Under the Big Top

Maya turned two and I, being crazy, decided to throw an over the top carnival circus themed birthday party complete with animal cupcakes, games, a candy table and multiple buntings. The fact that I even know what a bunting is just further confirms my craziness. Don't worry, by the end of this post you'll know what a bunting is too, so you can share in my craziness. I designed, printed, mailed, sewed, decorated, baked, ordered, assembled, inflated, planned, and frosted for months and was finally ready. The guests arrived and about 15 minutes later so did the thunderstorm. We were packed like sardines in our decked out Florida room, watching the skies turn black and hoping like hell that we weren't going to lose power or that the bounce house wasn't going to blow to Oz. A few hours later, after my house was covered in a sticky candy coating, things mellowed out a bit and the kids were able to bounce for awhile. It was fine, but not the Martha Stewartesque soiree I was envisioning, cause I'm pretty sure it never rains on Martha's parade.



See the bunting?



Before the storm



This marks the second year in a row that my Indian Summer baby's birthday party has been thwarted by crap weather. I totally love that all the prep and work got over shadowed by mother nature--again. Totally. Next year, I'll go all low key and then it will be perfect weather, I just know it. Or maybe by then I'll convince Husband to move to Maui where its always 75 and sunny.

Dude, I Smell

Did you know that smearing aluminum on your body everyday can lead to Alzheimer's? Uh-huh, sure does. Why would one do such an asinine thing, you ask? Well, I'd be willing to bet that unless you are one of my Crunchy Ann Arbor Type Friends, you most likely smeared aluminum-laden Secret or Degree or whathaveyou on your pits just this morning, and are therefore increasing the probability that you're gonna end up losing your memory marbles sometime in the not so far off future. Doesn't that make you want to run to your medicine cabinet right this very minute and throw your deodorant in the f-ing trash? Well, before you swear off the evil stuff altogether, heed this warning: you will smell. Bad. You'll have Bo like you've never had before. You'll try Tom's Natural. Some magic crystal stuff that you have to lick prior to application. Straight up baking soda. Baby powder. Extra perfume. You'll finally realize that it's the Antiperspirant that has the memory sucking stuff, so you switch to plain deodorant, which they only make for men, by the way, because there is no way in hell that a woman should ever ever perspire. So you'll be elated that you've found the solution, even though you walk around smelling like Old Spice. This'll work...for awhile. But then, you'll be right in the middle of an indoor soccer game and you'll realize that Bo is definitely back--with a vengeance. Oh, just a fluke, you'll think. An extra hard game with no subs. But then the next day you're at work and you catch another whiff of Bo. You quickly slip your hand up your shirt sleeve and brush your fingers against your pit ala Mary Katherine Gallagher and sure enough, you smell like stank Bo mixed in with a tinge of Old Spice. So then you'll have a decision to make. Smell all pretty and end up with Alzheimer's or walk around smelling like a barefoot, homemade clothes wearing, dreadlocked Phish fan who lives in a TransVan all day. I'll chose the later. But dude, I smell.

Balance

Last fall, I took Lily to Disney's Princesses on Ice, and ever since she's been begging to go skating. Well, with Husband *finally* done with his frequent, very long trips to the Great White Tundra, we decided to go to open skate at a local rink last weekend. Pete got to skate with Lily and I (lucky me) got to be on chase-Maya-around-the-arena-duty. As Pete and Lily sat down to put on their skates, he explained to her that it would be difficult to stand on the slim blades of her skates and that she'd have to learn to balance. It might be hard and you might fall down and that's okay, I told her, fully expecting a fall followed by a fit. Well, as soon as her helmet was on and her skates were velcro strapped to her feet, she stood up and started running around the lobby on those two freshly sharpened, shiny, silver blades. Pete and I looked at each other with Holy S*** eyes.















Her first trip around the rink she used what looked like a blue, plastic, kid-sized walker. She tried to balance holding the blue thing, push off on her toe picks, and stay on her feet while Pete was hunched over her, making sure she didn't completely bite it. It was slow going, for sure. When they finally turned the corner I figured there was a 50/50 chance she'd either be loving it or hating it. As soon as I saw her face I knew she was totally digging it. With each lap she got braver and braver, and by the end of the session (including a very messy Cheeto eating snack break) she progressed from barely being able to push the blue chair around to tearing away from Pete without holding anything at all. She found her balance.





