Debra Anastasia's Blog, page 55
August 30, 2012
Sweet Mother of Fudge Chapter 8
Chapter 8
About the same time my boys found us GC returned from Ariel’s wet and wild line. Apparently, in an effort to cool her body GS put her face full in one of the sidewalk gushers. Repeatedly. She never puts her face in those things. But she did today.
She came back rubbing her eye. We get a bunch of drinks and a few ice creams. BC is looking so cute in his awesome hair style. GC starts crying and rubbing her eye.
Now it’s time to discuss eyeballs in our family. Everyone has something that gives them the heebby jeebies. For me, it’s big hairy spiders. You can wrap a 12 foot snake around my neck. Throw a rat in each hand. I'll be great. No worries. One baby spider in a room with me and I'm screaming and twitching like a bride-to-be at one of those sample wedding gown sales.
Mr. A lives in fear of making sure he catches the spider I've seen. Or I'll haunt him all night --slapping things and screeching for no reason. Because the spider might be on the loose. I always demand the body of the dead spider on a paper towel platter, like Cleopatra or some evil queen. Except I never look in the towel, cause I hate all the legs.
Gee whiz he’s probably been lying to me all this time I wouldn’t look in the towel.
Damn it.
Anyway. GC has a fear of eyeballs. She's never liked close up pictures, where you see red veins in the white part. One day she asked me about her terror.
GC in her sweet little voice, with her hands flittering near, but not touching, her eyes ~ “Mommy, what are eyeballs? What are they made of?”
Now, I pride myself on being honest with my kids, I'll answer their questions to the best of my abilities.
I get down low and capture her hands. I look kindly into her beautiful face and tell her,
“Well, sweetheart,” I try and put my scarce knowledge about eyeballs into little kid vocabulary, “The eyeballs are like little bags full of jelly.” I freaking think that is what they made out of. Who knows, really? “Jellybags.” I say with authority.
GC’s own jellybags get large with horror. Her sweet lips part in disgusted surprise.
It's at this point I realize I have given her personal terror more definition, more description than her brain wanted to comprehend. Oops. She runs from me and buries her head in the couch.
GC ~ “Jellybags!!!AGGGHHH!!!” she peaks at me “Can they pop?”
Me, (against anyone’s better judgment) ~ “Yes, that's why you have to be careful with them”
PS ~ “AGGHHH!! Jellybags”
So of course, like any good parent, I used the fear of jellybags to my advantage. Anytime she wandered in during a part of General Hospital not meant for kids I'd say, “Don’t look!! Jellybags!!!” And she would run in horror, and I could eliminate the offending TV screen with the remote, putting on a family friendly show.
Convenient. And I love hearing the word jellybags in regards to eyes. Makes me chuckle.
Now I know what you're thinking,
“This short sighted mom’s torture of her daughter is going to bite her in the ass when that child needs and eye appointment someday.”
And you would be right. And there was a little voice in my head saying the same thing. But I always figured we would spank that monkey
when we came to it.
I never figured that monkey drag himself up to sit on a table close to the Dumbo ride in the Magic Kingdom. He sat close to me, smiled his toothy, shaky lipped monkey smile, while wagging his butt at me.
I looked at GC rubbing her eye and crying. I take a peek. She obviously has something in it. I examine her more closely and find the problem. The beautiful glitter in her hair. The shimmering teeny tiny glitter that looks like magic and princess sneezes all at the same time. It has migrated from her hair to her face. To her arms, to her hands, to my hands, my shirt where I hugged her.
She has this tiny glitter in her eyes. And she's rubbing more into her eye with each pass of her little fist. I stop her. She cries. I know I have to wash her eye. I know it's going to go over like a bag full of tarantulas in my underwear. Not well.
Me ~ “Sweetie, I am going to have to wash your eye with this bottle of water.”
I grab one ice cold Disney snack credit and show it to her open eye.
Say it with me everyone!!
PS ~ “Jellybags!!!!!Noooooo!!!”
In between screams, spanking the monkey, and trying to avoid the glitter, I convince her to let me pour the water on the jellybags. The fact the she lets me do this speaks to her discomfort. She closes her eye when the water comes.
This is not going to work. In the middle of Magic Kingdom, I'm sitting with a screaming girl. The glitter is everywhere and I now see it as a threat. Bystanders are looking at the cute princess screaming, “Jellybags” I saw a lady trying to help hold up a jellybean. I shake my head no, and mouth, “thank you."
I look at my family and say “I've to take her to get an eye wash at First Aid.”
I know what PS is thinking. She has seen three things washed in her life.
1)The dogs, usually after one of them has rolled in poop. This “wash” consists of a dog on a leash being power washed with the hose.
2)Her hair. This “Wash” involves soap, scrubbing hands, and a shower head beating on her head.
3)And of course the car “wash” Which involves giant scrub brushes, hot oil, and high powered dryer.
She's trying to imagine her little jellybag in all these situations. Ow ! Eww!
The word “wash” becomes the new “jellybag." I make a mental note not to say “wash." Turns out mental notes don’t get thumb tacked to the back of your head for your loving family to see.
Grandma
~ “Getting an eye wash? Great idea.”
Grandpa~ “Did you say Eyewash? I agree”
BC ~ “Dad, what does an eye wash entail? Will it pop her jellybag?”
Mr. A ~ ”Well son, an eyewash is a process where the jellybag is held open…”
I scoop PS up, and we jog ahead. Geeze. The Jiggler is the least aerodynamic thing to attach to your back. And GS is no small potatoes anymore. 44 pounds of crying squirming fun. First aid is 16 miles away. Wasn’t this place built on the theory of forced perspective? Shouldn’t First Aid be closer?
Well, I was feeling forced. I think the monkey was spanking me at this point. I was almost there when I looked to my left. Mr. A was trotting alongside.
His giant arm muscles swinging on either side of his body. He's an alarmingly strong man. And I would have loved for him to carry my giant potato instead of me for the past 15 miles.
I pass GC over. My back screams. The monkey screams. Mr. A carries her so easily. I roll my eyes at him.
We bust into the First Aid place together. The nurse in charge takes us straight back. She was friendly, but had no trouble prying open GC’s eye and washing the glitter out.
And GC stops crying. The glitter in her eye was washed out.
Finally.
I say to the nurse, “Is there a sink here that I can wash out this glitter? I'm afraid she will get more in her eye?”
The glitter is all over her body. Each piece is scaring me. After the pins in the head, now she has the glitter nightmare.
had saved the day with her ingenuity. While we were glitter warriors our boys were treated to a parade of sorts. I don’t know exactly what it was but, I know Pluto was in it.
The nurse hands GC a trading pin and some stickers. She shakes her head ruefully at me. “Sorry, No.”
She suggests taking GC to the barbershop to have her hair washed. I know I have to get GC back to the hotel, out of her glitter-filled clothes and get every stinkin' piece of glitter off of her (And now me).
Getting out of the magic Kingdom is such a long marathon of transportation. If I'm in route when another jellybag problem erupts, we will be in for a long ride. Is there first aid in the resorts? I might have to drive her to the ER. What a nightmare.
I take her by the hand and head her to the waiting room. We all fussed over her. So proud she got the eye wash, which she admitted was not too bad.
In the meantime Grandma had gone back to the Bibbity Bobbity boutique while we were in First Aid and described the experience so far to a manager. She refunded the money Grandma had paid for GC. Grandma refused a refund on BC’s appointment because he'd had no trouble.
As we walked out of the First Aid we were greeted by a Marching Band.
Only in Disney.
We made a mad rush to the barbershop.
Well guess what? They don’t have sinks for hair washing. They spray the clients’ hair with a spray bottle.
Frustrated.
Grandma holds up the empty Danasi bottle. ~ “How about we wash her hair in the sink?”
Grandma is fearless. And thinks quick on her feet. I know she's right. The safest thing to do is get the glitter out as soon as we can.
Grandma, GC and I head into the bathroom by the firehouse. I lay GC across the sinks. Her feet are on one sink, her butt is in the middle of the sinks, and her head is in the last one. Grandma was in charge of holding GC and trying to make her comfortable on the hard and sink filled surface. Automatic faucets are enraged by our efforts. Gushing on and off in an angry symphony.
Ladies crowd close to try and wash their delicate hands.
Me, in a shrill tone~ “Move along People! We have a Princess Down Here, Princess Down!!”
And I'm filling a bottle. Holding my hand on the auto sensor, I pour the water. I'd have liked to go faster but the Automatic faucets will work at their own pace like union employees. I see the sinks digging into her. Trying to get faster. I use the hand soap as shampoo. She's hanging in there like such a giant trooper.
No one is begrudging us taking up three sinks in a busy bathroom after my loud announcement of royalty in danger. Eventually, the hair is much cleaner. Not perfect, but better. Grandma and I start wiping down her skin with wet paper towels. More glitter is captured and thrown in the trash. Her shirt is soaking wet.
We finally emerge victorious. Grandma
Well, now what do we do? We were planning on staying in the Magic Kingdom all day. And all Magic Hours night. This is our one day in the MK.
I eye BC’s hair suspiciously. Although he does not have princess sneeze glitter, his hair is full of gel and paint. If he gets his head wet, it's going to sting his jellybags. I'm equipped for many things in my bagallini, but not eye surgery. GC’s glitter is still spreading enough for me to worry. We all make the decision to head back to the resort for showers.
To kill the glitter, dead.
Oh no! I'm going to attempt something that no sane adult would ever do. I'm planning on leaving Main Street with out getting the jiggler its fudge from the candy shop.
As we walk out I can almost feel it pulsating. I picture it angry. I'm afraid to take a peak at it. Will I see something evil looking back at me, hissing like Gollum, rubbing it’s cheeks together, plotting to kill me in my sleep?
