grrlTravels

Perhaps my alter-ego is a Pomeranian.

You know that saying "You can't teach an old dog new tricks"? Well what's up with that anyway?

I have spent a good part of my life believing that you cannot in fact teach an old dog new tricks. There were a bunch of people I knew as a child to which the saying could reasonably be applied. And the other sayings seemed to hold a grain of truth:
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Too many cooks spoil the broth.
Better late than never.
So why not this one?

I believed it.

I then became, if not the old dog, the midlife dog, certainly not the young dog.

There are mornings when the children have not slept well when I certainly relate most closely to the old dog. And venues where the young-ish dogs are running circles around me. And days when my thoughts are trickling down my neck like honey when I wish for nothing more than to lie on the hearth and pant.

As the old dog sniffs around my ankles and lays on my feet and humps my thigh I have begun to hate the saying "You can't teach an old dog new tricks". The proverb is moribund, not the dog I want to scream! Old dogs are learning all kinds of things these days I think self satisfiedly, grinning maniacally. The old dogs are the ones that have the luxury of experience and wisdom I tell myself decidedly.

And that is why I joined the doll quilt swap even though I had never made a quilt and had no plans to make a single one.

My mother was an accomplished quilter and she was so old skool that she pieced and quilted everything by hand. It was lovely to watch and it took a long, long, long, long time. I've got three little ones at home—time is at a bit of a premium over here. Plus I'm not very patient. Plus I have the shortest attention span in recorded history. Plus there aren't too many people that I love enough to spend 40 bazillion hours meticulously creating a handmade quilt for.

After some very convoluted reasoning and a few rationalizations and some completely untrue promises to myself and a lot of "You Go Girl!" self psyching and some not very opaque delusions I signed up. And then for the first time in my life I made a quilt.

It is quite small. And very handmade, and I mean that in the least accomplished sense of the word. My seams do not match up in the way they were designed to. My corners are wonky. The quilting defied me. The choice of fabrics is questionable. My hand sewing lacks finesse. The binding..don't make me laugh. I could continue, but I will spare you the minutia.

This sometime old-ish dog attempted to learn a new trick. I feel better for the effort. I did not, in the end, create a thing of beauty, but I did manage to slap a few moribund ganglia into action. E. said, "Mama, I think it is beautiful! Can I put it in my room?" K. willingly drove me to the fabric store. It seems this old dog had her day. Or learned to let sleeping dogs lie.

You've made your bed, now lie in it.

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

A word to the wise is sufficient.

Wait, what were we talking about?

he was clearly a bad seed and that is why I am happy he is gone

My loathing for the mouse has turned to hatred. I hate it. A few ounces of furry energy has driven me to the edge of fury.

There was a mouse before we left for vacation. I knew this. We were taking steps. And then it was time to go.

When we got home things were bad. The kids were whiny. I was bloody and tired. K. was stressed and busy. And the mouse had made himself at home.

The silverware drawer was what tipped the scale. There was mouse poop all over all of the silverware and utensils. I have watched enough epidemiologically-based tv to know that mouse turds can be bad, can cause death. Plus they are just creepy. And I had to wash everything in the drawer. And I was not in the mood. And it wasn't over.

A few days after we returned home E. said, "Mommy, there's something in the play room," in that voice that means I-N-S-E-C-T. I wasn't in the mood for insects. I am rarely in the mood for insects. Mostly I try to tag them/track them/save them for K. But surveying the situation is part of the job, so I trotted off to survey. I was not in a hurry.

It was the mouse. Upside down. <shudder> I attempted to move it but was unable to touch it. I closed the doors...well, barricaded them and ordered the children to stay out of the room. I spent the day feeling like the house held a terrible secret while wondering what had happened to him anyway.

We had 72 humane traps in the kitchen filled with peanut butter, cheese, all manner of rodent-like delicacies. [Not just for rodents either—a few days before vacation R. had wandered into the living room licking something big and round and black. But that is another story for another day.] And one old trap that we had completely forgotten about back under the stovetop filled with poison.

Yes, the cabinet under the stovetop was filled with the turds too. He seemed to be nibbling on the ginger. The complete list of nibbles is: ginger, hot chocolate packets, rice, marshmallows, granola bars, some plastic bags, and one oilcloth bag, which rankles.

I have finished up the scrubbing, but I still feel wrecked by the rodentia.

I maintain that we are not crazy cult people

A Brief Photographic Essay of Our Trip
with captions


The only group shot with all four children leaves much to be desired
(Including flattering lighting and any visual cues which would show that we are actually at Disney)


Four children require two double strollers, which require a lot of folding and unfolding and much pushing
(I hate both strollers right now. A lot.)


The kids enjoyed the strollers when they were not jockeying for position
(Very territorial, those children, especially mine)


Of course there were rides...
(Not fully documented, or even marginally, but I did dig up this one shot. It's the jungle cruise. Mr. Shelba requested animatronics, and he got them.)...


...Lots of swimming...
(It was HOT for us Northeasterners, darn hot. We were at Beach Club, the one with the coolest pool. Beach Club has a vortex which connects to the center of the universe. We saw our pediatrician there and also a classmate of E.'s from preschool. What are the chances of two random encounters in 10 days? Do you know how BIG Disney is?)


...And plenty of meet-ups with the characters
(I can't actually recommend the buffet dinner with Cinderella and friends at 1900 Park Fare although it was recommended to me. But I liked the stepsisters. Much more fun than Cinders.)


Did you know that Cinderella's stepmother is practically a giant?
(Sadly, this is the only photo of Shelba and I together. Besides the one from the Tower of Terror. But that one is copyrighted. This one isn't. Well, it might be, but it's copyrighted by K. and I have his express permission to publish so it's ok.)

I could not help thinking that she looked as if she were waiting for her date for the 8th grade dance. I hope he was nice to her. For his sake.


The girls did not feel like posing for photos for an hour. This is the best I could do.


Arghhhh! We're pirates, mateys!


There was loot at the party. We all stayed up too late and had a lot of fun.

Soon after the party we got on our planes and went home and everyone was sad and grumpy.

The End.

ORD/PHL/MOM

When it is the day that your 10 days of vacation fun ends and you must go to the airport to head home

At the Same Time saying goodbye to your dear friends and trying not to cry because they live so darn far away

While your lady parts are misbehaving in that way they misbehave each month (think gory, like the airport version of your favorite slasher flick)

Then it is probably safe to say that it is not destined to be the Very Best Mother's Day Ever.

Thus, it wasn't.

But I am still pretty wild over my kids and grateful to be able to parent with K. and all in all my day was probably a realistic mother's day, as I prefer it.

I could have lived without the gore. And the nauseating wait while taxi-ing. And the weeping. (Hormones, you may know, occasionally may have that effect on a person.)

But still I know I'm a lucky, lucky mom. I know it. Good enough, my friends, good enough.

Hello. I'm still alive.

We are at Disney.

We are at Disney with Shelba and her family.

We are very, very busy, running to and fro and fro and to.

It is hot in Florida. The sun saps our energy and we lay about.

But not for long because there are things to be done and rides to ride and pools to swim in.

It it was easy to give you a picture I would, but we are somewhat impaired here at Disney with two laptops and 3 cameras and a million wires/chargers/plugs and iffy internet access.