Gone and soon forgotten

My daughter’s hamster died this week. That isn’t the bad part of this story. The horrible thing is that we didn’t even notice for about 3 days and what’s even worse is that she hasn’t noticed at all even though the cage has been gone from the house for a week!

I was the keeper of the annoying critter which means I changed the bedding, food, and water periodically. It ran on the wheel at all hours of the night on a journey to nowhere; such a depressing existence indeed.

The water and food were at consistent levels for a few days and I thought how quiet the nights had been when, before work one morning, I took a peek at the “sleeping” rodent. “Hmmm,” I thought to myself, “No time to deal with it right now.”

I left it there for the day and, when I got home, my son was standing by the cage. I pointed and said, “D. E. A. D.” I knew his sister wouldn’t hear or bother to decipher the word.

He said, “I know, Mom! I discovered it last night. I poked it with the fly swatter and it didn’t move.”

“Do not say anything to her about this! Do you understand me?” I was using my most threatening voice. “I just need some time to think about how to deal with it and get with Daddy on what we want to tell her.”

She is 7 years old, after all. We fully expected tears or at least some sort of acknowledgement, but instead we said nothing, dumped the cage, put the fruit basket where the cage used to be, and she got a banana from there today, touching the air where the hamster used to endlessly run on that stupid, creaky wheel.

Nothing. Not one single word.

I realize how awful we are in our apathy of the deceased hamster, but none of us were very attached to it in the first place.

My son had a hamster named Peanut and I believe every one of us cried when she died. She had personality and, as we all know, personality goes a long way. Also, you could actually hold Peanut.

This new hamster was like a lightning bolt of nervous energy that never sat still. Even feeding it was difficult because it would try to dart out of the cage when the door was open. We never trusted it.

I just hope it wasn’t like one of those canaries they used in mines to alert for high gas levels. If so, I fear we may be in trouble.

We aren’t even thinking about replacing it with another. All my little girl talks about anymore is getting a cat and I absolutely wish we could, but I have allergies that would make it miserable to have one. That being said, the way she giggles as she watches those cat videos online, I’d be willing to live with the sneezing just to see her happy.

Though, there is the aspect of the litter box which is pretty gross.

Right now, she is content with the artificial Baby Butterscotch horse she received at Christmas. It doesn’t ever poop and costs nothing to feed. The only problem that arises is when her big brother wants to torment her by messing with it.

To anyone thinking of buying a dwarf hamster: I wish you better luck than what we had. They are cute to look at. At the pet store, that is.

Kid fights and spider bites

Aside from saying goodbye to my best friend, Cozette, and her family, there were two aspects of our trip to Washington that were not a whole lot of fun when compared to the rest of the trip which included mountains, nights on the town, and a bit too much to eat.

The first downer was the fact that we all rode together everywhere in Cozette’s huge SUV. This saved on a car rental and allowed the incredibly witty adults to freely converse, but it also placed the four children in our space every time we wanted to go anywhere.

My two are bad enough in the car. She is 7 and he is 12 so they don’t like each other. Cozette’s daughter is 5 and son is 10. The even spacing of ages is almost adorable.

Female 5 was the whiner and cried about everything which is what 5 year old girls do. My female 7 was the tattle-tale, but she also liked to throw colossal fits which would be embarrassing if they weren’t incredibly funny. She became very angry when I laughed at her for falling off a log. I wouldn’t have laughed if I didn’t know she was okay. I’m not a monster!

Male 10 sang and made random noises all the time. He was the background music to the continuous insanity playing out around him. Also, he was the frequent victim of his 5 year old sister’s attacks and the one I always lost.

It is a good thing I only had two children because one more is just too much for me to keep track of.

Male 12 wanted to interject himself into every conversation because he believes life is and should be all about him. He felt Washington was his state since he was born there and he would not shut up about Big Foot even though his sister, female 7, was terrified of the creature. After we came home, she was still crying before bed, hung up on Big Foot! Thanks big brother!

What we needed at the time was a trailer to pull behind the SUV; something like a horse trailer with individual “kid stalls,” but with glass windows so they stayed dry. They would’ve been fine.

The second aspect of our trip which turned nasty was my spider bite. I say it was a spider bite, but in reality I don’t know what happened to my right elbow pit (the anticubital area to be technical).

I had a little pimple-looking thing which I popped because that’s what I do, even though I know I shouldn’t. The pimple then grew quite large. I didn’t mess with it anymore until I got home.

It was very painful when I went to work and showed the doctors in the ER. In fact, my arm was getting red above it and I had a hard nodule under my skin near my shoulder.

It turns out a lymph node near my armpit swelled to the size of a golf ball and I had to check in as a patient for 4 days to receive IV antibiotics, which was miserable to say the least. I don’t think many nurses make good patients. I felt like I was in prison and at work, but not really working.