I've never denied the jiggler its favorite treat in the whole world. I can’t stand the pressure and look at it.
The jiggler is just hanging back there at the top of my legs, following me fatefully like a happy cocker spaniel.
Thank God.
What will we do with the rest of our day? What's in our future? Will I ever get fudge?
Coming next week.... A Poop is a Wish your Fart Makes.
About the same time my boys found us GC returned from Ariel’s wet and wild line. Apparently, in an effort to cool her body GS put her face full in one of the sidewalk gushers. Repeatedly. She never puts her face in those things. But she did today.
She came back rubbing her eye. We get a bunch of drinks and a few ice creams. BC is looking so cute in his awesome hair style. GC starts crying and rubbing her eye.
Now it’s time to discuss eyeballs in our family. Everyone has something that gives them the heebby jeebies. For me, it’s big hairy spiders. You can wrap a 12 foot snake around my neck. Throw a rat in each hand. I'll be great. No worries. One baby spider in a room with me and I'm screaming and twitching like a bride-to-be at one of those sample wedding gown sales.
Mr. A lives in fear of making sure he catches the spider I've seen. Or I'll haunt him all night --slapping things and screeching for no reason. Because the spider might be on the loose. I always demand the body of the dead spider on a paper towel platter, like Cleopatra or some evil queen. Except I never look in the towel, cause I hate all the legs.
Gee whiz he’s probably been lying to me all this time I wouldn’t look in the towel.
Damn it.
Anyway. GC has a fear of eyeballs. She's never liked close up pictures, where you see red veins in the white part. One day she asked me about her terror.
GC in her sweet little voice, with her hands flittering near, but not touching, her eyes ~ “Mommy, what are eyeballs? What are they made of?”
Now, I pride myself on being honest with my kids, I'll answer their questions to the best of my abilities.
I get down low and capture her hands. I look kindly into her beautiful face and tell her,
“Well, sweetheart,” I try and put my scarce knowledge about eyeballs into little kid vocabulary, “The eyeballs are like little bags full of jelly.” I freaking think that is what they made out of. Who knows, really? “Jellybags.” I say with authority.
GC’s own jellybags get large with horror. Her sweet lips part in disgusted surprise.
It's at this point I realize I have given her personal terror more definition, more description than her brain wanted to comprehend. Oops. She runs from me and buries her head in the couch.
GC ~ “Jellybags!!!AGGGHHH!!!” she peaks at me “Can they pop?”
Me, (against anyone’s better judgment) ~ “Yes, that's why you have to be careful with them”
PS ~ “AGGHHH!! Jellybags”
So of course, like any good parent, I used the fear of jellybags to my advantage. Anytime she wandered in during a part of General Hospital not meant for kids I'd say, “Don’t look!! Jellybags!!!” And she would run in horror, and I could eliminate the offending TV screen with the remote, putting on a family friendly show.
Convenient. And I love hearing the word jellybags in regards to eyes. Makes me chuckle.
Now I know what you're thinking,
“This short sighted mom’s torture of her daughter is going to bite her in the ass when that child needs and eye appointment someday.”And you would be right. And there was a little voice in my head saying the same thing. But I always figured we would spank that monkey
when we came to it. I never figured that monkey
drag himself up to sit on a table close to the Dumbo ride in the Magic Kingdom. He sat close to me, smiled his toothy, shaky lipped monkey smile, while wagging his butt at me.I looked at GC rubbing her eye and crying. I take a peek. She obviously has something in it. I examine her more closely and find the problem. The beautiful glitter in her hair. The shimmering teeny tiny glitter that looks like magic and princess sneezes all at the same time. It has migrated from her hair to her face. To her arms, to her hands, to my hands, my shirt where I hugged her.
She has this tiny glitter in her eyes. And she's rubbing more into her eye with each pass of her little fist. I stop her. She cries. I know I have to wash her eye. I know it's going to go over like a bag full of tarantulas in my underwear. Not well.
Me ~ “Sweetie, I am going to have to wash your eye with this bottle of water.”
I grab one ice cold Disney snack credit and show it to her open eye.Say it with me everyone!!
PS ~ “Jellybags!!!!!Noooooo!!!”
In between screams, spanking the monkey
, and trying to avoid the glitter, I convince her to let me pour the water on the jellybags. The fact the she lets me do this speaks to her discomfort. She closes her eye when the water comes.This is not going to work. In the middle of Magic Kingdom, I'm sitting with a screaming girl. The glitter is everywhere and I now see it as a threat. Bystanders are looking at the cute princess screaming, “Jellybags” I saw a lady trying to help hold up a jellybean. I shake my head no, and mouth, “thank you."
I look at my family and say “I've to take her to get an eye wash at First Aid.”
I know what PS is thinking. She has seen three things washed in her life.
1)The dogs, usually after one of them has rolled in poop. This “wash” consists of a dog on a leash being power washed with the hose.
2)Her hair. This “Wash” involves soap, scrubbing hands, and a shower head beating on her head.
3)And of course the car “wash” Which involves giant scrub brushes, hot oil, and high powered dryer.
She's trying to imagine her little jellybag in all these situations. Ow ! Eww!
The word “wash” becomes the new “jellybag." I make a mental note not to say “wash." Turns out mental notes don’t get thumb tacked to the back of your head for your loving family to see.
Grandma
~ “Getting an eye wash? Great idea.”Grandpa~ “Did you say Eyewash? I agree”
BC ~ “Dad, what does an eye wash entail? Will it pop her jellybag?”
Mr. A ~ ”Well son, an eyewash is a process where the jellybag is held open…”
I scoop PS up, and we jog ahead. Geeze. The Jiggler is the least aerodynamic thing to attach to your back. And GS is no small potatoes anymore. 44 pounds of crying squirming fun. First aid is 16 miles away. Wasn’t this place built on the theory of forced perspective? Shouldn’t First Aid be closer?
Well, I was feeling forced. I think the monkey
was spanking me at this point. I was almost there when I looked to my left. Mr. A was trotting alongside. His giant arm muscles swinging on either side of his body. He's an alarmingly strong man. And I would have loved for him to carry my giant potato instead of me for the past 15 miles.
I pass GC over. My back screams. The monkey
screams. Mr. A carries her so easily. I roll my eyes at him.We bust into the First Aid place together. The nurse in charge takes us straight back. She was friendly, but had no trouble prying open GC’s eye and washing the glitter out.
And GC stops crying. The glitter in her eye was washed out.
Finally.
I say to the nurse, “Is there a sink here that I can wash out this glitter? I'm afraid she will get more in her eye?”
The glitter is all over her body. Each piece is scaring me. After the pins in the head, now she has the glitter nightmare.
had saved the day with her ingenuity. While we were glitter warriors our boys were treated to a parade of sorts. I don’t know exactly what it was but, I know Pluto was in it. The nurse hands GC a trading pin and some stickers. She shakes her head ruefully at me. “Sorry, No.”She suggests taking GC to the barbershop to have her hair washed. I know I have to get GC back to the hotel, out of her glitter-filled clothes and get every stinkin' piece of glitter off of her (And now me).
Getting out of the magic Kingdom is such a long marathon of transportation. If I'm in route when another jellybag problem erupts, we will be in for a long ride. Is there first aid in the resorts? I might have to drive her to the ER. What a nightmare.
I take her by the hand and head her to the waiting room. We all fussed over her. So proud she got the eye wash, which she admitted was not too bad.
In the meantime Grandma
had gone back to the Bibbity Bobbity boutique while we were in First Aid and described the experience so far to a manager. She refunded the money Grandma had paid for GC. Grandma refused a refund on BC’s appointment because he'd had no trouble.As we walked out of the First Aid we were greeted by a Marching Band.
Only in Disney.
We made a mad rush to the barbershop.
Well guess what? They don’t have sinks for hair washing. They spray the clients’ hair with a spray bottle.
Frustrated.
Grandma
holds up the empty Danasi bottle. ~ “How about we wash her hair in the sink?”Grandma
is fearless. And thinks quick on her feet. I know she's right. The safest thing to do is get the glitter out as soon as we can.Grandma
, GC and I head into the bathroom by the firehouse. I lay GC across the sinks. Her feet are on one sink, her butt is in the middle of the sinks, and her head is in the last one. Grandma was in charge of holding GC and trying to make her comfortable on the hard and sink filled surface. Automatic faucets are enraged by our efforts. Gushing on and off in an angry symphony. Ladies crowd close to try and wash their delicate hands.
Me, in a shrill tone~ “Move along People! We have a Princess Down Here, Princess Down!!”
And I'm filling a bottle. Holding my hand on the auto sensor, I pour the water. I'd have liked to go faster but the Automatic faucets will work at their own pace like union employees. I see the sinks digging into her. Trying to get faster. I use the hand soap as shampoo. She's hanging in there like such a giant trooper.
No one is begrudging us taking up three sinks in a busy bathroom after my loud announcement of royalty in danger. Eventually, the hair is much cleaner. Not perfect, but better. Grandma
and I start wiping down her skin with wet paper towels. More glitter is captured and thrown in the trash. Her shirt is soaking wet. We finally emerge victorious. Grandma
Well, now what do we do? We were planning on staying in the Magic Kingdom all day. And all Magic Hours night. This is our one day in the MK.
I eye BC’s hair suspiciously. Although he does not have princess sneeze glitter, his hair is full of gel and paint. If he gets his head wet, it's going to sting his jellybags. I'm equipped for many things in my bagallini, but not eye surgery. GC’s glitter is still spreading enough for me to worry. We all make the decision to head back to the resort for showers.
To kill the glitter, dead.
Oh no! I'm going to attempt something that no sane adult would ever do. I'm planning on leaving Main Street with out getting the jiggler its fudge from the candy shop.
