Lying in my Disney Deluxe Beach Resort digs (not much deluxe about the beds), I was plagued by the first day of feeling uncomfortable in a foreign environment. I slept two hours and woke cursing this not-so-magical mattress. Babyface and hubby were snoring in a symphony. My neck, back and hip felt punched by what I spent hours planning to avoid, a bad bed; so my insomnia decided to surface and say “hello” in my temporary spread.
After kicking and screaming into my pillow, I silently cursed my other two musketeers for their sleep-anywhere, shared gene. Then, after tossing and turning for two hours, I flipped on the television.
Walking through the doors of SFO, I always feel like I’ll be swallowed by the TSA system or trampled by the masses of people moving and waiting to get to their destination. I’m a die-hard pessimist, when it comes to airports. I’m always expecting the worst, but deep down hoping for the best. There’s usually some glitch, especially traveling with a toddler. I pray it’s only minor and nothing major, like having our seats relocated at the last minute and being separated.
We forgot about the 4th of July holiday, so the lines for economy check-in were wound around and around; the winding rope barriers were never-ending.
“Mommy, I have to go potty! Mommy! I have to go potty! Mommy!” Sometimes my daughter has to repeat a request 10 times before I even notice she’s speaking to me. I am a mother and I suffer from Selective Hearing.
I swear I’m not trying to avoid her. My mind is in flight sometimes; it just needs a vacation from the noise. The noise is constant and it’s not white. It’s very colorful. It goes from screaming the numbers during imaginary hide and seek, to pounding on the piano keyboard, to singing the same word over and over and over again.
Me time: 120 minutes
Effort time: 10 minutes (assembly)
Replay value: 30 minutes (two weeks and counting)
If I gave Babyface a cardboard box and a stick (not sharp of course), she would find a creative way to turn the two into something crazy; her imagination is wild. With all of the social media out there today, I see a lot of couples and friends sitting in restaurants not communicating with each other; they’re chatting on their phones within their online communities, instead. That is where they share their creativity. Children aren’t exposed to this yet, so their creativity is found in the very simple.
People who can sleep anytime and anywhere need to stop bragging (my husband). Okay, maybe he’s not bragging as such, but when he snores, sometimes it sounds like “neener, neener.” It’s as if he’s taunting me because I’m awake at 5 am staring at the ceiling or watching Jane Seymour try to sell me Natural Advantage, while he’s sound asleep.
I wasn’t sure how to spell “neener, neener”, so I looked it up as “neiner, neiner” first in the urban dictionary and that’s the mating call of a titmouse. My stomach hurts from cracking up, but I’m probably just slap happy.
In the past 15 years, I don’t think I’ve ever been sober while I packed for a trip. I HATE to pack. In fact, pre-child I would never have taken a job where travel was required, because I hated to pack THAT MUCH. Given the option to pack or have someone poke me in the eye with a sharpened toothpick; it would be a toss up.
After having a kid, this hatred has only heightened. I’m now packing for 2 ½ people (my husband only packs his clothes and toiletries and thinks sunscreen, Q-tips, first aid, etc… come with the bag).
My daughter beat me yesterday. She hit me so hard I got the wind taken out of me for an hour. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Okay, she didn’t hit me physically, but she beat me with her words.
No need to call me, CPS, it was innocent. Innocent for her, but complex and painstaking for me. It’s a sign of what’s yet to come when she is a tween or, even worse, a teenager. She said, “I don’t want to sit with you, Mommy. I want to sit with my Daddy.” (There was a strong and loud emphasis on “my”.)
I probably had the same expression my husband does when he gets kicked in the balls by accident.
I am the planner of this party of three. I even have a theme song. It’s I Am the Walrus by the Beatles. No, I’m not an eggman sitting on a cornflake. The song just has a strange way of motivating me. Motivating me to be a vacation planner for my family or vacation lackey, as I like to call it.
The non-planners have no idea how much work we put into this stuff. I started planning our trip to Disney World in February. We leave next week and I need a damn vacation from my vacation planning. For those of you stuck in the same boat, I’ve bulleted any Disney World planning tips at the bottom, so you can save yourself the hassle of learning the hard way.
On our cruise last December, as her one souvenir, we let our daughter make a Pet At Sea. It’s kind of like Build-A-Bear, only cheaper and cheaper, the stuffing is already sticking to the carpet and there’s a cloud forest under our couch.
There were monkeys, turtles, dogs, bunny rabbits…you name it and they probably had it. What did Babyface choose? A dinosaur. What did she dress the dinosaur in? A pink, princess tutu and a pointy hat with a tassel. Yes, we have a deflated, princess dinosaur in our house and her name is Algae (she came up with that one, all on her own).
I ran a half marathon yesterday. Not really. We went to the mall with our three-year-old on a weekend.
My body hurts the same, though. I kind of wish I could bathe in Bengay, right now. My head is pounding like there’s a little monkey sitting inside slamming the cymbals. And, the soles of my shoes are so worn, they no longer have arch support, so my feet hurt something fierce.
You know when you drive to a big event, there’s bumper-to-bumper traffic and you just magically bump into the only, available parking space, two seconds into looking? It sets the pace for a day where everything goes your way?