Was it a spider? I’ll never know. It was probably my daughter seeking revenge for laughing at her.

Either way, we are back to two kids in our vehicle and a mostly healed arm; almost normal.

Alternative transport includes walking

My family had to go to Washington State this summer and we had to do it on as much of a budget as we could. We had to go because my best friend, Cozette, and her family will be moving to Minnesota next year. She is my big draw to visit.

The budget is obvious because plane tickets for a family of four was enough to make our brains hurt. One way we saved money was by not renting a car.

This sounded fabulous until the first night we arrived at Sea-Tac Airport. We wanted to spend 2 nights in Seattle before travelling to the Olympia area where we’d be staying with my bestie and her family. They were meeting us in Seattle, but not until the next day.

My reasonable husband said we should spend the first night near Sea-Tac since we didn’t have transportation, but I decided we should be in Seattle so we could wake up and begin exploring immediately. Besides, Sea-Tac has that light rail system that takes you right into Seattle!

Carting all of our belongings through a parking garage to the light rail terminal was tedious at best, but when my daughter wasn’t able to roll her own luggage anymore due to the sudden dysfunction of her arms, it was intolerable.

It became clear where luggage got its name; because you have to lug it around! I felt like Quasimodo going up the Cathedral steps only I was on flat ground.

Once we got to the light rail station at Sea-Tac, we realized that, having followed the signs pointing the way, we had gone almost in a complete circle from the point at which we had entered the garage. Why? Because the gap in between was the point where the cars drove in. Had we known, we would’ve risked it for the short-cut.

Riding the rail was fun mostly because it was free. That’s right, we somehow escaped being charged. I’m not sure how we managed that one.

When we hit Seattle, we had to change over to the monorail that would take us to the Space Needle.

Keep in mind during this entire journey, my children were burning my insides with a level of annoyance so great and powerful, I think they must have been taking private lessons in their free time. I kept promising myself things I would do to them if they kept whining. Maybe I was just being a bit short tempered, but my husband was a real trooper.

We rode the monorail and got off at the final and only stop. The kids were excited and happy. Now we just had to walk to the hotel.

There was a cab. “Honey. Let’s take the cab! It will be so cheap to hop in and take it! It has to be close!” I plead with my hubby, perhaps sounding a little whiny myself.

“Okay, honey. Hey! We are going to the Travelodge!”

The cab driver laughed. “Why would you get in just to get out again? It is just behind that building over there!”

My world collapsed because I saw that “over there” was like a block and a half. I was wearing flip flops because I’m from Florida and I never learn.

We trudged down the sidewalk with me bringing up the rear, almost in tears. The sidewalk was bumpy and a vagrant looked somewhat interested in our things, but we made it.

Never again, I thought. Mark my words: I will listen to him next time. I swear!

Just plane frustrating

I am relieved that my family and I have, for the most part, safely returned in one piece from our incredible journey to Washington State where we visited my best friend and her family. I would say we all have “completely” safely returned if I weren’t in the hospital right now suffering from the effects of an unknown arachnid or other tiny critter bite to my arm, but there will be more on that in the near future.

For now, let me attempt to take you all on a journey to discover why my husband, my children and I cannot seem to comfortably make it to an airport on time.

Tuesday, June 25^th was our departure day and the flight was set to leave at 1:55 pm. Never pick a flight that late because it gives you a false sense of security that you can do things like cook breakfast, sit around and drink coffee, or play Candy Crush Saga before you wake up the kids who stayed up way too late the night before.

Before we knew it, the time was closer to 10:30 than 9:30 and we weren’t exactly where we thought we’d be at that point in the day. Things became a bit hectic real fast. Weren’t we already supposed to be driving?

Figurative fires were lit beneath undeserving bottoms and there may have been a little whining over having to get moving so soon after waking up which was met with apathy and unsympathetic remarks.

It was 11:35 when we all piled in the truck to make our way to the reduced fare parking five minutes from the Orlando International with vans running to the airport every 15 minutes. The map application on our phones reported that we’d reach our destination at 1:25 pm.

This was not looking good at all.

I told my husband to floor it in the safest manner possible. My daughter was delighted.

Every time a red light was missed by catching a green, we cheered. Every pack of cars we passed, my heart skipped a beat. I saw us gaining time each MPH he went over the speed limit, but we weren’t gaining enough.

I frantically called the parking company and told them our dilemma once we hit I-4 at 12:50. They said they would meet us directly at the airport and take our truck to their parking for us. I fell in love. I didn’t care who they were or if they sold the truck later, we may actually catch that flight.

We got out at the Air Tran drop-off. I checked our bags curbside while my husband gave a big tip to the parking guys. Air Tran said our bags might make it, but we needed to get going fast.

