Wordless Wednesday: King of the Castle

Wordless Wednesday: My "Russell"

Things I said I'd never do

I had one of those moments today—the kind I swore I’d never have before I had kids and that used to invoke judgey thoughts about the mother whose kids were running amok.

I was on the way home from work, having just picked up The Boy at daycare. Typical after work routine is as follows: drive to daycare provider’s home, collect child, drive the four minutes home while multitasking, AKA HeyTelling friends, arrive home, remove work clothes and put on lounging garb, park booty on couch to nurse child and peruse social media sites.

The moment I drove by Walgreens I remembered I still hadn’t gotten DH a birthday card (um yeah, it’s today…happy birthday, babe). I fought the urge to keep driving, in spite of my fleece pajama pants beckoning me at home, and pulled into the lot.

“It’ll be super easy,” I told myself. In and out. No stroller, no cart, no Ergo needed. With The Boy on my hip I made a beeline for the card aisle as fast as my work-height heels could carry me.

So, I’m the kind of person who could spend 45 minutes looking for that perfect greeting card. I search, compare, hymn and haw. I scanned the categories looking for what I needed— “Husband Birthday” and “Birthday from Son.” I was picking up cards, reading for appropriateness, putting them back, and picking them up again, all the while carrying an oversized purse and a toddler who was becoming increasingly squirmy. And HEAVY. I decided to put him down—you know, just for a second—to rest my arm. The moment those little size 5 Stride Rites hit the ground I knew I’d made a grave error.

Within three seconds my son had two fists full of cards and envelopes and was ready to eat them for dinner. I dropped my purse and snatched the cards out of his hands (thankfully unscathed) to put them back. And of course, as I did that, he seized the opportunity to make a mad dash down the aisle. Living up to his title of “toddler,” he ran a few unsteady paces, stumbled, and did a belly flop onto the floor like a drunkard. I think he even slid a few inches on the slick floor.

Mind you, I was raised by a mother whose favorite words were “DON’T TOUCH!” I was never allowed to ride in a grocery store cart (some germophobe just like my mom probably invented the shopping cart cover) and she carried her own illness-free booster seat into restaurants for me to use. I was never to dream of touching a hand railing on a mall escalator (unless I was falling to my death…and even that was iffy) and riding on one of those grocery store carousels was out of the question. I was raised to believe public = dirty.

I scooped my kid up off the floor and he pulled the trademark back-arching, limp noodle move that I swear kids take some seminar to perfect, making it next to impossible to lift him. At that moment I caught a glimpse of us in that huge mirror that runs the length of the drugstore and realized that, oh dear GOD, I was one of those mothers whose child is throwing a tantrum all over the floor of a public place. And not only was my child on the floor, but so was I, and so was my Coach purse, its contents, and a dozen greeting cards. After all my smug years of shooting the side-eye to such spectacles, I was THAT woman.

I couldn’t help myself—I burst out laughing at myself and the ridiculously hilarious irony of the sight. I was still chuckling to myself as I thought about another thing I could never understand before: parents putting their child on a leash.

But hey, at least they look like backpacks/cute little stuffed animals nowadays, right?

…RIGHT?

Pissy dust =/= pixy dust, and other recent happenings

Some of you may have heard that I have a slight affinity for Disneyland. Well, for Disney in general. Although I try to pretend to be a normal member of society (ha), anyone who knows me knows that it’s in my blood. So yeah, we have a Disney-themed Christmas tree every year. We go to Disneyland several times a year. We’re the couple who went to Disney World and on a Disney cruise…before I even got pregnant with our son. We have a Disney timeshare. We’re the ones who will tell you why you shouldn’t put off a Disney vacation for “when the kids are older” or because it’s “too expensive.”

A few months ago I heard about something called the Walt Disney World Moms Panel, which is an online forum where "moms" (some are moms, some are dads, and I believe there’s even an aunt) answer questions and offer advice about family vacations to Disney World. Then I heard that applications from who those who specialize in Disneyland were also being accepted this year. I did a little happy dance because Disneyland + writing + social media = my dream come true. (OK, I didn’t actually dance since I was at my desk at work, but you know what I mean. It’s like when people type “LOL” to mean something is funny even though they are really just sitting there like :/.)

The day the application window opened, I typed out my 100-word responses to a couple questions and clicked “submit” without a lot of fuss and didn’t give it much thought after that, knowing that over 20,000 panel hopefuls would also be throwing their (ear) hats into the ring.

One Saturday a few weeks later, DH, DS and I were in the car when I absentmindedly scrolled through my email on my phone. A subject line caught my eye: “Congratulations! You made it to Round 2!”

Ummm, what? I opened the email (which was adorned with lovely shades of pink and blue, reminiscent of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle) and confirmed that I had, in fact, advanced to the next phase of the selection process. I read it out loud to DH, giddy as a schoolgirl. From what I’ve heard, about 200 people make it to Round 2, so about 1%. Dude. Even Harvard has a larger acceptance margin than that, as my sister pointed out.

A couple days later I was up at 5:55 a.m. to log onto the WDW Moms Panel website and see the next set of questions. This is significant because almost nothing can get me out of bed before 7 a.m. I was THAT keyed up.

Last Thursday night I sent off my Round 2 application—two more short essay answers and a 60-second video of myself (after 20+ swear-word inducing takes, one which included me saying “pissy dust” instead of “pixy dust”) describing my favorite Disneyland memory. Since then my thoughts have been consumed with the panel. I’ve not been this focused on a 2-week wait since we were trying to conceive. I’ve been so preoccupied (read: stressed) that my chin decided to explode with acne for the first time in almost two years. Greeeeat.

Luckily I have some fabulous trips coming up to soften the blow of an impending rejection email. Very soon I will be at “the happiest place on earth” (where else?) with some of my favorite people, including the lovely Valeri, and then off to paradise for my annual meet up with my SM4L, Emma!

Whatever happens next, I’ll feel proud and honored to have made it as far as I did.

…And, um, please remind me I said that when I’m over here sulking next week. ;)

Wordless Wednesday: Pumpkin Patch

Wordless Wednesday: Go 'Dogs!

One year later

It's been one year. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. And yet some days I am still in awe of the thought that I am somebody's mama.

I remember that last summer I felt like I knew what was ahead. I knew that Mason would be mine and that I would love him. I was as prepared as a person can be when their life is on the verge of irreversible change.

But while we think in generalities, we live in detail. At this time one year ago, I was well into what would be a 42-hour labor...some of the most physically and emotionally trying hours of my life thus far. Finally, after countless twists and turns and broken dreams and tears and prayers, I heard my son's cries for the first time, and I couldn't help but laugh with joy and relief. He was here.

And he was perfect.

And I realized today that it's really too bad that Savage Garden song is so corny, because those are some damn good lyrics.

I knew I loved you before I met you

I think I dreamed you into life

I knew I loved you before I met you

I have been waiting all my life

There's just no rhyme or reason

only this sense of completion

and in your eyes

I see the missing pieces I'm searching for

I think I found my way home

Happy 1st birthday to my sweet boy. You were worth everything, and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.