Shane Bolks's Blog, page 15

Let It Go!

If you haven’t seen the movie “Frozen,” my advice is to get your weekend matinee tickets right now! My girls and I saw it multiple times over the holidays and have really taken a liking to the soundtrack. Lyrics have even been texted back and forth between us at opportune moments.

“Do You Wanna Build a Snowman” tugs at my heart every time—yes, I’m a sappy mom, but it’s hard not to feel for the young girl who simply longs for a connection with her once beloved sister. I’ll say no more about the song to avoid giving away too much of the plot. And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, go see the movie.

But there’s another song whose lyrics and underlying message have struck a note inside me. I’m talking about “Let It Go.”

In this song a character sings about being true to who she is. About no longer being the person she’s expected to be. About letting a painful past slip away so she can reach for a future where she feels free to embrace her true essence. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgk 

As moms we want our kids to be the best they can be. To achieve whatever it is that will make them happy. We encourage them to go for their dreams.

Yet oftentimes, as we champion our kids, we forget to champion ourselves. As we care for them, we neglect ourselves. Honestly, that’s not good for our kids or for us. One of the best pieces of parenting advice given to me was that I needed to make the time to work on a dream of my own because by doing so I’d model the importance of self-value to my girls.  I’d demonstrate the ability to balance self and family.

The idea was that if I carved time out for what was important to me, while at the same time striving to show my girls that I valued what was important to them, they would learn that caring for your own well-being is equally as important as caring for the well-being of others. And that doing both is possible.

I have to admit that while I was given this advice, I haven’t always followed it.  Rather, more often I’ve tried to be this Super Mom who can take care of any and everything for almost everyone else.

But really, being a successful Super Mom just isn’t reasonable. Sometimes, I’ve made mistakes.  When those mistakes have involved my kids or a parenting or relationship decision, it’s hard to stomach. That’s when my good ol’ Catholic girl guilt kicks into overdrive.

Intellectually I know those feelings aren’t healthy because nine out of ten times I was just trying to do the right thing. Emotionally though… let’s just say that sometimes it’s harder for me to get past the guilt because I want only good for my kids. (I know, that’s not quite reasonable. But, there you go.)

I think I identify with this song because it speaks to what I really want to do in 2014: Let it go.

Let go of the need to be Super Mom. Let go of residual guilt from past failures. Let go of anything that’s weighing me down.

Last week Ellie blogged about having a one-word resolution for 2014. If you missed her post, I recommend you go back and read it. She did a fabulous job getting me to think about what I want for my 2014. That led me to come up with my one-word resolution: Persevere.

This week I decided upon a mantra for 2014: PERSEVERE and let it go!

When I say this I see myself standing at the top of a mountain, just like Elsa in “Frozen.” Only, my arms are open wide, my head tilted up to feel the sun on my face. I’m ready to go for what I want. To champion myself as much as my loved ones.

How about you? Do you have a mantra for 2014 you’d care to share with us?

And if you’ve seen Frozen, did you love the movie as much as my girls and I did?

Oh, and if it’s snowing in your area, have you built a snowman?

Children’s Book Recommendation with Guest Tracy Wolff

First of all, I’d like to say thanks to everyone here at PBoK for having me back.  I love this blog and am thrilled at the chance to be here talking about a subject near and dear to my heart: books for kids.  As the mother of three boys, one of whom is a voracious reader, one who is dyslexic and as such hates reading and one who is just learning to really appreciate the joys of a good book, finding books that will engage all of them has always been important to me.  We’ve been through them all— from Dr. Seuss to Origami Yoda, from Eric Carle to The True Story of the Big, Bad Wolf.  But the book we’re currently all loving—especially me—is Skeleton Cat by Kristyn Crow.

I picked this book up on a whim at the Scholastic Book Fair last year and it fast became one of our favorites.  It’s the story of a skeleton cat who wants to be a drummer in a band, and while—yes—that’s a little far-fetched, I’m not into the book for the plot.  No, what we love about Skeleton Cat is the illustrations and the rhythm.  Each line is its own little rap and it’s so, so, so much fun to read.  My youngest and I usually end up snapping and rocking out to it before the end of the book.

“Click clack ratta-ma-tat/clickety clackety placket-plat/clunkety plunkety thunkety-thunk. Tippity tappity clunkety-clunk/rudda-ma-tidda-ma-tidda-ma-tack/splunkety splinkety splacety-splack/clinkety clunkety clinkity clink. Ka plink. Ka plink. Ka plink. Ka plink.”  Seriously, how can you not smile?