Security was fairly quick, thank goodness, and we were almost running to the gate. They were calling for final boarding. When they saw us, the boarding agent said, “You must be the Hutchins family.” Guilty!

I wish I could say the way home was better and I really thought it would be. We had an hour and a half when we were dropped off at Sea-Tac Airport on July 5th, but their lines were out-of-this-world! I could not believe how long the wait was for everything. When my daughter had to take an extended stay in the bathroom, I almost lost my mind!

Like before, final boarding was being called when we got to the plane. “You must be the Hutchins family.”

Yes! Guilty again!

Forced outside their comfort zone

“I don’t want to try on any more of these pants and I don’t want to go anywhere!”

There was a power struggle going on in my house between the kids and us. We were going to win in the end, but they were making the path to victory incredibly annoying.

By the time this article is printed, God willing, my family will have traveled to Washington State and back. We are going to visit my best friend and her family, look at mountains up close and experience the packed-in city life of Seattle and laid-back Olympia.

The children are currently unhappy that we are leaving at all.

My kids are strange to me in the way that they never want to do anything. Don’t get me wrong, my daughter really wanted to go to Disney World, but my son had no interest in it until we got there; even then, he didn’t smile very often.

Concerning this major outing, my little girl is afraid of the plane not functioning properly. Last week she said, “Mommy, if the plane falls out of the sky, we’ll all die.”

I said, “At least we’ll all be together.”

I don’t like to feed into these kinds of fears very much, but when she kept mentioning it over and over, I couldn’t help but dig deeper to the base of this anxiety.

“What’s up with you and planes? You love roller coasters. We’re just going to roll down the runway and lift off into the sky. It’s fun.”

“Because, mommy, I never see the planes land. They never land on the ground!”

I thought about that for a while. I guess she never has seen a plane land on the ground. I also thought about the exposure she has had and pictured my son watching those airplane disaster shows. Ah ha!

Even with some education, she hasn’t budged on her opinion.

Speaking of my son’s television choices, he happened to catch something on Big Foot that scared the tar out of him which brought us great joy being the horrible parents we are. Of course, he’s 12 and my daughter is 7 so he’s fair game.

He began asking his dad about the infamous creature and a tale was instantly spun by my husband about a creepy night spent camping with the boy scouts with unusual smells present and being hit with a rock thrown by an unknown being. Then another story was told about a woman innocently washing dishes then suddenly looking through the window into the eyes of the beast himself.

My son nervously looked at the window above the kitchen sink which had the shades pulled all the way to the top and, when he could take it no longer, he slipped across the room to quietly and quickly lower them.

There’s been so much talk about Big Foot and planes lately, I almost feel bad for my kids that we are packing them on a plane and forcing them to go to the Pacific Northwest, home of the Sasquatch.

Apart from their fears, my daughter doesn’t want to leave her Baby Butterscotch, a mechanical horse it would be a pain to pack, and my son doesn’t want to leave his social life, but he is taking some cards with his phone number printed on them. There’s no sense in missing out on broadening his girlfriend base.

We just hope we don’t run out of money. Now that is truly terrifying!

Let's talk about food

Humans have come a long way from poking an animal with a pointed stick and roasting it over a fire pit long enough to kill the bacteria then devouring it solely for the purpose of survival. Just as we have developed our technology, we have cultivated our pallets and altered our dinner plates over the course of time.

Since I’m a Southern girl at heart, there is nothing I like more than a home cooked meal that includes mashed potatoes, fried corn bread, collard greens, and whatever meat is on the menu for the day, but it has to fall apart in my mouth or be drenched in enough gravy to drown a rodent.

My sweet tooth is bad also. A coworker, Danae, was talking about making a cake and drizzling condensed milk over the top.

“You mean sweetened condensed milk?” I asked. “I find a reason to open a can, like if I run out of coffee creamer.”

She said, “Mix it with ground coffee and eat it like that. It is so good! People in the islands use it for everything. That’s why so many have diabetes.”

I actually don’t get to eat like this all the time because my Granny Respress passed away many years ago and my Granny Nobles doesn’t eat like this anymore because of her health. My mother only cooks this way when the family gets together and she comes up every other weekend which, right now, happens to be the weekends I work. I did not inherit this cooking gene.

When my family went to the Orlando area, I was able to loosen my belt at a few notches, literally.

One place we ate was Chevy’s. It is a “Fresh Mex” establishment which means they only serve freshly cooked Mexican food. They make their tortillas in house as well as their salsa and chips.

We eat there every time we go to Orlando and I always get the fajitas because they never disappoint. I made moaning noises and said “Oh yeah! This is SO good!” I think the kids worried about me, but I left full and happy if not a little sore from the gluttony.

