Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

Alexis' sole reason for deciding to finally walk when she was 13-months old was that it brought her one step closer to jumping. She's a jumper. A bouncer. A hippity hoppity make me crazity leaper. Her foray as a wandering toddler who refused to stay with her parental units in public was pretty short, as she quickly figured out that if she holds hands with an adult, she can use them as a tool of mass jumpstruction.

If Alexis has one parental unit to use and abuse, she grabs hold of your hand very tightly, yanking one of your shoulders down a good three inches, and leaps. And jumps. And uses her upper body strength to improve her high jump. If she's got two parents with her ALL THE BETTER TO CRIPPLE YOU. She adds a little Rockettes routine to her high jumps and long jumps.

It makes me crazy.

If I had a dollar for every time I have told the kid to "walk nice," I would have enough money to pay back all the bonuses that went to AIG executives. And some spare change.

If I had a dollar for every time I told Alexis to "walk nice" the first day we were at Disney World, we would now own Disney World. Right about now my supreme rule over all matters Mouse would have Minnie living in the Polynesian and getting counseling so she would leave the Dirty Rat once and for all.

I don't know why I repeatedly nag Alexis; it does absolutely no good whatsoever.

But! I figured out something that does work! It's totally Mother of the Year material, too.

It happened purely by accident. Alexis was walking like a jerk, as usual, and I realized that my finger that she had been yanking on all day long was throbby and hurty and really not happy. I looked at it . . . and found that I was getting a BLISTER.

Your kid should not have the power to give you a blister.

I got super-annoyed. So annoyed that I didn't really think before I said the words that will surely come back to haunt me. "Alexis, if you don't walk nice, the birds are going to get you."

Oh, yes. I resorted to exploiting the kid's fear of birds for my own personal benefit.

Hell if it didn't work, too. Every time a sCaAaRy bird would fly or walk too close to Alexis, I would tell her the bird was checking to make sure she was walking nice. She bought it hook, line, and sinker. She walked nice (mostly) the rest of the week.

Alexis, darling, I'm sorry to have used the bird thing against you like that. Go ahead and send me the bill for all the therapy you're going to need to get over it. I owe you that much.

Just a Little Suggestion

While some may think that I'm shilling for Disney (yes, you-know-who-you-are, I have received your crappy emails--I can delete them just as fast as you can send them), I do have one complaint. (Well, OK, two complaints. First, where's my free four-day park hopper pass? Wasn't that part of the deal? Errr . . . never mind.) My only complaint is that Disney? NEEDS TO GET SOME DAMN COFFEE.

OK, not coffee per se. Rather, those foofy caffeinated drinks that contain 90% milk, 8% sugary goodness, and 2% coffee. Those things.

Sure, you can buy an iced cappuccino in Epcot, but it'll taste like goat butt. It won't cost you quite as much as Starbucks (shocking, I know), but it will taste so bad that even your sleep-deprived, caffeine-desperate body will be like "NOOOOO! Don't drink it!"

Every park we went to, I searched for some sort of iced coffee drink. It was 80+ degrees out, and I'm going on four solid years without a decent nights sleep. Finding icy caffeine was a survival instinct.

I nearly died.

The only thing that saved me from certain death was managing to stumble into the McDonald's at Downtown Disney where the very kind employees took pity on my dying body and poured an iced vanilla latte down my throat. If it weren't for them? Well, I don't want to think about what could have happened. That iced latte was so fantastic that I was forced to make out with it. Tongue and all.

Making out with McDonald's coffee is like dreaming about Brad Pitt, but settling for Brad Garrett. Not right.

So, Disney, how about you call up Starbucks and make a deal? Let them speed-construct a little store on every corner. They can charge way too much for their caffeine-y goodness and I'll happily pay too much. Survival is dependent on it.

So Much for Being 100 % Pure Girlie Girl

You might think I would be done with Disney posts, considering we've already been back home for a few days. You would be wrong. I have always openly admitted this is a narcissistic little blog, and I still have things I want to document about the trip. Feel free to click away if you are sick of the Pixie Dust and Mouse ears. :-)

*******************************************************************************

As we strolled through Disney studios, Alexis spotted a familiar sight. "I want a tutu!" she declared.

A "tutu" is a tattoo. I could correct her pronunciation, but what fun would that be?