Shana: Thanks for stopping by, Tracy! I can’t wait to check this one out. Readers, if you’re looking for something a bit more adult, Tracy’s new book, Ruined, is out today!

//

One Word to Change A Life

The day after Christmas, I sat down with pencil and paper and all these words started pouring out of me. Quickly I realized I had the guts of a blog, including an awesome title: New Year’s Confession. I still like that title–a LOT. Just think what a great novel that could be?

But a few days ago I saw a segment on The Today Show about, instead of setting traditional New Year’s goals, (such as the standards lose weight, exercise more, read more, stop saying Amazing!, etc.,) choosing a word instead. One word. That was the challenge. Choose one word that you’d like to define the coming year…that you’d like to define you. And commit to that word.

Immediately I was intrigued. I started brainstorming words and came up with some terrific ones (patience, explore, create, present), but every time I tried to latch onto one of those really wonderful and inspiring words, another word whispered through me.

And that’s where my New Year’s Confession comes in, all those words that poured out of me the day after Christmas. I’ve been sad. I started last year sad and I spent the majority of the year feeling sad. I don’t think it’s depression. Depression is real and serious and often has its roots in big heavy stuff, various physical conditions, chemical imbalances, etc. I’m pretty sure this is just sadness, stemming from a rather significant (professional) disappointment. Something knocked me down. Knocked me down hard. And since then, the shadow of disappointment and failure has followed me everywhere.

For a while, I couldn’t write. Worse, merely the thought of writing made me sick to my stomach–and my heart. Especially my heart. I’d get that awful tight chest feeling. I felt so lost and alone. And the words wouldn’t come. I tried. I tried everything I could think of. But nothing worked. I told myself to stop being a baby and put my big girl panties on. I ordered myself to. But everywhere I looked were reminders of my failure, and countless, constant, continuous examples of others who had achieved at that which I had failed. More than just achieved…they were soaring.

So I’d beat myself up. Me, who is always so full of sunny advice for others. I’d ruminate–heck, torture myself–over all the mistakes I’d made. I’d relive them. I’d play them over and over, wondering and imagining (fantasizing?) what would have happened if I’d done things differently. Id I’d known more. I’d I’d asked more questions or gotten better (more) advice. If. I’d. Known.

But life is about learning, and sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know. And that’s okay. I know that. I tell people that all the time. Forgive yourself. Cut yourself some slack. Move on. And I told myself that, too.

But somehow that didn’t work, at least not all the time.

Days…weeks…months. They rolled by, rolled together. There were times when things got better, when I focused on–made myself look to–the future. What came next instead of what was already done. But it seems something always crept in to throw me back to that deep, dark, cold pit of sadness.

Sometimes I think I really wanted–needed–someone to take my hands, squeeze them, look me in the eye and say, “It’s going to be okay. Everything. It’s all going to be okay.” My husband did and a few friends, but from the outside, I don’t think I looked all that different to them. I don’t think I looked like someone in crisis. And so I’m not sure anyone really realized how much I was struggling. So I’d berate myself for being so needy. Whiny. My life is wonderful, and I know that. There are many people who face bigger, darker, grimmer problems than I do. I know that. I remind myself of that often.

Over the past day or two, I’ve asked myself if I really want to share all this. If I’m seriously going to post something so personal. Generally, I’m not a whiner. Generally I don’t shout out my good or carry on about my bad. But you know what?  We live in such a photoshopped world. We live a life of greatest hits. Our messages are carefully crafted. But the truth is we all have B-sides. We all have junk. We all have stuff. And unless we can be real about the B-sides, in many ways we’re doing everyone a disservice, setting up this false equation where people inadvertently find themselves comparing the raw, unvarnished truth of their own lives to Glistening Public Images of everyone else’s. So, much like with my infertility and miscarriage experiences, I’ve decided to be real about this. To be authentic. To talk about a B-side, no matter how uncomfortable it is.

Now here I stand, at the threshold of a new year. And while it’s really little more than an artifact of our calendar, 2013 turning into 2014, I’m committing myself to turning the corner, to leaving the sadness and disappointment where it belongs–in the old year. The past. Behind me. I’m committing myself to living in each moment as they happen, and to looking forward to all that is yet to come, yet to be done. Because I know that I can never get on with the next chapter of my life until I fully turn the page on the last.

Right here, right now, I’m committing myself to one word.

