Tell a single person that you don’t want to have a second child and, most likely, she’ll look at you like you’re nuts. She’ll tell you that your child needs a sibling. She’ll tell you that your children can pay their own way through college. There is no sympathy for your reasons. In fact, she’s off to the next topic before you can even share them.
Tell another mother that you don’t want to have a second child and she’ll look at you with understanding eyes and maybe just ask “why?” She gets it. She’s been there. She’s done that.
I take movies with my mind and they’re always on 8mm film. They’re like a series of snapshots or a fast moving slide projector. The lighting is dim, even in daylight, but the colors are still vibrant.
I made a mental masterpiece, when we were at Epcot. The weather was a sweltering 94 degrees with humidity of 50%. The sun was blaring, but soon slid behind gray clouds. We knew where this was going.
Thunder warned us to quickly pull out raincoats and an umbrella. It warned us to purchase a Disney poncho and cover our daughter in the stroller.
The Beach Club Resort was situated only a few minutes from Epcot; it was our saving grace. After the first meal, we were already tired of the standard, greasy fare at other Disney eateries, so when we stumbled into Epcot, it was like having our own, personal party catered by a Top Chef. We stuffed ourselves and drank ourselves silly, around the world in nine days.
Food and Drink:
Diversity – Since the park was so close, we hit up the Magic Kingdom, Animal Kingdom or Hollywood Studios, shuttled back to our hotel and strolled into Epcot for dinner.
Whenever my husband and I do date night and see a PG-13+ movie, the number of parents that bring toddlers along always surprises me. Why not just wait for it to come out on Blu-ray or DVD? Is it worth traumatizing your toddler with violent special effects or terrifying sequences to see The Avengers or Paranormal Activity 3? Okay, The Avengers was pretty great, but where are their priorities, I used to think. It’s borderline child abuse, I used to think.
That was all until I put those parents to shame. We went to the Animal Kingdom in Disney World last week and discovered the ride, Dinosaur.
My daughter is a spoiled brat right now, because we took her on vacation. I always dread the day after we return from a trip, because I have to resume my Jedi mind tricks to whip her back from being a brat to a well-behaved child…all alone. This is the curse of the family vacation.
My husband gets to spoil her for several days and then gather up his computer and head off to work. I’m supplied the consequences on a shiny, whiny platter, the minute she wakes up in her own bed again. Even by providing limitations on the vacation, like you can only have one cookie instead of two, you can only go on the Nemo ride three times in a row instead of four and you can only stay up one hour past your bedtime instead of two, her nature still seeps into the naughty side.
I’m having an Eminem Lose Yourself kind of day. My blog post, Bounce House Blues, is featured on the BlogHer homepage and spotlighted in the BlogHer Money section today.
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I’m on vacation in Disney World with my 3-year-old and husband, so I have reposted a couple of my favorite entries.
I’ll be flying back to SFO from Orlando at 6 pm EST, so there will be a blackout period for me for about seven hours.
Each time Babyface goes to her grandparent’s house; she ends up with a bout of diarrhea the next day (Be advised, there will be a lot of S$&* talking in this post). I don’t mean a one-time doozy. I mean multiple trips to go poopy in the potty with a full range of sound effects.
We can forego physical activity. She must clock at least a mile by running back and forth from the bathroom. Thank goodness we’re past the hit or miss stage of potty training; or we’d literally be up to our knees in s$&*. I know cow dung is the popular choice for floor décor in India and we’re Indian, but I prefer wood or tile or even shag carpet.
I have met a mother who defies every sense of the word, impossible. She has been driven to deal with what most of us could never fathom, for a minute, a second or even a millisecond. She is the superior essence of a mother. Her daughter has Cornelia de Lange Syndrome (CdLS).
We count ten fingers and toes, when our babies are born and wonder whether they will thrive in life. She probably wonders what she can do just to keep her daughter alive. Thrive has a different meaning. It represents the life of her child, another breath and a long future.
My husband has polka dot skin. At least that’s what my daughter says. The other day, the two were staring out the balcony of our hotel at the colored traffic and she pointed out there was a brown man in the flow. “Daddy, there’s a brown man.”
If any adult in their right mind said that, they would be chastised. The difference is her statement was innocent. There was no discrimination or stereotypical undertone. In fact, she knows nothing of the stereotypes that the tainted see with skin color.
We asked her if the man was the same color as Mommy.
My daughter followed a man today and it wasn’t my husband; it was a stranger. We were outside of the Stich show staring at the map, trying to gain our bearings and she just walked off. She looked disoriented and confused.
“Honey, where were you going??” I asked (okay, I screamed), probably putting a welt in her arm from grasping it too tight.
“I was following that Man,” she replied, as if it made complete sense.
Let me preface this; the man wasn’t trying to take her. There was no major incident with Disney patrol or sirens. She just lost her way in Tomorrowland.