Mr. Husband and I peered around until we found what she was referring to--a little cart manned by a lone woman and her temporary tattoos. We glanced at the prices and figured what the hell? She hadn't managed to talk us into any toys or clothes at that point, so $6 seemed like we might just be getting off easy.

We informed the short person that she would have to pick one, and only one, tattoo. There were literally hundreds to choose from--everything from generic Bulldogs, skulls, and lightening bolts to Disney's entire cast of characters. She looked at the princesses, and carefully declared that she wanted the Mermaid. Then she spotted a bunch of Mickey and Minnie tats and said, "Wait!" She slowly studied them all before settling on the one of Minnie wearing a pink princess dress. Then she realized there was a whole other side to the cart, with literally hundreds more to choose from.

Mr. Husband and I stood back and let the kid continue with her declarations of, "I want that one!" which was always followed by, "No, I want that one!" Over and over and over. And over.

Then she saw it.

THE one.

Violet.

Alexis' current favorite Disney movie is The Incredibles, and Violet is a rock star in her eyes. I asked everywhere about finding a "real" Violet for Alexis to meet, but unfortunately the only appearances Violet makes in any of the parks is the invisible type. It seemed that a Violet tattoo was almost as good as spotting the real thing from 500 feet, especially considering Alexis would certainly freak the heck out if she got too close.

Alexis sat veeeeeery still as the tattoo artist applied the tattoo. More still than anything I've ever seen. I'm sure she was having some sort of inner dialogue about how she didn't want to be near the stranger, but she really wanted Violet on her arm. She probably figured if she stayed still enough, she would be invisible just like Violet.



When it was done, Alexis looked at her arm and grinned another one of those Disney magic-induced grins.



As we resumed our tour of MGM (you can't make me call it Disney Studios, dammit), Alexis kept glancing down at her arm to admire Violet. I would tell you how many times she crashed into poles, people, or plants, but I lost count at about ten. Seriously. The kid just couldn't stop admiring her Violet tattoo.



When she pulled her arm to her lips to give Violet a kiss, I got a little worried. I don't really need to try to explain to my 3-year old why she can't have a REAL Violet tattoo. I think we'll leave the permanent skin alteration battles for the teen years, thankyouverymuch.

And yet, a few days later, I found myself wishing Violet would have had a wee bit more staying power. It seems that a couple of days in the gorgeous Florida sun caused a tiny bit more toddler sweat than normal and poor Violet had started to fade. Bad. In fact, she was pretty much peeling off in chunks. As we stood in line at France (Epcot) for pastries, I brushed a dangling chunk of Violet off of Alexis' arm. It came off very cleanly, so I turned a little OCD and started to rub all of the blurry Violet off Alexis.

Alexis went BALLISTIC. We're talking Category 5 meltdown, but of the VERY, VERY, VERY angry kind. Alexis was SO pissed at me. It took ten minutes to calm her down, and even then it was only with promises of a new Violet tattoo (which never actually happened, but Alexis did manage to get a nice Violet outline from where the skin under the tattoo didn't tan like the rest of her arm).

It's amazing how easy it is to be put up on that Good Parent Pedestal, and even more amazing how fast a kid can knock you right off of it. Then rip out your guts.

Your Home Can Say a Lot about Your Relationship

Obviously, this wasn't the first time Alexis had been to Walt Disney World. It was, however, the first time she had been there with enough life experience in her back pocket to actually *care* that she was there. That alone made it an entirely different experience for Mr. Husband and I than all of the other times we had been there. We didn't ride the big rides, and instead found ourselves letting her take the lead on what she wanted to do. It was much more about absorbing her joy than it was creating our own. Of course, we found that to be WAY more fun.

Along with enjoying her glee, I found myself noticing things I hadn't noticed before. For example, I am now very convinced that Disney Imagineers in the 60's spent most of their working hours tripping on acid as they tried to dream up new ways to scare the kiddies. It's a Small World is pretty clear evidence of that.

There is another thing I REALLY can't believe I never noticed prior to last week. It stuck out like a sore thumb once I did, and had me cracking the hell up for hours. Imagineers have some crazy awesome senses of humor. For reals. Let me show you.

Here is Mickey's house, located at the Magic Kingdom:



Decent enough digs for a giant rat. Here's the inside.

Mickey's bedroom. Dude has more shoes than I do.