I’m going to find it each and every day.

 

 

Welcome Lily Dalton and Priscilla A. Kissinger!

We want to be the first to introduce you to two moms we’ve asked to blog with us. As busy moms, it’s hard to find time to do everything, and we’d like to post more often. We hope these moms will fill some of the gaps. We are also excited because both are moms of older kids. We think they’ll bring a new, fresh perspective to the blog. So welcome them and stop by in the weeks to come to read their posts.

Priscilla A. Kissinger is a three-time Golden Heart finalist who writes contemporary romance with a Latino flavor. On the PBK blog she’s known as “Empty Nester Mom”, but over the years she’s been a homeschooling mom, a military spouse, a Brownie troop leader, a team mom, a room mom, and a part-time working mom. Now a single mom with three daughters, Priscilla recently earned an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University and works as an administrator at a major university in Florida. She spends her free time writing, reading, playing tennis, training for half marathons, and cheering on her favorite sports teams with family. You can find out more about her at www.prisakiss.com. Follow her on twitter at  https://twitter.com/prisakiss or instagram via @prisakiss.

 

Lily Dalton writes Regency historical romance. She debuted her One Scandalous Season Series in September 2013 with the holiday romance, NEVER DESIRE A DUKE, which garnered a starred review from Publisher’s Weekly. Lily balances family life, a full time day job and her writing schedule by taking things one crazy day at a time. If she had to give herself a name, it would be LA VIDA LOCA MOM. In her non-loca moments, she enjoys cooking, baking, collecting vintage dishes and hanging out with family and friends. She’d love to hang out with YOU at www.lilydalton.com, www.twitter.com/lilydalton or www.facebook.com/lily.dalton.73

//

//

//

Happy New Year!

We hope it’s a great one for you and your family!

//

//

He’s Not Very Well Behaved

Last week we went to the mall to watch our oldest son dance. (He’s very into hip-hop, and it is adorable, but I digress.)

As I mentioned in my last post, wherever we go, we’re sort of a tornado. A Yatesnado, if you will.

We found a seat in the crowded mall and while I wrangled Diva (3) my husband did his part to keep Danger (6) with us. Danger Boy is autistic, and he’s prone to wandering. And on this particular occasion there was a lot going on in the mall, and all of the activity was making him VERY fidgety. So my husband did his best to hold him in his lap, and keep him occupied.

A woman sitting in front of us turned around and remarked on how beautiful our children were. Then she looked at Danger and added, “But not very well behaved.”

It was said in a teasing tone, I think, the kind adults use when they think they might get a child’s attention. Like, if he’d been a typical child maybe he would have realized this woman noticed he was giving his dad a hard time, and he’d straighten up.

But he’s not a typical child. And I sort of sat there, ready to say it. Or ready to say something angry. Or…something. But instead I just smiled. Because I felt right then that I didn’t owe her an explanation. She was a stranger, someone I’ll probably never see again, and right then, I felt mutinous. Because I didn’t want to say “Oh, he’s autistic.” Because this perfect stranger was not entitled to our story so that she could be more comfortable. Because in that moment I felt that HE HAD A RIGHT to the way he was acting.

The thing is, he will never be in step with society. Things will perturb him that don’t perturb other people. He will behave in a way that doesn’t appear ‘normal.’ But doesn’t he have that right? I mean…really, doesn’t he have the right to be the person he is? To take up space like the rest of us, to act in a way that is natural to him?

He does. From the bottom of my heart, I think he does. I think his life should be about MORE than modifying his behavior to make those around him more comfortable. But I fear people will always look at him and think, “he’s not very well-behaved.”

Back to the mall, there was a flashmob shortly after that. Really. A choir sang a beautiful Christmas song, and Danger started to cry. Because sometimes music makes him cry. The same woman looked at him again and said, “I don’t think he feels good.”

This time I did respond. “He’s autistic. And sometimes music makes him cry.”

She was instantly apologetic and we ended up having a conversation. So it ended on an okay note, but it definitely got me thinking. About people. About the way we see them.

It’s cliche to say that you should reserve judgment of people because you don’t know what they’re dealing with, but oh well. I’m saying it anyway. That child screaming on the floor might not be spoiled. They might be autistic and over-stimming. They might be a spoiled child, or a tired child, too. But either way…does it really matter?