The Crystal Palace in Disney World is a buffet. That’s right, it is a buffet. We erroneously thought it cost less to eat there, but were surprised to discover that a Ben Franklin was insufficient to cover all four of us.

Before the bill arrived, I ate to my heart’s content. I love buffet macaroni and cheese. There is just something about the way it’s cooked. I load it next to mashed potatoes and then let them mix together “accidentally.” It’s a game I play, but I really do it on purpose because I want that cheesy starch-on-starch flavor.

The characters from Winnie the Pooh came around and hugged my daughter. Our waiter, Kip, was from Australia. He was awesome and attentive. Was it worth the price? It was a buffet.

Finally, we had breakfast one day at the Whispering Canyon Café in Disney’s Wilderness Lodge. This is the best and most expensive breakfast I’ve ever had. We ordered the Bottomless Breakfast Skillet which had Mickey-shaped waffles, biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage, but the home fries were my favorite. They kept bringing more till we said “Stop!”

It was nice to eat delicious food that someone else cooked, but we can’t afford to eat out all the time. Besides, I’d be as big as my car if I did.

Hard to believe the dream is real

I’ve been working as a Registered Nurse for almost a year now. That doesn’t mean I’ve been on my own for that long, just that I’ve been exposed to full 12 hour shifts and non-filtered work environments.

It is a scary thing to think about going into this field. You hear horror stories about lateral violence and how other, more experienced nurses will destroy a “baby” nurse, reducing her self-worth and pushing her out of a unit based on sheer nastiness and pettiness.

I was prepared to go into a wrestling ring; thinking there was no way that I had come to this point in my life only to allow some creepy woman or man with a grudge on their shoulder the chance to block my forward progress. This would be a challenge considering I have a tendency to stumble on flat surfaces and I openly admit when I’m being stupid. I believe it is far more dangerous to act like you know what you’re doing when, in reality, you absolutely do not.

Then something amazing happened: NOTHING! That’s right, nothing.

I went to work and people helped me. I asked questions and they answered. I thought it was an elaborate trap, but it wasn’t. I was just one of those lucky people who landed a job in a place I didn’t have to fight an uphill battle to learn and grow and it makes me feel like I’m in a dream.

Okay, working in an emergency room isn’t always a dream. There is a spectrum of possibilities when you walk into that door every shift. There are a lot of kidney stones! Seriously, there are a lot of them! You poor people who have suffered from stones, kidney and gall bladder, I feel for you and I hope I never become one of you.

The worst days involve children and anything negative that happens with them or to them.

A friend of mine actually said that he was surprised I could work there because I was always such a cry baby. He said it nicer than that (thanks, Earl), but when bad things happen, we all cry. You can’t help it. We all have families and it is hard to separate how we’d feel in the same situation. Believe me, we care.

The whole ER is like a family from our housekeeping department to the nurses to lab to the doctors. We laugh and joke because it relieves tension, but when things get serious, you can feel the gears shift. It’s amazing, really.

Two of my classmates, Tonya and Candy, went to night shift right away. I only get to see them in passing, but at least I see them fairly often. Other classmates keep in touch on Facebook, but everyone has gone so many different directions. It seems like they are doing well. Still, I miss some of them horribly.

As for my new work family who has so graciously accepted me as one of them, I can’t say enough how thankful I am: Patty, Tinna, Andrea, Reese, Daisy, Chelsea, Elizabeth, Susan, Brandon, Tony, Kelly D., Lori and several doctors. There were also two amazing nurses who have moved on, Shannon and Kelly A. These are just the people who work with me every day, but the other shift is also special.

Highlands County, try to stay safe out there. Also, drink plenty of water. You may be able to avoid kidney stones if you stay hydrated. You can thank me later.

Not whacky about weeding

I hate weeding! I know, “hate” is a strong word, right? Well then, I really loathe weeding to the depth of my very soul.

Growing up, I’d visit my mom and stepdad on a ranch in Avon Park and, when my brother and I weren’t finding better things to do like torture bugs or each other, we’d get put to work. They called it chores, but we called it cruel and unusual punishment.

Pulling prickly pears was my least favorite. If you’ve never done it, go to a cow pasture with a crow bar and a pair of work gloves and sweep the hook down to the root of that Florida cactus then yank it up with all you’ve got and hope you don’t get stuck. The big barbs aren’t the bad ones because you can easily pull those out; it’s the tiny ones around the base of the big ones that hide in your skin and drive you insane. Never touch those.

The weeding I did last weekend was nothing like pulling prickly pears on the ranch and I reminded myself of that fact as I knelt on my “almost” 40-year old knees with my rear end facing the road.