Mickey's Living Room, complete with evidence of his manhood--the football helmet on the couch, the dead fish hanging over the mantle, and the photos of his mousely adventures hanging on the wall.



Mickey's Man Room. Of course, he's winning the pinball game.



Mickey's Kitchen, which obviously hasn't been used in years. Mickey's such a bachelor.



Finally, Mickey's garage. It's too full of crap to actually hold a car, a concept I know WAY too much about myself.



And now, let's take a look at Minnie's house right next door. It's a bit smaller than Mickey's, which just proves that even in Disney's perfect world, woman make less money than men for doing identical jobs.



The first room you see when you go in Minnie's house is her living room. It is positively filled with photos, statues, and mementos of her relationship with Mickey. (BTW, Mickey doesn't have the same sort of crap. The rats are engaging in a very one-sided sort of infatuation.)



Next to Minnie's pitiful display of mouse-dependence, you walk into her studio. It's where Minnie toils away sewing quilts and painting beautious art.



After that you follow a short little hallway, walk past Minnie's desk, and land inside her kick-ass kitchen. Clearly, the mousette is the master of the cooking domain in her little relationship.



The last room in Minnie's house is her sunroom. It appears to be a very lovely place to sit and read a book.



See it? See what's not quite right? What's . . . missing?

Look through Minnie's house again.

Where the hell does Minnie sleep?

Obviously, Mickey is an ass and demands this his woman cook his dinner at her own place, but that she makes it to his house right next door to sleep. *ahem*

What a dirty rat.

The Comparison Kind of Makes Me Sad

2009

2007

Caution: Potential to Cause Ovary Pain

Alexis got lucky. Real lucky. Watching the Princessification left me with the mad skills necessary to duplicate the process. So today for our last day of Disney Magic, she got to go to the Magic Kingdom in full Cinderella garb. Sure, I used approximately 10% as much gel as the Boutique, and absolutely no hair spray, but her hair ended up close enough to count. Just less crunchy.

3:00 rolled around, and the mini-Cinderella and her minions found ourselves passing by the parade route. The parks have been REALLY empty this week, so we easily spotted a front-row seat for the action and settled in. Mini-Cinderella has really enjoyed all of the parades and shows since they allow her to see a ton of characters in a short time, and she can do it from a safe distance.

Alexis gleefully sat watching Donald, Pluto, Ariel, and others roll on by. Then came Cinderella. Alexis spotted Cinderella from afar, and sat slack-jawed and wide-eyed staring at her favorite princess (at the moment--I'm sure she will switch that any second now because she changes princess favorites more than she changes her underwear). As Cinderella came closer, Alexis looked down at her own sparkly blue gown, back up at Cinderella, grinned, and cheerfully declared, "Look! We match the same!"



Alexis was in heaven. She LOVES to match people. A lot.

Cinderella drew nearer, and Alexis continued to focus her awe on the blond chick. Then Cinderella rolled right in front of us, looked down, saw the mini-Cinderella, and proceeded to make the kid's dreams come true.



Cinderella looked straight at Alexis, smiled, and then blew her a kiss.



Alexis nearly passed out from amazement.

I nearly bawled from all the cuteness.

Fear This

Disney just wasn't enough fun for Alexis. She HAD to add a little side game to her play. It's called "How Many Things Can I Find to Fear." She's been playing it all week, and I'm pretty sure she'll be making a stop by Ripley's to get her world record certified. The answer to the game is A LOT. Some examples:

Robots: Robots of any size, shape, or form must maintain a 30-foot distance. Really, not a big deal at Walt Disney World. Oh, wait . . .

Self-flushing toilets: It's an old phobia, and one that I have managed to work around by memorizing the location of every old school public toilet in the greater Pittsburgh area. But Guess what . . . so far I've found TWO old school toilets in a Disney park. TWO. Good thing the kid can hold pee better than anyone I've ever known.

Birds: Another old phobia, and one that really isn't a big deal at home. Lots of people are willing to kick pigeons out of Alexis' way, but those people aren't here to kick the ducks, geese, cranes, and every other kind of bird that hangs out at the parks. Drop a french fry and twenty of them will magically appear out of nowhere to eat it. Make sure you give Alexis a 30-minute head start before you drop the fry, though, because she will flip the hell out if she sees a single bird.

