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.