I fantasized about spraying Round Up on my whole yard and having concrete filled in the area then painting it green so I could park on it and never have to mow. I’m not sure if the neighbors would like me better or worse. We aren’t real close as it is now. Of course, when you are the person who weeds your yard once a year, why would anyone get that close to you?

My husband bought mulch and I felt the two planters by the front steps could use a fresh look so I picked out some nice, self-sufficient-looking plants that could occupy those spaces along with potting soil to give them the best possible start before I ignore them forever. I also got new gloves (my old ones had literally disintegrated) and the cheapest gardening hand tools I thought I might need.

When I first arrived home from the store and unloaded, I couldn’t find the bag with the gloves and tools. I looked on the receipt and saw I had paid for them. I checked my pile and spied only the soil and plants.

Then I threw a hissy fit.

There was no way I was going back to the store. I was already sprayed in suntan oil and in my bathing suit (with shorts on the bottom, I don’t want to embarrass my children too much).

I began digging with my bare hands and pouring soil. When I emptied the last plant, there was the bag with my other purchases that had been lying underneath everything else! Didn’t I feel silly?

As I pulled the white flowered weeds, they loosed their barb-like seeds onto my clothing. I felt like a fertilization transport device for this invasive organism. “Not on my watch!” I thought to myself as I plucked each barb off my bathing suit.

I did find a lone survivor, something I had planted several years ago, attempting to grow again. I was impressed. I was going to save it, but I became lost in thought as my hands were grazing along, pulling the multitude of weeds, like a cow chomping on grass, and I accidentally yanked that poor plant right out of the ground.

Sorry, little guy. If I see you next year, I’ll try to be more careful.

Summer is here. Make it stop.

For months now I’ve been desperate for school to be over. I grew weary of the notes sent home concerning the behavior of my children; one actually included a description of my daughter crouching under her desk and hissing at her substitute teacher because she didn’t want to do what was being asked at that moment in time.

My son has collected an amazing amount of girls’ phone numbers and spends the rest of his time fantasizing about which basketball team he will play on in the future. His dad and I are his constant reality check concerning his lackluster performance in the education department. In fact, he just earned back the use of his bike, dresser, and personal effects after having been grounded for about two months.

Now that summer has been in full force for a whole week, I can’t wait for school to start back. I suppose I’m just never happy and the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Literally, at my house, it is greener on the other side because we have quite a bit of sand in our yard.

This past week was special for both children because they were signed up for exciting camps concerning their favorite interests: basketball for my son and cheerleading for my daughter. What it meant for my husband, Chris, and I was a lot of running around and trying to figure out schedules.

I have to say that I did get to sleep in late which was worth every extra slumbering minute. Waking up at 4 in the morning on work days and 6:30 on school days is tiresome. I swear I can see bags forming under my eyes with each passing week even though people swear I don’t look like I’ll be 40 this year.

One thing I found amusing in a sarcastically ironic way was that it seemed to be pouring rain almost every day this week at some point in time that I was either dropping off or picking up on of the kids. I feared for my life and theirs as lightning struck all around us and the wind whipped by at questionably strong speeds.

Ever since my phone squawked out those tornado alerts at all hours of the day during that tropical storm, Andrea, last week, I’m on high alert for bad business with the weather.

My son loved the basketball camp, but my daughter thoroughly enjoyed that cheerleader camp at Sebring High School. She came home every day and practiced her new cheers with enthusiasm and could not wait to return the next day.

I left work early on Thursday to watch final program which would display all their talents and, I have to admit, I was pretty excited to see her perform with the other girls.

Her group went last and my daughter spent most of her time distracted with the knot on her shirt; the one she insisted on having tied like the other cheerleaders. She checked it constantly like a person with obsessive compulsive disorder and I think this is why she seemed to forget some of her moves.

Then she pushed a little girl down.

It looked accidental, but the best laid plans usually are. The girls just tumbled into one another and mine chose to use the other girl as support to hold herself upright. That’s what happened and I’m sticking to it.

Next week, they start a fulltime summer program. I can barely contain my excitement.

 

Spoiler alert: the book was better

Books are an addiction for me and there is just about nothing I like more than seeing a novel brought to life on the big screen, but before I go any further, I’ll tell you all right now that I may allude to a few spoilers if you’ve never read a certain series or watched its counterpart.

Now that I have that out of the way and my conscience is clear, I can talk about how annoying people like me are. We read all the time and scarcely put down one book before we have another in our greedy palms, thumbing through the pages like some nerdy, mentally-starved misfits ready for an injection of someone else’s thoughts and ideas. If we are high tech, we have a Kindle or and iPod to store our library. Either way, we are insatiable.

In fact, right now, I have three books I’m reading depending on my mood. When I get a really good one, I stick with it until I’m done and, if it is part of a series, say goodbye to me for a while.