People in costumes: We're talked about this one, but I didn't mention that it includes the "real" people like Cinderella. Oh, and by the way, I have never seen as many characters as I have on this trip, and I used to know their appearance schedules. GOOD TIMES!

Boats: Technically the issue is the horn on the big boat that takes people to the Magic Kingdom, but that phobia spread like wild fire and already seems to now include all boats. Even row boats. That she's not in.

Fireworks: Totally not a problem at all because Disney? Doesn't like fireworks. Nope, not at all. Ever.

The Dark: Funny thing. Disney Magic can do a lot of things. It can make extra buses appear when there are far too many people waiting to get on one tiny bus. It can make free replacement fries drop out of the sky when you accidentally knock a brand new container of them on the ground. It can make a little girl forget just how much she fears people in costumes. It cannot stop the sun from setting. Maybe Tinkerbell needs to bust out some ultra-power pixie dust.

Talking trash cans: Do you know how much I love the talking trash can in Tomorrowland? A LOT. Too bad I won't be getting to feed it some yummy trash.

The tiles in the shape of the evil step-sisters inside Cinderella's castle: I'm so not kidding. We can't walk through the castle because "the bad girls" will get us. Oye.

Some rides: I'd tell you exactly which rides are too scary for Toddler consumption, but that changes minute by minute. She LOVES Pooh Ride. She HATES Pooh Ride. She LOVES Pooh Ride. She HATES Pooh Ride. Every time we stand in a line, it's like playing Russian Roulette.

That's not even the whole list of current phobias. That's just the ones that Mr. Husband and I have been exploiting for our own amusement.

C'mon, you know you would do it, too.




(Some Teacups love/hate)

Just Your Standard Out of Pittsburgh Message

Today started exactly like so many days do; Alexis woke up entirely too early. However, today was the first time that Alexis has ever awakened and immediately asked the question, "Are we going to Disney World today?" and gotten the answer YES!

Oh, yeah. Did I mention that I had to go to Orlando for a conference for work? And that we decided to tack a few days onto that work and make it a mini vacation? No? Huh. I thought mommybloggers were known for over-sharing. Whatever.

There will be over-sharing, just as soon as I manage to get more than two hours sleep.

Rolls are so a Good Reason to be Thankful

We are incredibly fortunate in our little family, and we know it. We are blessed with good jobs, good health, a good house, and all around good lives. We try to be thankful for all that we have all year round so that when Thanksgiving rolls around? We can totally focus on what is most important about the holiday--the food.

Admit it, you love Thanksgiving for the food, too. I fully confess that I insist on the six-hour drive to Indianapolis simply because the food here? ROCKS. Dessert. Lots of dessert. Mashed potatoes. Veggie bean dip. And the rolls that are a specialty on one side of the family? *drools*

I can't even think straight after having a mental moment with one of those rolls and a little butter.

Since I am admittedly focused on the good stuff when it comes to Thanksgiving, we do our best to spread the love and donate a good chunk of groceries to a food bank this time of year. I try to remember to do it at least quarterly, but my brain has been destroyed by a short person, so the past few years I have only remembered in November. This year Alexis' daycare center was holding a food drive, so I sent her with a booty load of good stuff, some bought especially to donate and some pulled from our cabinets because I knew for a fact it had been in there at least six months.

It was really sad to see that the booty load I hauled in was more than they had already gathered TOTAL. I'm not saying that I dug up hundreds of dollars worth of food. In fact, it was more like $20. There just wasn't enough participation going on, all things considered. I'm willing to assume that people were giving in other ways, but then there's the usual news stories about food banks not having enough food to go around.

The suck.

So, maybe y'all have had your brains eaten by a kid lately as well and have forgotten. Maybe you could take a minute to drop a few cans of something or other off at a food drive somewhere? Or maybe you aren't in a place to be able to give right now. Maybe you could go head over here and do some clicking around (ad revenues go to Food for the Poor)? Or maybe you are all for giving, but don't want to be bothered with leaving the comfort of your butt groove on the couch. How about heading here and filling up that virtual red kettle?

Thanks, yo.

And now that I've had my fill of hot rolls for a little while, I suppose I can be thankful for some of my fave peeps. And Mr. Canon. I am most certainly thankful for Mr. Canon.

Where is Michael Phelps When You Need Him?