I am that parent destined to have a child who’s misunderstood. And my tendency is to try and minimize people’s reaction to him. To try and make it so people don’t notice. And to a degree, I think that’s fine. I think it’s good for me to teach him appropriate behaviors, because I think he can learn them. (For example, just because it’s hard for him to be mindful of his feet does not mean I’m going to ALLOW him to kick the chair of the person in front of him on a plane) But I’m so quick to want him to be quiet in a store when he’s vocalizing. They’re happy sounds. But they aren’t socially appropriate. But they’re how he expresses himself. And they might make other people uncomfortable for a few minutes, but I think…I think that’s okay.

Because he will not blend in. It isn’t possible. And why should he? So that other’s won’t experience a moment of discomfort? So that *I* won’t experience the discomfort of someone looking at me and saying, “He’s not very well-behaved”?

Heaven forbid I silence him because of my own pride. Because he has a lot to teach people. And more than that, he has a life to live, that is HIS. He’s not simply here for the enrichment of others, or for the enrichment of ME, even though he’s taught me more about patience and acceptance than anyone else in my life, no, he’s here because HE has a life he’s meant to live. Because he has a place in the world.

Even if it’s sometimes a noisy place.

One More Day

Fifteen years ago today, I said goodbye to my grandmother. In the quiet, still hours the following morning, Christmas Eve, she passed quietly in a hospital room with her beloved husband and one of her daughters. That night I stood in mass with my grief-stricken mother, trying to sing Christmas carols. To this day, I cannot sing Silent Night without my eyes flooding.

The images are stamped in my mind. The phone call out of the blue one December evening, that Grandma had had a stroke and that she was in the hospital and that it was serious. The drive from Texas to Louisiana. The walk into the hospital…the sight of my grandfather and my parents and my aunts and cousins all gathered around the bed. And her, my precious, precious grandmother, lying so still and attached to all those tubes and monitors. It was surreal..and it was not the way it was supposed to happen. She was my youngest grandparent, a spry 80 years old. She was from long-lived stock. Her mother lived into her 90s. She had plenty of aunts who crept close to 100. She was healthy…I hardly ever remembered her being sick. We all knew she was going to be with us for a long time still to come. She was our rock, the heart of our family.

But she never woke up again. I remember sitting by the bed and looking at her hairline as I stroked the softness of her face, noticing for the first time that she had a widow’s peak, like I did, making her face a beautiful heart shape. And I remember telling her how much I loved her, all the special memories that I carried with me, of playing in her kitchen and taking baths in her tub, of smelling the White Shoulders on her dresser and making cookies…and I remember telling her goodbye. But I also took her hand and asked a favor of her. I told her how desperately I was longing for a child of my own, and if she didn’t mind, when she got to heaven, could she please see about sending a baby my way? And I remember seeing the tears slide quietly from her closed eyes. God, how I remember the tears.

My life has changed so much since that afternoon in the hospital, and with those changes, I’ve changed, too. I’ve grown up.  I was married back then, but without a family of my own, I was, in many ways still a girl, a kid. I thought like a child, felt like a child. Loved like a child. I thought of the adults in my family as…adults. Grownups. Old. I knew my grandmother through the eyes and heart of a child, as the kindly older woman who always had Toll House cookies ready when I came to visit.

She was so beautiful and so sweet, this wonderful constant in my life…but that’s just it. She was a constant in my life. My grandmother. But I never really stopped to think about her life.

Now, at last a parent myself (thank you, Grandma!), the hole left by her departure has taken on a different texture. I’ll find myself in the midst of all these moments (big and small) with my children, and suddenly I’ll think of Grandma and find myself wondering what it was like for her when she was my age, raising her children. And now, as I find the years racing by, I finally realize that while her body was aging, inside she was still Marie, the starry eyed girl who, once upon a time, fell in love with a handsome blond haired boy named Max. Her parents opposed the relationship, so they eloped! (The drama…the scandal…the romance!) That’s the girl I want to know…the woman. The mother. The one my father calls the kindest, gentlest person he’s ever known. It’s not uncommon that I find myself imagining what it would be like to have one more day with her. That I could sit down and talk with her, ask her questions. Hard questions. Deep questions. Grown-up questions…woman-to-woman.  What were her fears? What were her greatest joys? The biggest surprises of her life? How did she handle the vulnerability that comes with the raw, deep love a mother feels for a child? How did she maintain so much grace when I know the daily struggles that surely hid behind her smile? Did she ever feel like she wasn’t good enough? That she botched everything up? Like she was drowning? Did she ever feel all alone? Was she scared of aging? Of dying? Of no longer being a physical part of her family? 