Balance tends to be pretty elusive--especially when it comes to parenting. There is a thin line between holding our kids up and pushing them around the rink, or letting them race off on their own, knowing full well they could trip and take a serious beating on the completely unforgiving ice. I think the best thing we can do is give them a helmet. A tool to keep them safe, while still allowing them to go off and do it on their own. The helmet can be the skills to stand up for themselves if another kid snatches their Vanilla Milk at the lunch table, or to work it out if their Bestie won't take turns with her favorite Princess dress. Or it can be helping them to develop an authentic sense of self-esteem that isn't filled with meaningless praise (Wow, you are the best teeth brusher in the world!!). It can be allowing them to learn the natural consequences of their actions--like not wiping really really well leads to poopy stink-butt, or putting the empty blow up pool too close to the grill leads to a melted blow up pool (ooops, that was Husband, not the girls.) Balance is tough. Just when you think you've got it, you suddenly find yourself skidding across the ice on your stomach, hands scraped and frozen. But that's when you pick yourself up, brush off the frost, adjust your helmet, and push off on that toe pick yet again.

Drinking the Kool-Aid

So I'll admit, I used to think people who loved all things Disney were a bit, well, ...Freakish. Kinda like immature or childish, or permanently living in Never Never Land. Or snorting fairy dust. Or so cheesy I'd throw up a little in my mouth when told about the entire Disney themed Christmas tree that was in their living room at home. Or how they were going to Thehappiestplaceonearth for the 5th time in three years. It got to the point where there were permanent grooves inside my lids from all the rolling that was going on whenever I heard the D word dropped at the lunch table. And I don't mean douche. Although I roll my eyes whenever anyone uses that nast-ass word, too. I was such a Disney virgin (having only spent one day at the Magic Kingdom when I was 11) that I truly believed that all of Epcot was in the giant golf ball.

Now, Lily is a Princess Fiend, so when I convinced Husband to go down to Florida for Christmas last December (like Christmas would be in a different month, but whatever. Actually, now that I think about it Eastern Orthodox Christmas is in January so there.), and being the amazingly awesome Mommy that I am, I started to ponder a day trip to the Magic Kingdom to fulfill my little girl's dreams. Papa's condo is a mere 2 hour drive from The World, so the plan was that we'd wake up at the butt crack, drive to Disney, spend the day, and drive back to the condo. Good. Great. Low key Disney, baby. Just one small sip can't hurt, I told myself.

Then in August I decided to tell my two friends about my plans. One is a Disney Freak and the other, I quickly discovered, was a closet Disney Freak. "Oh, no, you'll be too tired to drive back that night!" and "You'll be surprised how cheap the Value Resorts are!" and "Oh, are you going to do a Character Meal?" and "OMG, OMG, I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about Lily meeting the princesses!". Two hours and $300 worth of charges on ye ole credit card later, I had booked a night at the All Star Movies resort and scored 8:05 b'fast ressies at Cinderella's Royal Table. My low key Disney just got upgraded to medium key Disney. Just a swig now and then won't be a problem.








Over the next few months I found myself typing www dot disboards dot com into my google chrome with alarming frequency. It was as if my fingers were possessed. I created a user name, posted my first querry. Began to wonder if I should make an ADR for dinner at TTS so I could be sure we'd have a good view of the ELP. I made sure that Cinderella knew our address so that she could invite Lily (via handwritten note discovered in the toe of her Christmas stocking) to her castle for breakfast. Read up on Fast Passes, Park-Hopper Passes, and Photo Passes. Plotted and planned our Magical Day at the MK. Bought Lily an autograph book and a new Cinderella costume and both girls Minnie plush. I'm not, drunk, occifer, really! It was just a drink with dinner!