As we walk out I can almost feel it pulsating. I picture it angry. I'm afraid to take a peak at it. Will I see something evil looking back at me, hissing like Gollum, rubbing it’s cheeks together, plotting to kill me in my sleep?
I've never denied the jiggler its favorite treat in the whole world. I can’t stand the pressure and look at it.
The jiggler is just hanging back there at the top of my legs, following me fatefully like a happy cocker spaniel.
Thank God.
What will we do with the rest of our day? What's in our future? Will I ever get fudge?
Coming next week.... A Poop is a Wish your Fart Makes.
August 24, 2012
Share Poughkeepsie Love: Buddy Read Giveaway!
Did you love Poughkeepsie so much? Or have you not read it yet but feel like it's going to be a fun ride? Well this is the giveaway for you! I'm giving a bunch of eCopies away. One for you and one for a friend who is comfortable with you sharing their valid email. You can read Poughkeepsie together! How cute is that? Well it gets cuter. I'm also giving away crystal Poughkeepsie-themed charm bracelets, cardboard piano key chains, temporary tattoos, and bookmarks. You and your buddy will be adorable talking about all the filthy curses you find in my book. New creative ones you can whisper to each other in the movie theater while wearing your new Poughkeepsie bling. I can't even take how amazing you guys will be together.
So what if you already read Poughkeepsie? Don't run away! Because if you win, you can substitute the eBook for Crushed Seraphim! What if you are made of rock soild awesome and have consumed all the books I have in the wild? Well you can keep the swag for yourself but pick TWO friends to win Poughkeepsie eCopies.
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So hop on the Rafllecopter and win the Hell out of Poughkeepsie and/or Crushed Seraphim. There's the cursing, the sex, the romantic lines. Summer might be kicking us in the ass but at least we can give it the finger. With Poughkeepsie. Holy crap I'm not even making sense anymore. Someone buy my a drink. Good Luck!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
August 13, 2012
Blake's Cardboard Piano Stop Five
Hey Guys! Blake's Cardboard Piano made it's first trip overseas. The gorgeous Squally took some requests and the piano for a wonderful tour of Perth, Australia. Check it out:
Perth
Ferry Trip!
Dock
Swan River
Australian Swans 
With a pretty metal tree!
Fake Roo!
Real Roo! ( request granted thx baby)
Perth Zoo Temple
Bamboo
Perth Zoo
Perth Zoo
Perth Zoo
Pretty Fountain
Perth ZooAnd here's a message from Squally:
Blake has a bed waiting for him if he ever needs one again. I'm glad he found a home in her arms and not just a roof over his head. He can play music for me anytime. I'll write the lyrics if he composes :) Perth was happy to to host his soundless concert here. As far as I'm concerned he's officially an Aussie.
Best of Luck,
Squally Girl
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wasn't that awesome? If you'd like to join the Poughkeepsie Cardboard Piano tour please email me with the words Cardboard Piano in the title and I will give you the details. Thanks again Squally! XO
August 10, 2012
Dog Humping and #DogBrowing
I read a hilarious post on A Whole Lot of Nothing©™® which is brought to you by the Gorgeous Angie©™® . AWholeLotofNothing.Net So Hilarious, read it! on #DogBrowing which is a fantastic new internet sensation like #planking and #farting! Well, tits starting out small. Butt I think it will grow. As soon as I saw Angie's post and her friend's pictures. I HAD to do it it to my dogs. Which was too much fun.
Peanut
Spike (who is doing time for his back injury, hence a little surly)
And Snowy who is blind, so she didn't even see it coming.
And after all of that, I have to share my awkward humping story cause it kind of fits:
Okay, I had the weirdest experience today. Boychild needed a bead for a necklace he's making for his friend that's a girl. So we went into a local, bizarre bead store for a soccer bead or charm. This place is crazy I've no idea how they stay in business. I've been there three times (I make my own Poughkeepsie bracelets swag, but this place is wayyy too expensive.) There beads are so overpriced, but if you just need one, it's the place to go.
So anyway, we open the door. The place is empty. Of course. I walk in with the kids and we are attacked by two tiny, black poodles. Little balls of fur tumbling around, biting each other, looking for pets. Sounds fun right? Well girlchild was in heaven. Boychild gets to picking out his bead.
That's when it get strange. The two poodles pause very often to engage in some humping.
Girlchild says, "Look mom! They're dancing! Like the samba!"
So she's chasing them around, they tumble in and out of my line of sight, about 80% of the time they're in porno mode.
So the owner dude smiles at the humpers and says, "The boy has a mustache!"
He calls the male dog, who looks up and god damn it, he's got a fire red porno 'stache. Then he proceeds to do the lubricated mamba again. I can't even explain how awkward it is to be in a store with humping poodles. Both are like five pounds. I'm trying to make small talk, girlchild is singing a song for the "dancers" and boychild quickly finds a charm and we buy it. (for $5!!!) Anyway I'm waiting to get my change back and the guy tells me the worst part.
He goes, "Yeah, they are BROTHER AND SISTER."
The humping dogs were siblings!!!!!! One has a mustache!!!!!!!! How weird is that? I don't even know what to say to that so I just sort of shrug and hurry the kids out of the store. So freaky.
Amen.
Peanut
Spike (who is doing time for his back injury, hence a little surly)
And Snowy who is blind, so she didn't even see it coming.
And after all of that, I have to share my awkward humping story cause it kind of fits:
Okay, I had the weirdest experience today. Boychild needed a bead for a necklace he's making for his friend that's a girl. So we went into a local, bizarre bead store for a soccer bead or charm. This place is crazy I've no idea how they stay in business. I've been there three times (I make my own Poughkeepsie bracelets swag, but this place is wayyy too expensive.) There beads are so overpriced, but if you just need one, it's the place to go.
So anyway, we open the door. The place is empty. Of course. I walk in with the kids and we are attacked by two tiny, black poodles. Little balls of fur tumbling around, biting each other, looking for pets. Sounds fun right? Well girlchild was in heaven. Boychild gets to picking out his bead.
That's when it get strange. The two poodles pause very often to engage in some humping.
Girlchild says, "Look mom! They're dancing! Like the samba!"
So she's chasing them around, they tumble in and out of my line of sight, about 80% of the time they're in porno mode.
So the owner dude smiles at the humpers and says, "The boy has a mustache!"
He calls the male dog, who looks up and god damn it, he's got a fire red porno 'stache. Then he proceeds to do the lubricated mamba again. I can't even explain how awkward it is to be in a store with humping poodles. Both are like five pounds. I'm trying to make small talk, girlchild is singing a song for the "dancers" and boychild quickly finds a charm and we buy it. (for $5!!!) Anyway I'm waiting to get my change back and the guy tells me the worst part.
He goes, "Yeah, they are BROTHER AND SISTER."
The humping dogs were siblings!!!!!! One has a mustache!!!!!!!! How weird is that? I don't even know what to say to that so I just sort of shrug and hurry the kids out of the store. So freaky.
Amen.
August 9, 2012
Sweet Mother of Fudge Chapter 7
Chapter 7
It’s actually hard to start this chapter. I feel guilty about it. If you present things to kids in such a way, they are bound to say, “Yes." A few days before we left in the van I called on the off, off, off chance that there would be an appointment in the castle, for the one day that we were visiting the Magic Kingdom, in the morning in the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique.
Lucky me. They had an appointment! Such luck! And they could fit BC in as a “Cool Dude” appointment. I sat the kids down to ask if they wanted to participate. BC shrugs his shoulders and says, “Sure." What a kid. Gosh, it is so fun to be his mom. How many boys would be willing to walk into princess world to get their hair done? I could hug him forever. And I love the way his head smells. How did he get so big? Holding his hand is like holding a giant piece of steak, and yet, he lets me hold it. I have to work hard not to take the beauty of his soul for granted. He's amazing.
GC opens her big, blinky green eyes wide. I explain what the appointment entails. I warn her that she would have to get her hair manipulated. This is a conundrum for my little girl. Who quit dance lessons because being forced to wear the buns pissed her off.
When she was born with a huge head of hair, I rubbed my hands together like Doctor Evil. I happen to love playing with hair. GC’s hair grew in long luscious locks, beautiful curls spilling down her back. Every night we had a battle. She would be mad. I would plead. Eventually, she would let me brush out "the glory." The conditioner thick, the spray-on conditioner, detangler, with hands as soft as a butterfly’s wings, I'd work out the knots. And every once and a while I would peek at her lovely face. It would be squished up, frustrated with impatience.
That’s Why….
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. I'd have been less surprised if my dog started singing “Chocolate Rain” on You Tube in a thong. The surprise started in my toes and crawled up my legs all the way to my gapping, open mouth. My girl had snuck behind the couch with a pair of kiddie scissors and thoroughly, patiently cut off all her hair. I found her sitting in a pool of glorious curls that I had loved, but she despised.
Message received.
We marched to the salon and got my girl the shortest version of a bob I have ever seen. The hair dresser was a genius. Able to make the hair that was cut down to the scalp blend in with the longer pieces. I held her in my lap while the hair dresser cut my hair off too. Matching mother and daughter styles. My apology for making her endure the brushing she never liked.
We held hands on the way out. She was right. Short hair looked amazing on her. It grew to about shoulder length, where we have kept in ever since.
She hears my idea about the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique. She considers it. She decides she would like to be Cinderella. Grandma had provided GC with a wide variety of Princess costumes. I pack all her accessories with our bags.
Back to the castle, we peek around the back of the castle, and find the Boutique tucked in a Nook. I walk up to sign the kids in. I wait, smiling. Ahhh. Disney.
In Disney, the Anastasias are probably the most easy-going guests you can find. We're expecting the Disney attitude from the employees, but we understand that they're humans. We brought two of our own human/employees with us. So I was patient. Pleasant. As I waited at the sign in desk-ish thingy podium. After waiting a good chunk of time for the Fairy Godmothers to handle a problem with the lady in front of me. I checked the kids in. We have a seat, and pick out GC’s style. I think it was Diva princess. I looked at her face. Looking for the scissor face. Was she okay? She was glowing and excited. And regal.