I generally do not like to read a series if the author hasn’t completed it yet because you always run the risk of that writer dying on you like Robert Jordan did before he finished the “Wheel of Time” which, let’s face it, took an eternity to write. I mean, did he have to describe the fabric of the women’s dresses? I felt like he was dawdling a bit, but it was still a good story overall even if someone had to step in and finish it this year.

Jordan was the reason I swore off reading another incomplete series, but I was tricked by “Game of Thrones.” I erroneously believed that an HBO project must mean that the books were done because why in the world would they risk a television show and all that money if an author was still messing around with the story?

I attacked the books full force before I watched the first HBO episode. I was actually late watching it because we didn’t have the network as part of our viewing package, but once we did, I caught up quickly.

George R.R. Martin is one of those cruel authors who kills anyone you care about in his books. If you watch the show, you know what I mean (red wedding, anyone?). I think he should have titled his series “Everyone Dies in the End.”

So now I’m left waiting for his next installment which I can’t stand.

At least HBO did a decent job with the telling of his story, unlike “True Blood.” Those shows could not have been further from what happened in the “Sookie Stackhouse” novels!

I know, we nerds are always boasting, “The book was SO much better.” I get tired of hearing it too.

I’ve been saying it since I began reading Stephen King in my teen years and they love to make movies out of his novels. “Salem’s Lot” was a big failure. “It” was okay, but Tim Curry was the best freaky clown ever. “The Shining” stands alone as a movie mostly because of Jack Nicholson, but “Pet Semetary” was probably one of the worst.

As long as authors keep writing, I’ll keep reading and as long as movies get made, I’ll be saying how much better it was to read the book, but I won’t stop watching movies. After all, nerds do need something to complain about.

Still the happiest place on earth

After realizing that the paper inside her birthday card read, “We’re going to Disney World,” my daughter squealed with delight and said to us in her sweetest heart-melting voice, “You’re the best mommy ever, and you too, Daddy.”

My husband, Chris, asked, “I’m the best mommy?”
“No, the best daddy!”

This would be her first time at Disney and my son’s second. His first was back when he was still free to enter the park meaning that he was a few days away from his third birthday. It was a miserable experience for all of us.

This time, we were going to do it right, even if it was going to be on Mother’s Day which may or may not be a good idea. We were unsure if this holiday would have an effect on Disney ticket sales. I figured more moms would swing toward Epcot, but you never know.

We woke up early and arrived at the gate right about the time we had planned. Our tickets were purchased online so we didn’t have to fool around with all that. We did, however, acquire a birthday button for our special girl.

Our first attraction visited was the bathrooms.

“These bathrooms are weird, mom. I don’t like them.” She was already not impressed.

“Don’t worry, honey, we aren’t here to tour the restrooms. We haven’t even got on the monorail yet. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

The monorail made up for the less-than-stellar bathroom and when it travelled through the hotel, even my son seemed impressed.

Once we got inside the park, she wanted Minnie ears right away. “No! We’ll get those later!”

This caused a little bit of moping on her part, but time was of the essence. Our goal was to get to the newest area and ride that Little Mermaid clamshell contraption first. The plan after that was sketchy at best.

We were momentarily distracted by the carousel which we got in line for, but didn’t make the ride, so we exited the line and saw “It’s a Small World” with no line. We trotted that direction only to find the ride closed until further notice. Great!

We glanced across the path at Peter Pan, but that line is always long. Why? What do they do to you in there? We never did get to go on it.

The Little Mermaid got our full attention and we were on it within 20 minutes.

We made our way around the park without having to wait long in any line. “Pirates of the Caribbean” is one of my favorites, but it never matters what side of the boat you’re on, it seems like the other side is better.

“Space Mountain” scared me concerning my spinal alignment and my daughter’s driving worried me on the speedway.

Our last two attractions were the “Swiss Family Treehouse” and “It’s a Small World,” which was finally in good working order. We looked into the water at all the coins tossed at the bottom and wondered how much money there was just lying there corroding in all of Disney’s wishing wells, or any standing water, around the park.

It is always free to be a critic

The family had quite an active few days this past week with our trip to the Orlando area in celebration of my daughter’s 7^th birthday and the Toyota Pros banquet to honor my husband’s hard work. I’ll probably write a few articles about this whirlwind adventure, but for now, I’m going to talk about hotels.

I’m always excited about staying at a hotel because you never know what kind of experience you’re going to have. You may find all the comforts of home; a luxurious, relaxing atmosphere; or you may have to change rooms like my husband, Chris, and I did at a major Las Vegas resort.

This past Sunday, after visiting Disney World, we stayed at the Nickelodeon Suites Resort because they had a water park area that seemed like it would keep both children occupied until we had to leave the next afternoon.