Finally, at long last, our Magical Day arrived. We did, indeed, wake at the butt crack and sped along the Turnpike to Kissimmee (WDW is not actually in Orlando, for those of you not "in the know"). We pulled up in the parking lot, grabbed the girls, the stroller, the changes of clothes, the sunblock, the diaper bag, the camera and made it just in time for the Rope Drop. Ran to the Monorail, rode to the park, and walked down Main Street all decked out in Christmas splendor. And then...The Castle. I think we must have taken over a hundred pictures of that thing in less than 24 hours. The rest of the day was a blur of Princesses, pricey souvenir shops, small worlds, flying elephants, spinning teacups, stroller naps, high fives after scurrying in line just before the CM closed the queue for Jasmine, magic carpets, Means, mice, parades, autographs scribbled by plush hands, lines, spaghetti and meatballs a la Lady and the Tramp, impossibly long hair, embroidered ears, explosions in the sky and just.plain.fun. And it didn't end there. The next morning we scampered off to the Grand Floridian to dine with Alice, Mary, Winnie and friends, breathed in the yummy gingerbread, and hung out Downtown (Disney of course). It was...well... Magical. Woooowhooo! The room's spinning! I love you, man! Glug, glug, glug.


























Since our return from WDW I've been trying in vain to re-create some of the magic by immersing myself in scrapbooking, Disney movies, and secretly planning our next trip. Last week I made over 50 phone calls to a local radio station to try to qualify for a vacation on the newest cruise ship the Disney Dream!. I got through once. I wasn't the 96th caller. My Husband and sister confronted me and told me that I'm obsessed with Disney. Pete even updated his facebook status about how I liked Disney more than Lily. I seriously considered buying Lily and Maya an electric Monorail set to surround our tree next Christmas, complete with replicas of the Polynesian and Contemporary resorts. Quick, hide the packet, the wooden spoon, and the Big Smiley Pitcher! No that's not a red mousetache, I mean, mustache baby. My lip is just chapped from the wind blowing across the cold winter tundra that is my life.





I've been getting slightly better and have been working the steps towards a Disney recovery program. I'm on step one...write a hilarious blog post admitting that I'm a crazy whacked out Disney Freak that will inspire all of my loyal followers to come out of hiding and comment on how frakking funny I am, and how they still cherish me and our friendship even though I drink the Disney Kool-Aid and I freaking love it. My name is Katie and I'm a Disney Freak. There. I feel better now.Gimmie another, bartender!

Revival

Recently I've discovered a blog that has had me absolutely riveted. She's honest, crafty, talented, and one hell of a mama, and has inspired me to revive my blog. Here goes...

Stir Crazy

There are few things that lose their luster as quickly as Winter in Michigan. I love winter up until the day I return to school from winter break in January. I love the Christmas presents, Christmas trees, Christmas movies, Christmas music, Christmas cookies, Christmas lights...okay,okay, really anything Christmas. I love peeking out the bedroom window as the sun rises to see a fresh blanket of white snow has fallen during the night, stirring dark hot chocolate made with Maya's whole milk in a pan on the stove, bundling up and walking over to the sledding hill behind our house with Pete and the girls, baking cherry scones with real butter, and building "snowgirls" as Lily calls them.















But as I remove the thumbtack on my calendar and turn the page from January to February, and the fresh, white, snow has become a dirty pile of nast, and we have our tenth day in a row of sub-zero temperatures, I begin to get over my love for winter. Quickly.



Valentine's Day offers the last bright spot in an otherwise dreary cold tundra of winter's existence. This year, Daddy had to go to the really cold tundra, so I picked up some cupcakes from a local bakery as a treat for the girls. They were a hit.






Happy Valentine's Day

As I type, the sun is shining, the dirty nast snow is melting away, and spring is in the air. As a lifelong Michigander, I know better than to believe that Winter is gone for good.



But at least it's finally gathering up it's belongings, putting on it's coat, and heading for the door.

Then and now...

Me in my favorite blue dress in 1981.


Lily in the dress 29 years later!

4th of July

The girls had fun at our neighborhood parade (complete with decked out bikes and a police and firetruck escort), picnic, swimming at Didu's and LO-Town fireworks for the 4th. I made sure I purchased matching dresses in red, white and blue glory. I think I swore at one point that I'd never subject my children to matching outfits. I lied.