A Fairy GodMother in Training (FGIT) called GC back. Another FGIT suggested that GC get dressed. No pressure to buy the expensive gowns. I walked with GC through the hair part to the dressing rooms. GC got excitedly into her gown. As we walk out to get her seated I see she is fighting back a smile. She crawls up into the chair and the FGIT welcomes her. All is going well.
Flashback**
When I found out I was having baby number two, she was planned. I must have taken 16 pregnancy tests. They would be so light, barley positive. I had heard the expression, “You can’t be a little pregnant.” But it seemed like I was just that, a little pregnant. I went out with a 2 year old BC and bought baby booties and a hat.
I was waiting for the first appointment when the pain struck. In my stomach, the cramping was so painful. And it wouldn’t let up. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong, but I was so scared for the baby. I remember vacuuming and setting eyes on the booties. Tears streaming down my face thinking, “but I want this baby."
I drove to the doctor by myself. Leaving Mr. A to stay with BC. I couldn’t imagine a small life could live in the middle of all the pain. The doctor sent me over straight away for an ultrasound.
To see if there was a heartbeat.
Please.
Be here.
The technician found my girl, “There’s the heartbeat, strong, healthy.”
And I could breathe.
I remember calling Mr. A.
Words fail you when the news is that important, that happy.
“There’s a heartbeat, the baby is alive.” His voice was overjoyed.
The pain never let up. Sometimes stronger, sometimes lighter. But always there. Between the doctor visits and the ridiculous number of ultrasounds I knew she was okay. Not stressed, judging from her heartbeat anyway. But in the center of this pain? How could it not be hurting her?
I prayed it was only me, please let it only be my pain.
I was on bed rest. The only thing that let up the pain a little towards the end was walking. And that was not allowed. Labor and Delivery knew us well. I walked out of there five times still pregnant. False labor. Then early labor.
I needed to see her.
I wanted her out of that nest of pain.
Again the labor pains started.
I couldn’t count how many times I dreamt of the beauty of the epidural. When I gave birth to BC, I had a beautiful epidural. His birth was easy, perfect and moving. I held him first, I cried with joy at the sight of him.
The pain would stop the minute the needle was settled in my spine. I would kiss the anesthesiologist on the lips when the numbness put an end to nine months of pain.
The doctor never told me she had no intention on giving me an epidural. I wanted to have a drug free birth about as much as I wanted to learn how to eat fire through the jiggler.
When we got to Labor and Delivery all my friends were there, joking about taking me to the suite with my name on it. Those poor women. They were so nice to me.
My Doctor was out of state, but traveling back to deliver my daughter. Hours into labor she showed up.
“You're six centimeters, I am going to stretch you to 10.”
And God bless her crazy ass, she did.
With every contraction.
If I could have gotten off the bed I would have killed her.
I screamed.
So very loud.
And so very much.
Later, after, Mr. A retold the story to me. I was out of my mind with pain. One of the nurses told me, “You're scaring the other mothers on this floor!”
Apparently, I went all exorcist on her and growled, “Get this thing out of me!” He knew I was in trouble, because I'd never refer to the baby as "thing." When, finally, she was born, she was whisked away by a team of doctors there just for her.
I was so relieved that they got her out of the way so I could finally get up and kill the doctor.
Time passed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. A smiling. I turned my head to see my daughter cradled in his arms. Miraculously, she was fine. She was doing so good he could hold her. And his smile was from ear to ear.
I was able to snap back from my reptilian brain to my human one.
“Can I hold her?”
Mr. the King looked up shocked, realizing the screaming had stopped.
He passed her to me.
All the worry.
All the pain.
She felt none of it.
She was a little red.
But she was here.
I got to have this baby.
The one I wanted.
I was so thankful.
**
I glanced at GC, sitting tall in her chair, hiding that smile. What a fun gift? Taking her to Cinderella’s castle for a beauty day!
BC is claiming the heart of his FGIT. He's so charming and sweet. She handles his hair and head like it is a delicate robin’s egg. She's making him smile again and again.
GC is in the next chair over. Her FGIT starts to put her hair in a ponytail. She winces, but hangs tough. I made sure she had no knots and was freshly brushed so the experience would be perfect. Her FGIT is not chatty, but not rude. She starts to brush the gel through GC’s hair. Everything is going well. Okay dokie. Mr. A is snapping pictures.
Grandma and I twitter with happiness. The kids are doing great.
BC’s hair is done, he has his “Big Reveal” It looks so awesome!!! What a cool hairstyle to walk around Disney in!
It was really cute. He marches out and waits with Grandpa in the waiting room.
GC’s FGIT has her pick her hairstyle, color of the wig, etc. She fluffs the blond wig out impressively. FGIT twists it onto GC’s hair. She hangs in there and does okay.
I feel relief. All done! The ponytail is in.
We're all set!
Then, FGIT pulls out a handful of bobby pins.
She actually resembles Edward Scissorhands with the way the pins poked ominously from between her fingers. Now if you have ever been a little girl, you know bobby pins sound cute and fun. But really they're little tentacles of the devil.
FGIT jams one into GC’s head. Seemingly straight down.
I watch her eyes and see shock.
She had no idea it was coming, facing away from the mirror the way she was. Another pin comes down and jams in. I speak up.
Me ~ ”Excuse me? Can we skip the rest of the bobby pins?” I said this real sweet. Nothing like the screaming in the Labor delivery room.
FGIT looked at me with disdain and disgust. Her lip curls up as she delivers this beauty:
”What? No, I have to hold it all in there!” She shakes her head ruefully while shooting me a dirty, chastising look.
I'm taken aback. I feel a slight blush in my cheeks.
Of course.
Holding it in.
There.
Then I think, "Huh?"
Shouldn’t she listen to me?
This is my kid?
I sit back quietly. I was being uppity. Pipe down. I’m In Disney for crap’s sake.
I watch with my beady eyes as the FGIT jams another pin in GC’s hair. She has an entire handful of these stinking things and it occurs to me they are all going in.
I watch GC’s reaction to the jamming. She curls her hands into little fists. And steals herself. Gone is the sweet smile she was holding back.
Another pin jams in. She flinches and her green eyes fill with tears. She says nothing, even though I know this is hurting her.
Me ~ ”Enough! She is getting ready to cry, you need to stop.”
I use my stern voice than. Not loud, but not quiet.
The FGIT looks at me. I think it is the first time she actually sees me. Pretty much nothing is scarier than when my mom eyes are angry.
I turn up the eyes meaner. I can see it dawn on her. She was out of line and should have listened to my request earlier.
She speaks only to GC now.
FGIT~“Is anything poking you?”
She can only nod, trying to keep herself from crying.
The FGIT starts to pull the pins out saying “Well sweetie, you have to speak up.”
Me ~” Please just don’t poke her with anything else.”
She wasn’t going to blame this on my girl.
FGIT continued on and GC seemed relieved and still enjoying the experience.
My mother whispers, “I am so glad you said something.”
I felt the same way. I was frustrated that this experience was now filled with tension. I stood up and folded my arms.
I watched the FGIT like a hawk. She teases the wig hair, being very careful not to touch PS’s hair.
I sit down. She got the message. She would be gentle from now on.
Next came the make up, the glitter.
The photopass person was called over for the big reveal. GC looked excited.
I compared GC to the other girls in the salon and realized she was missing her face jewels. I mentioned it to the FGIT.
And than I did the thing I felt a little tiny bit bad about afterward. Her excuse for forgetting the jewels was: “I was just so nervous about hurting her!”
And I said.... “I don’t blame you.”
That’s all I said. I probably should've said something nice afterwards, to try and put her at ease. For Pete’s sake I used the mom eyes on her. (I liken the experience to seeing the Terminator come at you with one of his eyes dangling out by a string but both still looking directly at you. Scary.) And that’s just not fair. She had no idea what she was dealing with and she did turn her act around.
So I should have thrown some nice words in there. But I did not want to give her any absolution.
She spins GC around. Her smile is priceless. She is so very special to herself in the mirror.
We make a big fuss, pay and leave with our two dolled up kids. The first thing we did afterward was ride Cinderella's Carousel. GC loved riding on one of those beautiful horses as Cinderella.
It is now close to 12:00. GC decides she would like to ride Dumbo
.
The line is not long. Shocking. Mr. A, BC, GC and I all get on line. Soon BC complains he needs to use the bathroom and they leave the line. Now waiting on the Dumbo ride line at noon in July can be a little bit hot. This particular day was a screaming squelching fireball with lightening. Even the short line was unbearable. GC is in her dress. She starts to tug at it. I promise we can change out of the dress as soon as Dumbo has dropped us off. I suggest getting off of the line, but she wants to ride.
We get on a yellow Dumbo. I look at my little green-eyed girl. She's so happy to be on her favorite color Dumbo. We start to laugh. We can see BC and Mr. A and BC waiting in line from high up.
When Dumbogrinds to a halt, I take GC to change her dress. She looks adorable in regular clothes and the fancy hairstyle. She's so hot. She begs to go over to the water play spot by Ariel’s line. Grandpa agrees to take her as I wait with Grandma for the boys.
It seems like our day had a bad moment, but it worked out well. We start to discuss our plans for the rest of the day.
Up Next: Princess down, I repeat, Princess down!!
It’s actually hard to start this chapter. I feel guilty about it. If you present things to kids in such a way, they are bound to say, “Yes." A few days before we left in the van I called on the off, off, off chance that there would be an appointment in the castle, for the one day that we were visiting the Magic Kingdom, in the morning in the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique.
