Little Orange Fish

Three kids, one grandma, and two sisters head downtown from the exurbs to see a little orange fish and his dad. Who knew this adventure could be so complete?

Tommy was enamored with Nemo on Ice. I didn't expect much from this kids' show, but once again, Disney's mastery of a child's mind stunned me. The lights and costumes were fabulous. The acting and skating were sub-par, but in a kids' world, these are trivial. The sharks were terrifying, the octopus was cuddly. Tommy didn't blink for two straight hours.

I wish John could've been there, because maybe this show would've given him more insight into why Disney World is the Greatest Place on Earth. To me, it seems there could be no dispute. To a man accustomed to "nature" on family vacations, however, there seems to be some debate. Either way, we will take the kids there. I won't have completed my mission as a mother if we do not.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all about teaching my kids actual history and seeings the great wonders of America. But Disney IS one of the great wonders of America!!

Anyway, back to yesterday.

I bought the kids two giant slurpee cups of lemonade, and they spent most of the event happily sucking away. When Nemo had waved goodbye, I erroneously handed Tommy my cell phone FOR A SPLIT SECOND, and he managed to immediately drop it into a crevice at the bottom of our temporary stadium seating. Thankfully, Grandma bought us 7th row seats, so I could see my magenta phone glimmering 15 feet below.

I hauled my pregnant belly to the ground floor, and proceeded to crawl underneath the stadium seating to retrieve the phone. It was sticky (with lemonade? with puke? with pee?) and claustrophobia-inducing and my thoughts very quickly turned to rats. I grabbed the phone and scuttled back out to the Disney lighting only to discover that in the commotion, my scarf had also fallen down under. Aaaack! Goodbye, scarf. Facing rat world for you is not worth it.

Post event, we naturally lost ourselves trying to find the correct parking garage. Claudia declined a trip to the bathroom, and thought I knew this was stubbornness on her part, I did not intervene. Finally, we found the car.

Just as Claudia's booster seat belt was snapped into place, her pleas began, "Moooooooom.....I have to gooooo....tooooo....the.....baaaaathroooom....RIGHT NOW." Sarah tried to convince her otherwise, but the emergency was clear. She hopped out of the car, and in a Seinfeld-esque move, stripped off her polka dot tights and peed into a drain in the parking garage. Thankfully, no policemen were nearby.

The Sea Witch

Sometimes kids identify unexpectedly---and embarrassingly---with strangers. Like when we were at Target yesterday.

We passed a woman in the soda aisle. She was rather large, with even larger, unwieldy dark hair.


Two feet after we passed her...."Mom!!!! Is that Ursula?!?!!!"

And then, as I was pushing the cart faster and faster into the next aisle, "Mom....is that Ursula??? Mom!!! Mom!!!"


Maybe she didn't know her Disney characters.

Which Bolt of Fabric is Heaviest and How Fast Can I Hit Her and Run Out the Door?

Today Tommy and I were a little bored, so we took a trip to the local craft store. Despite the fact that I am a stay at home mom, I don't visit these stores with much frequency. "Crafty" these days seems to mean cutting heart-shaped sandwiches of PB&J for my niece and nephew. There were days* when I clung to a more expanded definition, and maybe someday, they will return.**

At any rate, Tommy and I found ourselves under immediate assault in the heavy-duty fabric aisle. Just as I was about to ponder which fabrics could potentially complement our chocolate brown couches, a petite grandmotherly woman came running and gushing in our direction. "Oh, he is seeeeeeew cute!" she drawled, carrying an armload of obnoxiously bright patterns. "And he is seeeeew smart! I can tell! I'm an early childhood educator! His eyes are so bright and his attention span is great and gush, gush, gush, gush, gush!"

As a mother of an insanely charming son, these encounters are not infrequent for me, but this particular lady was not actually a Baby Gusher: rather, she was a Personal Boaster using Baby Gushing as a tactic to capture her audience.

Throughout the 15 minutes we spent in the fabric section, I learned of:
- the ivy league schools this woman had paid for her children to attend
- the best memento possible to create with baby shoes
- her personal favorite craft for her grandkids (pillowcases)
- her twin sister
- her 1st grade class of 9 women who still get together annually and will be doing so very shortly
- the brightly colored pillowcases she is making for each of her 1st grade classmates
- her 3rd place finish in a marathon of 17,000 runners and
- her daughter's 1st place finish in a marathon of 10,000 runners in Atlanta

Whew. That was intense. And honestly, she told me much more.

The moral of the story? I'm all for small talking and hey, sometimes I'm even an initiator. But if you see a woman with a small baby in a craft store, she doesn't have time to listen to your life story. And please, don't be so bold as to assume that grandmotherly bragging rights apply to every aspect of your personal life. And also, know that those fabrics may blind pillowcase recipients instead of put them to sleep.



*when I was well-rested or procrastinating in college
**when I am well-rested again