But I can’t do that. I can’t have that day with her, that conversation. Not over coffee and chocolate chip cookies in her sunny kitchen, at least. But I can have it in my heart, and in my dreams. And I try to remember that importance of connecting with the people who are still in my life, with whom I do have one more day.

Time. As I sit here looking at all the packages crowded under the Christmas tree–and remember that final goodbye with my grandmother–I can’t help but think that our time together may well be the greatest gift of all.

Adjusting expectations

I’m not going to lie: today kicked my ass.

Okay, let me backtrack a bit. If you’re a regular follower of the blog, you may remember me blogging about having my girl tested for dyslexia. I have felt for a while now that there was something going on. My gut just told me she was not preforming in school at the level she capable of. Even though she was tested for and qualified for Gifted and Talented, her reading was well below average. Her spelling was much worse. In kinder, 1st and 2nd, I got some version of “It’s too soon to worry.” Over the summer, we decided to have her privately tested by a neuropsychologist. At the same time, I finally got the school to agree to test her. We got the school results back first. Yes, they agree she’s not performing where she could be and her spelling is horrible, but she’s not dyslexic. Today, we got the professional results. No, she’s dyslexic. She just has moderate Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

I’m not hugely surprised. I mean, I guess I’m still surprised it’s not dyslexia. I really thought that was it. But ADHD is … I don’t know. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Maybe I did see it coming. She’s always been a fidgety kid. She’s always been a mover. She’s high energy. She’s a quick and nimble. And she had impulse control issues–which I know from my years as a teacher is how ADHD presents in girls. It’s just … I was so sure about the dyslexia.

Here’s my parental gut-check moment: I was so sure about the dyslexia because I think I have it and was never diagnosed. So all these traits we share (bad spelling, lack of organization, slow to develop reading skills), I thought they were symptoms of the dyslexia. I was even prepared for dyslexia and ADHD. I just wasn’t prepared for only ADHD. I had no idea it could affect spelling (because this girl seriously can not spell!), but apparently, yeah, it does.

This blog is probably very disjointed and rambling. I’m apologize. This is just all my gut reaction stuff … in the middle of deadline … in the middle of Christmas … trying to balance my love and my hopes and my expectations for my wonderful daughter with this new knowledge of the challenges she’s going to experience.

In case you’re wonder (because this is the question that’s come up the most as I’ve talked to others today), no, we’re not planning on medicating her. The doctor said maybe, someday, it would be an option, but only if she’s doing hard core studying for something very academically rigorous, like studying for the MCAT, for now, she should be fine with an adjusted study schedule and some adjustments in school.

I walked away from the meeting with a renewed determination to nurture my daughter in a loving and positive way. To embrace all her unique and wonderful qualities. To be more gentle and kind with her.

Unfortunately, she got off the bus this afternoon in a pissy mood. She seemed determined to push every one of my buttons. She groused at me. She picked on her brother. She complained about everything. I tried the gentle and kind approach. I really, really did. After hours of gentle and kind, I finally had to lay down the law. She had to get her mood under control or else.

Remarkably, she got it under control.

After the day I’d had, I felt like a failure. But maybe, today, she didn’t need gentle and kind. Maybe today was just a day when she needed boundaries. Maybe she needed ordinary me (who doesn’t take that kind crap) and was trying not to be the ordinary me. We both failed and floundered. Maybe, ultimately, I don’t need to adjust my expectation for her. Maybe I just need to adjust my expectations for myself.

Zen and the Fine Art of Traveling With Kids…

Three of them. And Four adults. And ten suitcases. And a blanket.

Shana had a Disney vacation in the first week of December, and interestingly, we did too! Right at the same time. Though, we were on opposite coasts. She was in Disneyworld, while I was experiencing Disneyland. In Anaheim. With New Orleans Square and the Indiana Jones Ride. (As God intended. But I digress.)

We stayed in the beautiful Grand Californian and took in the lovely Christmas sights. We also celebrated Danger’s sixth birthday. Dodged the crowds. Had the sliding glass doors zip-tied shut so Danger  wouldn’t go over the balcony. The usual.

We also brought my brother and my parents so that we would have ALL HANDS ON DECK for the wrangling of the children. Someone has to be on with Danger at all times to make sure he doesn’t run straight for a ride, and the other two are also still young (7 and nearly 4 now!) so they all require a bit of handling.