Lucky me. They had an appointment! Such luck! And they could fit BC in as a “Cool Dude” appointment. I sat the kids down to ask if they wanted to participate. BC shrugs his shoulders and says, “Sure." What a kid. Gosh, it is so fun to be his mom. How many boys would be willing to walk into princess world to get their hair done? I could hug him forever. And I love the way his head smells. How did he get so big? Holding his hand is like holding a giant piece of steak, and yet, he lets me hold it. I have to work hard not to take the beauty of his soul for granted. He's amazing.
GC opens her big, blinky green eyes wide. I explain what the appointment entails. I warn her that she would have to get her hair manipulated. This is a conundrum for my little girl. Who quit dance lessons because being forced to wear the buns pissed her off.
When she was born with a huge head of hair, I rubbed my hands together like Doctor Evil. I happen to love playing with hair. GC’s hair grew in long luscious locks, beautiful curls spilling down her back. Every night we had a battle. She would be mad. I would plead. Eventually, she would let me brush out "the glory." The conditioner thick, the spray-on conditioner, detangler, with hands as soft as a butterfly’s wings, I'd work out the knots. And every once and a while I would peek at her lovely face. It would be squished up, frustrated with impatience.
That’s Why….
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. I'd have been less surprised if my dog started singing “Chocolate Rain” on You Tube in a thong. The surprise started in my toes and crawled up my legs all the way to my gapping, open mouth. My girl had snuck behind the couch with a pair of kiddie scissors and thoroughly, patiently cut off all her hair. I found her sitting in a pool of glorious curls that I had loved, but she despised.
Message received.
We marched to the salon and got my girl the shortest version of a bob I have ever seen. The hair dresser was a genius. Able to make the hair that was cut down to the scalp blend in with the longer pieces. I held her in my lap while the hair dresser cut my hair off too. Matching mother and daughter styles. My apology for making her endure the brushing she never liked.
We held hands on the way out. She was right. Short hair looked amazing on her. It grew to about shoulder length, where we have kept in ever since.
She hears my idea about the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique. She considers it. She decides she would like to be Cinderella. Grandma
had provided GC with a wide variety of Princess costumes. I pack all her accessories with our bags. Back to the castle, we peek around the back of the castle, and find the Boutique tucked in a Nook. I walk up to sign the kids in. I wait, smiling. Ahhh. Disney.
In Disney, the Anastasias are probably the most easy-going guests you can find. We're expecting the Disney attitude from the employees, but we understand that they're humans. We brought two of our own human/employees with us. So I was patient. Pleasant. As I waited at the sign in desk-ish thingy podium. After waiting a good chunk of time for the Fairy Godmothers to handle a problem with the lady in front of me. I checked the kids in. We have a seat, and pick out GC’s style. I think it was Diva princess. I looked at her face. Looking for the scissor face. Was she okay? She was glowing and excited. And regal.
A Fairy GodMother in Training (FGIT) called GC back. Another FGIT suggested that GC get dressed. No pressure to buy the expensive gowns. I walked with GC through the hair part to the dressing rooms. GC got excitedly into her gown. As we walk out to get her seated I see she is fighting back a smile. She crawls up into the chair and the FGIT welcomes her. All is going well.
Flashback**
When I found out I was having baby number two, she was planned. I must have taken 16 pregnancy tests. They would be so light, barley positive. I had heard the expression, “You can’t be a little pregnant.” But it seemed like I was just that, a little pregnant. I went out with a 2 year old BC and bought baby booties and a hat.
I was waiting for the first appointment when the pain struck. In my stomach, the cramping was so painful. And it wouldn’t let up. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong, but I was so scared for the baby. I remember vacuuming and setting eyes on the booties. Tears streaming down my face thinking, “but I want this baby."
I drove to the doctor by myself. Leaving Mr. A to stay with BC. I couldn’t imagine a small life could live in the middle of all the pain. The doctor sent me over straight away for an ultrasound.
To see if there was a heartbeat.
Please.
Be here.
The technician found my girl, “There’s the heartbeat, strong, healthy.”
And I could breathe.
I remember calling Mr. A.
Words fail you when the news is that important, that happy.
“There’s a heartbeat, the baby is alive.” His voice was overjoyed.
The pain never let up. Sometimes stronger, sometimes lighter. But always there. Between the doctor visits and the ridiculous number of ultrasounds I knew she was okay. Not stressed, judging from her heartbeat anyway. But in the center of this pain? How could it not be hurting her?
I prayed it was only me, please let it only be my pain.
I was on bed rest. The only thing that let up the pain a little towards the end was walking. And that was not allowed. Labor and Delivery knew us well. I walked out of there five times still pregnant. False labor. Then early labor.
I needed to see her.
I wanted her out of that nest of pain.
Again the labor pains started.
I couldn’t count how many times I dreamt of the beauty of the epidural. When I gave birth to BC, I had a beautiful epidural. His birth was easy, perfect and moving. I held him first, I cried with joy at the sight of him.
The pain would stop the minute the needle was settled in my spine. I would kiss the anesthesiologist on the lips when the numbness put an end to nine months of pain.
The doctor never told me she had no intention on giving me an epidural. I wanted to have a drug free birth about as much as I wanted to learn how to eat fire through the jiggler.
When we got to Labor and Delivery all my friends were there, joking about taking me to the suite with my name on it. Those poor women. They were so nice to me.
My Doctor was out of state, but traveling back to deliver my daughter. Hours into labor she showed up.
“You're six centimeters, I am going to stretch you to 10.”
And God bless her crazy ass, she did.
With every contraction.
If I could have gotten off the bed I would have killed her.
I screamed.
So very loud.
And so very much.
Later, after, Mr. A retold the story to me. I was out of my mind with pain. One of the nurses told me, “You're scaring the other mothers on this floor!”
Apparently, I went all exorcist on her and growled, “Get this thing out of me!” He knew I was in trouble, because I'd never refer to the baby as "thing." When, finally, she was born, she was whisked away by a team of doctors there just for her.
I was so relieved that they got her out of the way so I could finally get up and kill the doctor.
Time passed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. A smiling. I turned my head to see my daughter cradled in his arms. Miraculously, she was fine. She was doing so good he could hold her. And his smile was from ear to ear.
I was able to snap back from my reptilian brain to my human one.
“Can I hold her?”
Mr. the King looked up shocked, realizing the screaming had stopped.
He passed her to me.
All the worry.
All the pain.
She felt none of it.
She was a little red.
But she was here.
I got to have this baby.
The one I wanted.
I was so thankful.
**
I glanced at GC, sitting tall in her chair, hiding that smile. What a fun gift? Taking her to Cinderella’s castle for a beauty day!
BC is claiming the heart of his FGIT. He's so charming and sweet. She handles his hair and head like it is a delicate robin’s egg. She's making him smile again and again.
GC is in the next chair over. Her FGIT starts to put her hair in a ponytail. She winces, but hangs tough. I made sure she had no knots and was freshly brushed so the experience would be perfect. Her FGIT is not chatty, but not rude. She starts to brush the gel through GC’s hair. Everything is going well. Okay dokie. Mr. A is snapping pictures.
Grandma
and I twitter with happiness. The kids are doing great.BC’s hair is done, he has his “Big Reveal” It looks so awesome!!! What a cool hairstyle to walk around Disney in!
It was really cute. He marches out and waits with Grandpa in the waiting room.
GC’s FGIT has her pick her hairstyle, color of the wig, etc. She fluffs the blond wig out impressively. FGIT twists it onto GC’s hair. She hangs in there and does okay.
I feel relief. All done! The ponytail is in.
We're all set!
Then, FGIT pulls out a handful of bobby pins.
She actually resembles Edward Scissorhands with the way the pins poked ominously from between her fingers. Now if you have ever been a little girl, you know bobby pins sound cute and fun. But really they're little tentacles of the devil.
FGIT jams one into GC’s head. Seemingly straight down.
I watch her eyes and see shock.
She had no idea it was coming, facing away from the mirror the way she was. Another pin comes down and jams in. I speak up.
Me ~ ”Excuse me? Can we skip the rest of the bobby pins?” I said this real sweet. Nothing like the screaming in the Labor delivery room.
FGIT looked at me with disdain and disgust. Her lip curls up as she delivers this beauty:
”What? No, I have to hold it all in there!” She shakes her head ruefully while shooting me a dirty, chastising look.
I'm taken aback. I feel a slight blush in my cheeks.
Of course.
Holding it in.
There.
Then I think, "Huh?"
Shouldn’t she listen to me?
This is my kid?
I sit back quietly. I was being uppity. Pipe down. I’m In Disney for crap’s sake.
I watch with my beady eyes as the FGIT jams another pin in GC’s hair. She has an entire handful of these stinking things and it occurs to me they are all going in.
I watch GC’s reaction to the jamming. She curls her hands into little fists. And steals herself. Gone is the sweet smile she was holding back.
Another pin jams in. She flinches and her green eyes fill with tears. She says nothing, even though I know this is hurting her.
Me ~ ”Enough! She is getting ready to cry, you need to stop.”
I use my stern voice than. Not loud, but not quiet.
The FGIT looks at me. I think it is the first time she actually sees me. Pretty much nothing is scarier than when my mom eyes are angry.
I turn up the eyes meaner. I can see it dawn on her. She was out of line and should have listened to my request earlier.
She speaks only to GC now.
FGIT~“Is anything poking you?”
She can only nod, trying to keep herself from crying.
The FGIT starts to pull the pins out saying “Well sweetie, you have to speak up.”
Me ~” Please just don’t poke her with anything else.”
She wasn’t going to blame this on my girl.
FGIT continued on and GC seemed relieved and still enjoying the experience.
My mother
whispers, “I am so glad you said something.”I felt the same way. I was frustrated that this experience was now filled with tension. I stood up and folded my arms.
