelings and one younger mom trying to balance her mom/ daughter role so that no one gets upset.
Clearly, this doesn't work.
Instead of a harmonious blend of generations, we get a cacophony of clashing roles!
We gnash teeth . . .
We walk on eggshells with our decisions. . .
We try to put ourselves in the other person's position . . .
But. . .
We fail quite often.
And, this makes for some very grumpy, very non-vacation like moments of power struggling . . . interrupted by moments of sheer,relaxing fun.
So, while not the ideal vacation every moment of every day, it is my real vacation, where my whole family gets together . . . warts and all. We may argue over who picks the activity or how to deal with a cranky, up too late toddler, but we still can laugh over me burning up all the snacks stored in the oven because I didn't check to see the oven was empty. We can still giggle over escaped naked kids running amok after a necessary sand-removing bath. We can still roar over silly squirt gun fights with the kiddies or even how my mom forgot to rinse conditioner out of her hair and only "remembered" why her hair was a bit greasy a day later. Those are some good times. Undeniably.
So, warts are good.
And, frankly, I wouldn't have my vacation wart-free for the world. Because in my book, wart-free would equal laugh-free. And boring.
Not my kind of vacation.
I'll take my vacation (and my life, for that matter) laugh-filled . . . with a large side of warts.
I split my time between my super hubby and ultimate sports guy, Paul, my 3 kiddies and the rest of my daily insanity. I am a former teacher, full time mom, part time tutor to 7-12 graders, and once upon a time personal trainer. I love bacon, krispy kreme doughnuts, and cold beer (but not all at the same time). I use a sharpie marker on my grey hairs, and I paint only my first two toes when I am wearing peep toe pumps. What can I say? My life is crazy every single day, but every single day, I am blessed.
Ab
My fashionista oldest daughter, Ab, is a joy! At 10, she loves to do crafts, read, and create her own designs. We love to watch Project Runway and What Not to Wear together. She loves to put together outfits for me (and for herself), and she got a sewing machine for Christmas.
E
My Ethan, at 7, is a ball of energy. In his short life, he has destroyed cell phones, toilets, and a TV. He loves all sports, like his Daddy, but specifically likes the Steelers. He plays T-ball and soccer, and in the morning, he snuggles up to me and tells me that he loves me more than bacon. What could be better than that?
Ellerie
My curly haired devil, Ellerie, is 4 years old, and full of personality. She loves to strip down to her birthday suit and run outside in the backyard. She makes lovely artwork all over herself and my walls, and she likes to tell us that we are acting like ogres, a la Shrek. She brings constant smiles and love to our crazy crew with her sloppy wet kisses. She is a love!
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