The kids fell in love immediately. Spongebob Squarepants decorated their bedroom wall and we had our own private room. The entire suite boasted three televisions. Their big draw was, of course, the pool and water slides. We had to force them upstairs and tuck them into bed, but my daughter woke us bright and early the next morning to go back in the pool.

Our opinion of the suite was not overly impressed, but not disgusted. I almost ripped off my fake fingernail tips about five times trying to open the mini fridge and the view out of the window was the parking lot, but that wasn’t a huge problem. My main issue was the walk to the elevator. Apparently, our building was located in a central location between the elevators and stairs so either direction was a cumbersome trek. This became ironic later.

On Monday, we were all able to experience the poolside shows in which Chris and my daughter were both picked as contestants to participate. My husband got slimed a few times which was extremely funny to me.

We left around two and headed to Disney’s Grand Floridian which is a beautiful, elegant place to stay for anyone dropping 500 bucks a night. I’m so glad we didn’t have to pay for it.

As soon as we walked in, the kids said, “This is boring.” Yes. It was boring to them. Our room had two queen beds and one television. It was tortuous.

I had complained about walking previously. Let me tell you how much walking I did at the Grand Floridian! Okay, I don’t really know, but it was a lot, trust me, because everything is far away. On the upside, the weather was so beautiful it was as if Walt Disney himself had manufactured it.

On the downside, their beds were weird and the pillows were too thick. When you got in, the sheets were tucked in so tight, you felt like that wide bread being shoved into a regular sandwich bag and, as Chris said, your head was elevated like you’re on a luge heading down a slope. He tried to dig out a space in the middle of the pillow while I tried to sleep on the edge of it hoping I wouldn’t injure my cervical spine.

Also, they had the worst toilets ever. They were the kind with the metal buttons on the lid. I loathe a toilet that takes more than one flush for even the simplest of loads: annoying water wasters.

Free is still free. I’d go in an outhouse if someone paid for my food. I may want to take a peek at the menu first.

The things we endure for beauty

About every other month, I like to treat myself to a pedicure. I went this week, not because it was time, but because I desired beautiful toes and fingers for the upcoming Toyota Pros Ball that my husband, Chris, escorts me to each year. The last thing I want to do is show up in a new dress, shiny shoes, and opulent-looking costume jewelry only to have it tarnished with scabby, flaky feet and un-manicured nails.

I don’t normally get my fingernails done because this isn’t advised in the field of nursing so it’s been about 2 years since I last endured the procedure of having tips applied for that naturally artificial look of pink and white perfection one can only achieve with the application of a mysterious bonding powder and very strong-smelling liquid that deprives your brain of oxygen and makes you slightly light-headed.

If I’m not mistaken, the last time I did get them done, the tiny man who applied them was astonished at how large my fingers were. I could have wrapped my hand around his wrist with my thumb touching my pinky. Of course I looked big to him!

He took one look at my thumb and began shaking his head and proclaiming in broken English that there was no nail in his box for my thumb. My thumb was too big! It would not work.

I thought to myself, “I’m sure there is a box of toenail extensions around here somewhere! Make it happen, mister! You don’t have to freak out. I’m not THAT big!”

I looked at my thumbs and contemplated their size. I wondered if any men with special nail interests ever got turned away with their feelings hurt.

Lucky for me, his female coworker saved the day. She had a box of nails made for people like me. Needless to say, I never went there again.

Now I go to Top Nails. They are incredibly friendly and if they laugh, they at least wait until I leave the establishment.

One thing I don’t like in any place I go is that massage chair. I don’t like to jiggle in front of other people so I shut off that setting and press “knead” only, if I have it on at all. I do, however, thoroughly enjoy watching other people jiggle.

When I had my nails worked on this week, I chose an active length. The technician cut the first time and asked if that would be sufficient. I tried working the touch screen on my phone and realized I needed more taken off the top. My right index finger is my most important because that one’s print is my identification marker to open the locked medication system at work.

The worst part about having your fingers incapacitated is that, as soon as it happens, an itch in or around your nose, eye, or ear inevitably occurs. I wanted to dig an imaginary goo ball out of my eye so bad, it almost drove me insane. I’m sure it had something to do with the chemicals I was inhaling. I feel bad for those nice folks who do that every day which is why I always tip them well and treat them kindly.

I left feeling like I looked more presentable. My hair is the last frontier, but there isn’t much hope there unless I buy a wig. Come to think of it, that may be a good idea. I just hope my head isn’t too big to hold the netting.

Celebrating the absense of acheivement

It is May and Mother’s Day is just around the corner. Because this year it falls on the day after my daughter’s 7^th birthday, we’ll be spending that day at Disney World sweating and dealing with large crowds and most likely yelling at both of the children all day. I’m not sure why I thought this would be a good idea now that I think about it.