I watched the FGIT like a hawk. She teases the wig hair, being very careful not to touch PS’s hair.
I sit down. She got the message. She would be gentle from now on.
Next came the make up, the glitter.
The photopass person was called over for the big reveal. GC looked excited.
I compared GC to the other girls in the salon and realized she was missing her face jewels. I mentioned it to the FGIT.
And than I did the thing I felt a little tiny bit bad about afterward. Her excuse for forgetting the jewels was: “I was just so nervous about hurting her!”
And I said.... “I don’t blame you.”
That’s all I said. I probably should've said something nice afterwards, to try and put her at ease. For Pete’s sake I used the mom eyes on her. (I liken the experience to seeing the Terminator come at you with one of his eyes dangling out by a string but both still looking directly at you. Scary.) And that’s just not fair. She had no idea what she was dealing with and she did turn her act around.
So I should have thrown some nice words in there. But I did not want to give her any absolution.
She spins GC around. Her smile is priceless. She is so very special to herself in the mirror.
We make a big fuss, pay and leave with our two dolled up kids. The first thing we did afterward was ride Cinderella's Carousel. GC loved riding on one of those beautiful horses as Cinderella.
It is now close to 12:00. GC decides she would like to ride Dumbo
. The line is not long. Shocking. Mr. A, BC, GC and I all get on line. Soon BC complains he needs to use the bathroom and they leave the line. Now waiting on the Dumbo
ride line at noon in July can be a little bit hot. This particular day was a screaming squelching fireball with lightening. Even the short line was unbearable. GC is in her dress. She starts to tug at it. I promise we can change out of the dress as soon as Dumbo has dropped us off. I suggest getting off of the line, but she wants to ride. We get on a yellow Dumbo
. I look at my little green-eyed girl. She's so happy to be on her favorite color Dumbo. We start to laugh. We can see BC and Mr. A and BC waiting in line from high up. When Dumbo
grinds to a halt, I take GC to change her dress. She looks adorable in regular clothes and the fancy hairstyle. She's so hot. She begs to go over to the water play spot by Ariel’s line. Grandpa agrees to take her as I wait with Grandma for the boys.It seems like our day had a bad moment, but it worked out well. We start to discuss our plans for the rest of the day.
Up Next: Princess down, I repeat, Princess down!!
August 8, 2012
Endless Days of Literary Ecstasy: Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia
Endless Days of Literary Ecstasy: Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia: Title: Poughkeepsie Author: Debra Anastasia Publisher: Omnific Publishing Published Date: November 18, 2011 Format: Paperback ...
August 6, 2012
Joining the Tattoo Club!
Hey Guys!
I'm thrilled today to interview Louise Fisher on the blog. Louise is a kick ass reader who is my hero because she got the actual Poughkeepsie tattoo on her actual body!!
How amazing is that? Check out the ink on her arm!
Debra Anastasia: You must be an exceptionally sensitive soul to allow words to so thoroughly touch you! What does your new tattoo signify for you?
Louise Fisher: This tattoo signifies to me the bond and courage Blake, Cole and Beckett had, and the will to survive. You can be down on your luck and have nothing and still be happy. A few years ago, we went through a bad time, we had very little money coming in, no home, I had depression after the traimatising birth of my son on Christmas day. I hit rock bottom and literally wanted to take my own life if I hadn't finally spoke out and got help. You do not need money or expensive material things in life all you need is your family and I have a beautiful boy and loving partner. Getting this tattoo, I had to honor the brothers, no matter what they protect and look out for each other... That better than any money. (You get it, Louise. When a writer and a reader connect like this I feel like we toast our imaginations like champagne glasses. I am so very glad that you fought your way to the other side of the depression, you are so important.)
DA: Tell me about your tattoo parlor experience. I’m considering one myself (go Pough!) so I’d love to know how it went?
LF: I love going to my tattoo parlor, Paul is my artist, I've known him since I was a teenager. So we joke around and have a laugh whilst listening to music, he is an amazing talented artist (He made me say that) He is the only artist I will go to and trust. You need that in a tattoo artist, you need to feel comfortable and at ease with them and certainly never be afraid to ask them questions. In no way should they ever make you feel uncomfortable. It's hard to explain what it feels like to be tattooed, I'd say the first few minutes are a killer then you get used to it, its like a burning scratch really and I love it! (I'm going to have to let you know if I have love at first needle. Isn't the Poughkeepsie design insane? Miss Shannon Lumetta worked that out.)
DA: How does it feel to be so freaking awesome?
LF: Pretty cool actually and this tattoo is certainly helping me sell your 'Poughkeepsie' book. I like people admiring and asking me questions about my tattoos but there is also a downside. There are still narrow minded people out there. I was told by an old lady at Christmas that I was going to hell and how nice it was for the bookshop I work for to give me a job! I've worked there for 12 years. It's disgusting how people think sometimes, just because I have tattoos doesn't change who I am. (Thank God I wasn't standing behind that old lady or those words would be the last thing she said with her real teeth.)
DA: What is your favorite song, color, and holiday?
LF: My favorite song of all time has to be 'The Gambler' by Kenny Rogers.
My favorite color is black (sorry.)I haven't been on holiday since our son was born but I would still love to visit America, I'd quite like to see Wyoming. (Listening to this song now! Awesome, haven't heard it in a while. America would be honored to have you, I speak for us all.)
DA: Tell me about your other tattoos?
LF: All together I have 22 tattoos, here's a run down:Back : Big angel wings and Dean Winchesters demon face. (I am a huge Jensen Ackles fan!)Neck : left side- rosary cross
Right side - Zombie faceChest : left side - My 'Devils Pentagram' book symbol.
Right side - Boondocks saints rosary cross.Left arm : Big grim reaper, a few skulls and demons dotted around. Poughkeepsie!!! My sons name and DOB. 'Non timebo mala', a devils pentagram. 'supernatural'. A big 'my bloody Valentine' movie cover.Right arm : Two grim reapers, pentagram, angel wings, a devils pentagram to match the left one, wooden cross, X5-494. A big face of a gothic looking girl in a hood with a chain around her neck (From the band 'Disturbed'). (You are tremendously bad ass. Thank you so very much for taking Poughkeeepsie into your heart and your skin, Louise.)
Aren't you so impressed with my girl? I am such a huge fan! Thanks again Louise for dropping by.
I'm thrilled today to interview Louise Fisher on the blog. Louise is a kick ass reader who is my hero because she got the actual Poughkeepsie tattoo on her actual body!!
How amazing is that? Check out the ink on her arm!
Debra Anastasia: You must be an exceptionally sensitive soul to allow words to so thoroughly touch you! What does your new tattoo signify for you?
Louise Fisher: This tattoo signifies to me the bond and courage Blake, Cole and Beckett had, and the will to survive. You can be down on your luck and have nothing and still be happy. A few years ago, we went through a bad time, we had very little money coming in, no home, I had depression after the traimatising birth of my son on Christmas day. I hit rock bottom and literally wanted to take my own life if I hadn't finally spoke out and got help. You do not need money or expensive material things in life all you need is your family and I have a beautiful boy and loving partner. Getting this tattoo, I had to honor the brothers, no matter what they protect and look out for each other... That better than any money. (You get it, Louise. When a writer and a reader connect like this I feel like we toast our imaginations like champagne glasses. I am so very glad that you fought your way to the other side of the depression, you are so important.)
DA: Tell me about your tattoo parlor experience. I’m considering one myself (go Pough!) so I’d love to know how it went?
LF: I love going to my tattoo parlor, Paul is my artist, I've known him since I was a teenager. So we joke around and have a laugh whilst listening to music, he is an amazing talented artist (He made me say that) He is the only artist I will go to and trust. You need that in a tattoo artist, you need to feel comfortable and at ease with them and certainly never be afraid to ask them questions. In no way should they ever make you feel uncomfortable. It's hard to explain what it feels like to be tattooed, I'd say the first few minutes are a killer then you get used to it, its like a burning scratch really and I love it! (I'm going to have to let you know if I have love at first needle. Isn't the Poughkeepsie design insane? Miss Shannon Lumetta worked that out.)
DA: How does it feel to be so freaking awesome?
LF: Pretty cool actually and this tattoo is certainly helping me sell your 'Poughkeepsie' book. I like people admiring and asking me questions about my tattoos but there is also a downside. There are still narrow minded people out there. I was told by an old lady at Christmas that I was going to hell and how nice it was for the bookshop I work for to give me a job! I've worked there for 12 years. It's disgusting how people think sometimes, just because I have tattoos doesn't change who I am. (Thank God I wasn't standing behind that old lady or those words would be the last thing she said with her real teeth.)
DA: What is your favorite song, color, and holiday?
LF: My favorite song of all time has to be 'The Gambler' by Kenny Rogers.
My favorite color is black (sorry.)I haven't been on holiday since our son was born but I would still love to visit America, I'd quite like to see Wyoming. (Listening to this song now! Awesome, haven't heard it in a while. America would be honored to have you, I speak for us all.)
DA: Tell me about your other tattoos?
LF: All together I have 22 tattoos, here's a run down:Back : Big angel wings and Dean Winchesters demon face. (I am a huge Jensen Ackles fan!)Neck : left side- rosary cross
Right side - Zombie faceChest : left side - My 'Devils Pentagram' book symbol.
Right side - Boondocks saints rosary cross.Left arm : Big grim reaper, a few skulls and demons dotted around. Poughkeepsie!!! My sons name and DOB. 'Non timebo mala', a devils pentagram. 'supernatural'. A big 'my bloody Valentine' movie cover.Right arm : Two grim reapers, pentagram, angel wings, a devils pentagram to match the left one, wooden cross, X5-494. A big face of a gothic looking girl in a hood with a chain around her neck (From the band 'Disturbed'). (You are tremendously bad ass. Thank you so very much for taking Poughkeeepsie into your heart and your skin, Louise.)