If you’re looking for excellent tips on traveling with kids…well, I’d love to be your source. There are people like that. With lists. And tiny baggies with snacks, and apology notes for fellow travelers and…I don’t know magic unicorns that carry their suitcases for them.

We’re a circus. Like…a traveling circus. With loud, flower-print luggage (and lots of it!) and, not forgetting the blanket. Which is rainbow. But that’s not important. Just filling in the image for you.

Just getting through out tiny home airport was a feat of balance and skill. Then we had to board the plane. Sorting through boarding passes was interesting to say the least. Then we got on the plane. “I HAVE 11E! Do we have an 11D? NO? Ok so we have 10A and 10B, so you’re here…”

It was a short plane ride. I sat next to Danger who was immersed in Minion Rush on his ipod. And when I say immersed…I mean doing hand gestures, voices and in general making what I’m sure was an adorable ruckus for 6 AM.

Then we got to to the airport. LAX is not the Magic Kingdom, if you were wondering. It’s definitely not the scenic route to the Happiest Place on Earth. But it’s cool. I was organized. For me. I had all of our passes for the Magic Express sorted. All we had to do was wait by a busy highway for the bus to show up. With all of ours bags. And the blanket. And one autistic child who was still pretty sure he was a minion.

But it was ok! Because the bus came every fifteen minutes. Except no, it didn’t. I was wrong. It came every hour. Close enough.

We stood on that island, cars going by on both sides, with all that luggage for an hour. But then…the Magic Express. And then…Disney!

It was really wonderful. They’ve recently changed the system for people with disabilities, and the new card, which is something of a modified fast pass, worked really well for us. (If you’re traveling with anyone who has a disability, I encourage you to check it out. It makes things so much easier!)

One thing I will say for my family: We’re a parade. We’re not the most organized of parades. Neither are we quiet. We belong nowhere on Pinterest. But we really know how to have fun. We in fact enticed a group of teenage girls to do a hoedown with us while in line for Mater’s Junkyard Jamboree.

We didn’t always wake up in time for the Magic Hour. Sometimes the kids ate candy instead of dinner. Sometimes they were too loud in the airport (a million thanks to the couple who was sitting next to Danger in LAX on our return flight, who assured us many times that he was in no way bothering him with his loud outbursts of laughter and occasional crying ((he broke a tooth on the last day. It was rough))). Sometimes I didn’t have all my documentation handy. Flights were delayed.

So yeah, I don’t have a lot of great checklists for traveling with kids. But I did learn this: If you commit to having fun, a lot of the disasters don’t seem very big.

I’ll close with this paper my son made me. Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays, in many languages. No matter how loud and crazy your holiday is, I hope it’s fun. Even if it’s not organized!

Lessons Learned from Disneyworld

We recently returned from a week at Disneyworld. The trip was a year in planning and went by so quickly. I managed to breathe for a few minutes and learn a few lessons that I think are appropriate for life or a return to Disney.

1) Plan ahead.

All of our planning paid off. We had all of the reservations we wanted. We actually had too many reservations, but when you have a small child, uncertainty is not your friend. If you plan ahead, you always know where you’re headed. You may end up somewhere else, but that forward direction prevents meltdowns and whining.

2) Be flexible.

All of that planning is great, but when you’re in the moment, you have to go with the flow. You can always go back to the plan, but it’s the little detours in life that make the journey fun. I’m so glad we were flexible enough to deviate from our plans and investigate the little nooks. We found surprises we hadn’t expected!

3) Ask for help.

Disneyworld is huge. If you haven’t been there, you cannot imagine the size. We got lost, took wrong turns, and were confused about transportation and reservations. I didn’t waste time wandering. I asked for help right away. I need to do that in life more often. Too often I circle in the dark, when if I just put some of my pride aside and asked for help, I wouldn’t have to struggle.

4) Plan for downtime.

We didn’t do much of this, and it was a mistake. We wanted to squeeze as much as we could into our time. But small kids need time to rest, especially with so much going on. I don’t plan enough rest time in my life either. I work and work until I pretty much collapse. It’s not a very healthy way to live life or vacation. The best thing we did was to remain flexible, and when my daughter was tired, we went back to the room and rested.

5) Leave while you’re still having fun.

I almost think a week is too long. There was so much to see that we needed all the time, but we were on the verge of being short with one another and giving in to exhaustion. Even Disneyworld isn’t fun if you’ve overstayed. The same goes with life. When work or the way you’re doing things in your family isn’t fun anymore, it’s time to change it up.

Have you learned anything from your recent or past travels?

//