I haven’t lost track of how I’m doing in my solo run in a contest I made up in my own mind for mother of the year. I suppose I win if I’m the only contestant, but it will feel like a cheap victory.

So far, I’ve taught my son about how not to rely on the lottery for a future income which is a good thing. I also told my daughter that if she hated school so much and wanted to stay in the first grade forever, she’d look pretty silly being 12 years old sitting in that tiny desk and no one would want to play with her.

That probably wasn’t nice.

She really does not like school. We go through the battle every night. She throws a little fit about going to bed because, as she told her dad, “School is a waste of my time.” When morning comes, there is no happiness in her heart unless it is the weekend.

I have to admit, I don’t like school either. There is too much stuff to look at. When I was in 1^st grade, I didn’t have a ton of junk for my parents to sign or dig through, but we also didn’t get bogged down with all the information about what standardized test is coming or just passed or may ruin our child’s future forever.

I also don’t read the newsletter. Sorry, school, but I barely read my own mail and that has bills in it which can potentially affect our well being at home. I am certainly no PTA parent and each day that passes, I am further losing the chance to ever become one.

Even when I stayed at home with my son when he was a baby and a toddler, I didn’t like hanging out with other moms or in parent groups. It always seemed like a competition of “Who Has the Most Spectacular Kid?”

Some mom would be talking about how her little sweetheart could already count to 10 at 18 months and name the animals at the zoo. I’d sit back and think about interjecting that my son could run with a huge potato and hold it just like a football and that he didn’t hit his head on the dining room table at all that week.

We’re all proud of our kids so I don’t blame the other parents for wanting to share. It just isn’t my scene.

This past week, my daughter had a school performance with the entire 1^st grade. I barely got her there in time and, if it weren’t for my husband, we would have been sitting in the very back.

She, however, was in the back row onstage, but she participated even with an incredibly loose tooth. One boy in the front row didn’t sing or do any of the movements at all. He was passively resisting authority. I think that one will be her future husband.

To all you other parents out there with regular kids, let’s get together sometime and talk about how normal they are. No overachievers allowed.

Lesson did not turn out as planned

God bless the teachers. I’ve always believed this mostly because I know I don’t have the patience to educate children which is blatantly evident every time I try to show my own offspring something new.

I get overly frustrated whenever they cop an attitude and toss out that one line they love to repeat: “I already know that.”

“Oh really? You already knew that and yet you received a ‘D’ on this quiz? I find that interesting and disappointing.” My children are so worldly and knowledgeable that they can’t be bothered with the finer details like correct answers.

I never give up with my attempts at life lessons. When my son asked what the big deal was with scratch-off lottery tickets, I told him about my own experiences.

First, I reminisced about when we lived in Washington State. They have all kinds of ways to hand over your money for a miniscule chance to win big. One of those ways was pull tabs.

I worked in two places, the China Clipper and the Rib Eye, which sold pull tabs. I witnessed people come in and buy these little stubs that cost anywhere from 25 cents to a dollar a piece. They’d rip the tab and see if three in a row matched which correlated with a particular payout.

We’d mark off each container as the monetary wins were paid so you knew what prizes were left in the bin. I saw one guy blow about 200 bucks, win 500, and then blow all of that trying to win 800. It was sad and depressing.

I told my son this and he was fascinated, but he still wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to know about scratch-off tickets. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll show you how it works.”

We were in Winn Dixie. I had a couple of bucks so I bought 2 different tickets. We took them out to the car and I grabbed the first one, a Bronze Bucks. “Okay. Here are the numbers that are our numbers: 8 and 6. Now, the winning numbers have to match our number for us to win any money, right?”

I began scratching: eight…six….eight…six. “Mom! Those are our numbers!”

We won 25 dollars. Great! This was not how the lesson was supposed to go.

“Wait a second. Let’s try the other one.” We scratched off the Sand Dollars ticket’s symbols and came up with no win at all. “Now that’s how it really happens, son.”

“Yeah, mom, but we spent 2 bucks and won 25. That is making money!”

Okay. I had to prove to him how the world works. I went inside and bought five more Bronze Bucks and brought them to the car. “Here we go. Let me show you how to lose.”

Finally, as I expected, there was not a single win on any of the tickets. This was my usual luck and all felt right with the world once again.

“Do you understand now? You can spend money all day long and maybe win a small amount, but over time, you’ll be out more money than you put in.”

He looked unconvinced. I can tell he’s probably going to hand over all his life’s savings to the first snake oil salesman he meets, but he may not have much in his pockets to give away if he plans on a future in scratch-offs.

I guess I’ll keep working with him on his grades. These life lessons keep getting harder.