Aren't you so impressed with my girl? I am such a huge fan! Thanks again Louise for dropping by.
July 27, 2012
CeCe's Reading and Writing Safari: My Friday Fantastic: Debra Anastasia
CeCe's Reading and Writing Safari: My Friday Fantastic: Debra Anastasia: It's Friday, Yay! It's been quite a week, and I am grateful the weekend is finally here. Today I'm really honoured to have Debra Anastas...
July 26, 2012
Sweet Mother of Fudge Chapter 6
Chapter solid 6
(PS, this trip report was written back when Angelina's twins were first born! I'm currently writing a new trip report that is in the current time period.)
Ahhh. The last crispy ends of real summer. It’s like chewing the fried batter off the non-edible parts of the chicken breast. Yummy. But it won’t last forever.
I want to keep my kids from school. I never want to send them back. When they leave for the day it feels like my heart is draining like a bathtub. Nothing but ominous curly hairs left over.
The fall can pound salt, as far as I am concerned. I've bought, no joke 47 boxes of .22 cent crayons at Wal-mart. I can’t stop myself from buying the crayons.
A few days before we left for Disney I was folding clothes,
watching the E! channel. There was a news break, regarding Angelina Jolie and her babies.
“We're interrupting your programming to give you an update from Angelina’s Doctor in France LIVE!”
The Doctor begins speaking to the reporters in French. The E! channel had obviously not counted on this stumbling block. They continued to broadcast the Doctor without a translator. I couldn’t believe it!
After all this time.
Finally.
In High School I decided to take French as a second language. I thought it sounded so chic. Turns out I have problems. With the French. Actually, I can't understand any accented speech whatsoever. If your everyday talking is more spicy than say, Mr. Rogers, my brain puts you on mute. I just watch your lips move.
I can’t remember names and suck at memorizing. So this all made French hard for me. I took three years of Regents level French. The only word I knew cold going into the oral final exam was “coqueluche.” I thought it was hysterical that our screamingly old text books still had “whooping cough” listed as a vocab word. I was pretty sure that the malady of whooping cough had been vaccinated out of existence in 1913. So I would use it on my friends suffering through French class as a joke.
Really it was my only French joke. Well that and “tamponeux." Which I can’t remember what that word translates to, but it was an obvious joke.
Anyway, back to my oral exam. The French teacher pulled me into the hallway. I was so scared. Gosh, I was horrible at this subject. She knew me well enough to speak her part of the conversation in the slowest, non-accented French she could.
Teacher ~“Vous êtes dans le bureau du médecin, expliquer ce qui vous dérange?"
"You are in a Doctor's office, explain what is bothering you?"
(I couldn't believe my luck!)
Me~ "Eh bien, mon mal de gorge."
"Well, my throat hurts"
Teacher ~ "Que pensez-vous est faux?"
"What do you think is wrong?"
Me ~ "Je pense avoir la coqueluche!"
"I think I have whooping cough!"
I wound up getting an A on that oral exam and passed my final because of it. The last day all the French I was hanging onto dropped out of my head like a hot potato. I was done. All done.
I started college and decided to change to a different school after two years. As I was arranging my new schedule all my credits transferred like a dream. Except I was missing one small credit. I needed a second language. And because I had a regents diploma I would be required to take the moderate level French. Even though I had my Mr. Rogers problem and only passed by the skin of my whooping cough-flavored teeth. And moderate French is two semesters. Of course.
So I plunged into the French world. I hired a tutor. I studied all the time. After two semesters I squeaked out with a B. I was proud. Please hold your applause.
(BTW I graduated with a degree in Political science, determined to be a lawyer, until I found out that they scoop your soul out and replace it with an overactive bowel.)
So I had kids. Never touching my French with a stick. Letting it rot.
But Angelina Joile and the E! channel had given me my moment to shine.
I listened intently. I was able to piece together this information
“The mother and babies are good. The babies are eating the cheese. We are trying to stop the babies from eating the cheese.”
Well, that can’t be right. So that’s that. I don’t even remember where I was going with this story. I should have saved it and busted out this freaky little mess in the world showcase part of the trip report.
Where was I in the story? Was this the Potty chapter? No, not yet!
We were dressed and ready. To go to the Magic Kingdom. We trudge over to the van. We almost always drive to the parks. Today we pile in and drive to Ticket and Transportation. We got to park in Minnie, we were so close. Until you realize that walking from Minnie takes longer than grabbing the tram. And of course, the kids’ favorite ride in Disney is the tram.
We make the time honored choice. Ferry or Monorail? What a wonderful decision to have to make.
Usually, we are ferry fans for the first ride. But, surprisingly, the kids picked the monorail. I think they felt gypped by Minnie Mouse holding the tram hostage.
We settle into our Monorail car. Mr. A snaps away with his camera.
The kids score window seats. And we are off. To my castle.
After getting through security and heading in the early breakfast line, we were there on Main Street. We're rushing now because our ADR’s are for 8:30am and it was 8:25. No time to get the dream picture taken (Should have risked it!)
So instead of the photopass guy taking our picture. We took his.
Not nearly as satisfying.
We get seated almost immediately at Crystal Palace. We can see some of our friends, Pooh, Eyeore, but they are just past our table. The waitress tells us to take our time getting our food, they won’t be back for a while.
Grandpa regales us with tales of being a character greeter.
Grandpa~ “When I used to bring Piglet here to the Crystal Palace, I used to say, ‘Come on Piglet, they're running out of bacon.’ boy how he would shake.”
Grandpa’s got a sick sense of humor.
We all got up to get some food. From our super fantastic DEEP. I could not wait to set BC loose on a buffet. The child, when home never stops eating. He is mostly a meatatarian. We have to cook him his very own steak at home when we make it for dinner. His favorite snack is deli sliced turkey.
He loads up his plate. I load up a plate. I felt a little guilty. There was such a long line at the buffet. The food I wanted was vacant. Should I wait in line for the food that was available? Mr. A had bumped to the front, got what he needed and moved on.
I had my inner dilemma and then grabbed what I needed. Get back to the table. GC wants something else, go back up with her. Should I line jump again? She wants none of the first grouping of food. I jump again. The angst. Oh well.
Get back to the table. BC is sitting all slumped over pouting at his plate. Who is this child? He has bacon? Why is he not eating?
GC is not eating either. All the adults suck down the tasty offerings. The restaurant is very pretty on the inside and our server was full of Disney happiness. She kept coming back to ask the kids how they were doing.
First up for the kids was the parade. How adorable! I was happy BC was willing to march with GC.
Next up Pooh came to the table. GC runs to him and gives him a sweet hug. BC goes in for a hug as well. He's getting bigger, I wasn’t sure if he would go for the characters anymore. I should have known better. He's so easy going and always up for fun.
Tigger bounced over. I just love that striped guy.
Piglet waddled over. Grandpa decided to torment his favorite pig.
After snapping a picture, Grandpa said, “Wait, I need to take that one again Piglet, you blinked.”
Piglet stood for the second picture. Grandpa is part evil.
Last, was mopey Eyeore. We snuggled him up and wished him good luck with his gloomy day.
And our first DEEP was over. The kids touched very little food.
“Probably too early for them,” all the adults murmured to each other.
Our BBB appointment is for 10:25am, so we head in that direction. We stumble upon the dream show in front of the castle. And This is the first time it happened to me.
I was quite shocked. While watching the show, I looked around me. There was Grandpa, free of cancer, hand on GC’s head. Grandma, finally content, she can hug her grandchildren (when she can physically touch them, she can actually breathe, if they are far away, she's just faking it).
Mr. A, so very happy, in his favorite place in the world. The kids, looking at the stage, enchanted by this show. That’s Disney, you can just happen upon dancing animals, princesses and fireworks. So much better than shopping in Wal-Mart for my Crisco.
And yet despite the careful choreographing of making all my dreams come true, I realize Disney is not about what I'm seeing. It is about who I'm with.
The time to see the faces your heart holds dear for long periods of time. No pesky daily grind to take you away. No chores clouding the sweet voices describing something, anything to you with dancing eyes. You can hear them. Your eyes never leave your sons face while they tell a story. You can wrap your arms around your daughter and feel her sharp intake of breath when she sees Mickey and Minnie dancing for her.
I also realize that this year has been trying for the Anastasias. We have faced some things we never thought we would. And we made it out the other side.
So every time the word “Dreams” is sung by our favorite characters. I bust a tear. The whole freaking show is about Dreams. Mickey is blinking, talking and saying, “Dreams.”
More crying. And not that perfect, attractive tear sliding down one cheek like some women (and Ronald McDonald) can pull off.
And I'm going to cry a snorf horfaling, chin dimpling, snot leaking, blubberfeast. In broad daylight. My sunglasses are large.
So I try to contain the cry.
To just my eyes.
I try looking everywhere else but the stage.
No luck. I think the script for that show goes something like this:
Mickey ~ “Believe in your Dreams”
Minnie ~ “Dreams do come true if you Dream really hard”
Donald ~ “I am Dreaming my ass off, about Dreaming in my Dreams.”
Damn it.
BC says ~ “Mom are you choking on a little bit of left over Piglet?”
I hear ~ “ Mom are you Dream choking on a little Dream of left over Dream?”
The chin dimpling has crossed over to full lip pout involvement.
The word Dream is attached to my tear duct.
Finally, Goofy blows himself up dreaming or something like that and I pull myself together. I grab my dear family. Dreams do come true. We are here. Together. And I'm loving it. We head over to where we think BBB is. On our way we found the Fairy godmother.
This Fairy godmother was really bossy and not that friendly. She brushed me off when I mentioned that GC was about to be turned into Cinderella. Which surprised me.
And should've learned me a lesson about the mojo change in the atmosphere. But I'm hard headed and stubborn. I don’t pay attention to fates and signs (or bad DIS reviews). I play it my way.
Up next: Mrs. The King brings a little bit of The Bronx to BBB.
(PS, this trip report was written back when Angelina's twins were first born! I'm currently writing a new trip report that is in the current time period.)
Ahhh. The last crispy ends of real summer. It’s like chewing the fried batter off the non-edible parts of the chicken breast. Yummy. But it won’t last forever.
I want to keep my kids from school. I never want to send them back. When they leave for the day it feels like my heart is draining like a bathtub. Nothing but ominous curly hairs left over.
The fall can pound salt, as far as I am concerned. I've bought, no joke 47 boxes of .22 cent crayons at Wal-mart. I can’t stop myself from buying the crayons.
A few days before we left for Disney I was folding clothes,
watching the E! channel. There was a news break, regarding Angelina Jolie and her babies. “We're interrupting your programming to give you an update from Angelina’s Doctor in France LIVE!”
The Doctor begins speaking to the reporters in French. The E! channel had obviously not counted on this stumbling block. They continued to broadcast the Doctor without a translator. I couldn’t believe it!
After all this time.
Finally.
In High School I decided to take French as a second language. I thought it sounded so chic. Turns out I have problems. With the French. Actually, I can't understand any accented speech whatsoever. If your everyday talking is more spicy than say, Mr. Rogers, my brain puts you on mute. I just watch your lips move.
I can’t remember names and suck at memorizing. So this all made French hard for me. I took three years of Regents level French. The only word I knew cold going into the oral final exam was “coqueluche.” I thought it was hysterical that our screamingly old text books still had “whooping cough” listed as a vocab word. I was pretty sure that the malady of whooping cough had been vaccinated out of existence in 1913. So I would use it on my friends suffering through French class as a joke.
Really it was my only French joke. Well that and “tamponeux." Which I can’t remember what that word translates to, but it was an obvious joke.
Anyway, back to my oral exam. The French teacher pulled me into the hallway. I was so scared. Gosh, I was horrible at this subject. She knew me well enough to speak her part of the conversation in the slowest, non-accented French she could.
Teacher ~“Vous êtes dans le bureau du médecin, expliquer ce qui vous dérange?"
"You are in a Doctor's office, explain what is bothering you?"
(I couldn't believe my luck!)
Me~ "Eh bien, mon mal de gorge."
"Well, my throat hurts"
Teacher ~ "Que pensez-vous est faux?"
"What do you think is wrong?"
Me ~ "Je pense avoir la coqueluche!"
"I think I have whooping cough!"
I wound up getting an A on that oral exam and passed my final because of it. The last day all the French I was hanging onto dropped out of my head like a hot potato. I was done. All done.
I started college and decided to change to a different school after two years. As I was arranging my new schedule all my credits transferred like a dream. Except I was missing one small credit. I needed a second language. And because I had a regents diploma I would be required to take the moderate level French. Even though I had my Mr. Rogers problem and only passed by the skin of my whooping cough-flavored teeth. And moderate French is two semesters. Of course.
So I plunged into the French world. I hired a tutor. I studied all the time. After two semesters I squeaked out with a B. I was proud. Please hold your applause.
(BTW I graduated with a degree in Political science, determined to be a lawyer, until I found out that they scoop your soul out and replace it with an overactive bowel.)
So I had kids. Never touching my French with a stick. Letting it rot.
But Angelina Joile and the E! channel had given me my moment to shine.
I listened intently. I was able to piece together this information
“The mother and babies are good. The babies are eating the cheese. We are trying to stop the babies from eating the cheese.”
Well, that can’t be right. So that’s that. I don’t even remember where I was going with this story. I should have saved it and busted out this freaky little mess in the world showcase part of the trip report.
Where was I in the story? Was this the Potty chapter? No, not yet!
We were dressed and ready. To go to the Magic Kingdom. We trudge over to the van. We almost always drive to the parks. Today we pile in and drive to Ticket and Transportation. We got to park in Minnie, we were so close. Until you realize that walking from Minnie takes longer than grabbing the tram. And of course, the kids’ favorite ride in Disney is the tram.
We make the time honored choice. Ferry or Monorail? What a wonderful decision to have to make.
Usually, we are ferry fans for the first ride. But, surprisingly, the kids picked the monorail. I think they felt gypped by Minnie Mouse holding the tram hostage.
We settle into our Monorail car. Mr. A snaps away with his camera.
The kids score window seats. And we are off. To my castle.
After getting through security and heading in the early breakfast line, we were there on Main Street. We're rushing now because our ADR’s are for 8:30am and it was 8:25. No time to get the dream picture taken (Should have risked it!)
So instead of the photopass guy taking our picture. We took his.
Not nearly as satisfying.
We get seated almost immediately at Crystal Palace. We can see some of our friends, Pooh, Eyeore, but they are just past our table. The waitress tells us to take our time getting our food, they won’t be back for a while.
Grandpa regales us with tales of being a character greeter.
Grandpa~ “When I used to bring Piglet here to the Crystal Palace, I used to say, ‘Come on Piglet, they're running out of bacon.’ boy how he would shake.”
Grandpa’s got a sick sense of humor.
We all got up to get some food. From our super fantastic DEEP. I could not wait to set BC loose on a buffet. The child, when home never stops eating. He is mostly a meatatarian. We have to cook him his very own steak at home when we make it for dinner. His favorite snack is deli sliced turkey.
He loads up his plate. I load up a plate. I felt a little guilty. There was such a long line at the buffet. The food I wanted was vacant. Should I wait in line for the food that was available? Mr. A had bumped to the front, got what he needed and moved on.
I had my inner dilemma and then grabbed what I needed. Get back to the table. GC wants something else, go back up with her. Should I line jump again? She wants none of the first grouping of food. I jump again. The angst. Oh well.
Get back to the table. BC is sitting all slumped over pouting at his plate. Who is this child? He has bacon? Why is he not eating?
GC is not eating either. All the adults suck down the tasty offerings. The restaurant is very pretty on the inside and our server was full of Disney happiness. She kept coming back to ask the kids how they were doing.
First up for the kids was the parade. How adorable! I was happy BC was willing to march with GC.
Next up Pooh came to the table. GC runs to him and gives him a sweet hug. BC goes in for a hug as well. He's getting bigger, I wasn’t sure if he would go for the characters anymore. I should have known better. He's so easy going and always up for fun.
Tigger bounced over. I just love that striped guy.
Piglet waddled over. Grandpa decided to torment his favorite pig.
After snapping a picture, Grandpa said, “Wait, I need to take that one again Piglet, you blinked.”
Piglet stood for the second picture. Grandpa is part evil.
Last, was mopey Eyeore. We snuggled him up and wished him good luck with his gloomy day.
And our first DEEP was over. The kids touched very little food.
“Probably too early for them,” all the adults murmured to each other.
Our BBB appointment is for 10:25am, so we head in that direction. We stumble upon the dream show in front of the castle. And This is the first time it happened to me.
I was quite shocked. While watching the show, I looked around me. There was Grandpa, free of cancer, hand on GC’s head. Grandma
, finally content, she can hug her grandchildren (when she can physically touch them, she can actually breathe, if they are far away, she's just faking it). Mr. A, so very happy, in his favorite place in the world. The kids, looking at the stage, enchanted by this show. That’s Disney, you can just happen upon dancing animals, princesses and fireworks. So much better than shopping in Wal-Mart for my Crisco.
And yet despite the careful choreographing of making all my dreams come true, I realize Disney is not about what I'm seeing. It is about who I'm with.
The time to see the faces your heart holds dear for long periods of time. No pesky daily grind to take you away. No chores clouding the sweet voices describing something, anything to you with dancing eyes. You can hear them. Your eyes never leave your sons face while they tell a story. You can wrap your arms around your daughter and feel her sharp intake of breath when she sees Mickey and Minnie dancing for her.
I also realize that this year has been trying for the Anastasias. We have faced some things we never thought we would. And we made it out the other side.
So every time the word “Dreams” is sung by our favorite characters. I bust a tear. The whole freaking show is about Dreams. Mickey is blinking, talking and saying, “Dreams.”
More crying. And not that perfect, attractive tear sliding down one cheek like some women (and Ronald McDonald) can pull off.
And I'm going to cry a snorf horfaling, chin dimpling, snot leaking, blubberfeast. In broad daylight. My sunglasses are large.
So I try to contain the cry.
To just my eyes.
I try looking everywhere else but the stage.
No luck. I think the script for that show goes something like this:
Mickey ~ “Believe in your Dreams”
Minnie ~ “Dreams do come true if you Dream really hard”
Donald ~ “I am Dreaming my ass off, about Dreaming in my Dreams.”
Damn it.
BC says ~ “Mom are you choking on a little bit of left over Piglet?”
I hear ~ “ Mom are you Dream choking on a little Dream of left over Dream?”
The chin dimpling has crossed over to full lip pout involvement.
The word Dream is attached to my tear duct.
Finally, Goofy blows himself up dreaming or something like that and I pull myself together. I grab my dear family. Dreams do come true. We are here. Together. And I'm loving it. We head over to where we think BBB is. On our way we found the Fairy godmother.
This Fairy godmother was really bossy and not that friendly. She brushed me off when I mentioned that GC was about to be turned into Cinderella. Which surprised me.
And should've learned me a lesson about the mojo change in the atmosphere. But I'm hard headed and stubborn. I don’t pay attention to fates and signs (or bad DIS reviews). I play it my way.
Up next: Mrs. The King brings a little bit of The Bronx to BBB.
Romantic Reading Escapes: (Review) Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia
Romantic Reading Escapes: (Review) Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia: 1....286....1026.... Goodreads Review: He counts her smiles every day and night at the train station. And morning and evening, th...
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