Mr. Husband has a very big family. It's in part because his parents are divorced and remarried, in part because the whole lot of them breeds like crazy, and in part because his Grandparents are all still living. The man has four sets of Grandparents, and three of them live in or near Indianapolis. We, of course, make an effort to spend as much time as we can with all of them when we are in Indiana, and that includes the ones that live on a farm a little ways out of town.

The farm was "home base" for us today as about 15 or so of us as we mixed a little shopping with Chuck E. Cheese and Pacers basketball. We started the day at the farm, and we needed to stop there in between our stages of running to drop off the non-basketball lovers. During the drive out to the farm, Alexis FINALLY succumbed to the Power of the Nap and was sound asleep in the back of our SUV as we pulled into the driveway. As I am a wise coward, I dared not risk waking the sleeping Toddler, so we left the SUV running and I stood playing with some of the other kids in the yard near the driveway while keeping a close eye on the sleeping beauty.

Meanwhile, Mr. Husband set out to take care of the dogs. They, of course, are with us on the trip because OMG don't ever show up to a family function without the Bulldog because she IS who people want to see. We figured we would leave them at the farm during the game, so Mr. Husband wandered off to take them out for a good romp around the back yard, in hopes of getting Cody (the Havanese puppy) to go to the bathroom. Somewhere along the line I gained an unwanted Bulldog, so I figured I would try ditching her by walking out to where Mr. Husband was walking with Cody. I looked around and finally spotted them out back by the pond.

As Meg and I trudged our way back there, Mr. Husband suddenly started yelling at Cody. It wasn't a, "You little jerk, stop rolling in the cow poop" sort of yell either (and, yes, I do know that yell, but Jasmine was the one who was on the receiving end of that), it was more of a frantic, desperate yell. It didn't take long to figure out that the facts that Mr. Husband was looking directly at the pond and that I couldn't see Cody anywhere were not a good thing.

Mr. Cody, heretofore to be known as The Little Sh@t, decided to run up and over the bank on the side of the pond and check out all the ice. In his quest to fully earn his new name (which will not be spoken aloud because Alexis doesn't need to call him that), he then decided to check to see just how thick the ice was on this cold November day. Cody weighs in at a whopping five pounds right now, and I can confirm with absolute certainly that while the ice was frozen pretty thick, it wasn't frozen thick enough to support those five pounds.

Yeah.

So.

The Little Sh@t went for a swim in the icy, cold pond.

That's not the best part, though. The best part is that while The Little Sh@t is an excellent swimmer, he was not so skilled as to figure out how to get his little paws on a sheet of ice and fight his own way out of the murky water. Nope. Mr. Husband had to jump in and save his little behind.

I grabbed the soggy Havanese from Mr. Husband's arms as he emerged from the pond and ran inside to get towels for my two wet boys. It's too bad that I was in such a hurry as I passed by my father-in-law, because I'm quite certain that I missed a FANTASTIC facial expression as I breezed past him. He had noticed that Cody was soaked and I had said, "Wait 'til you see my husband."

Who was soaked.

Really soaked.

Everybody is fine, including the Toddler who slept through all of the commotion.

I'm just really glad a good portion of that big family was at the house at the time, because THAT is a story which will need to be retold several times.

730 Calories Worth of Disappointment

But I still licked the box until not a speck of cinnamon was left. The semi driver that looked down from his truck just in time to see me doing it was pretty amused.

I'll announce the winner of the contest tomorrow. For now, I need to try to convince a toddler that just discovered the joy of opening a fridge all by herself that she should spend her night in Cleveland sleeping, instead of playing a good ol' game of Open the Door, Close the Door, Open the Door, Close the Door. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Open the Door.

Close the Door.

Good grief the kid needs to get a life.

Coming to You from Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan

Guess what . . . go ahead, guess!

I? am blogging from the car. As in, while driving down the highway. OK, technically I'm not the one driving, but still. I don't really know why I find this so amusing, but I do. I totally should have stolen borrowed an air card from the IT department a long time ago.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I found out I needed to make a trip to good ol' Michigan. For some reason, Mr. Husband thought it would be fun to join me. So we have packed up the whole crew and are making a quick run up and back. I don't know exactly why we think it's a fun idea to spend 12 hours in the car with two dogs and a toddler for what will be, at most, a few hours out of town (most of which I will be spending in meetings for work), but whatever. Here we are, about to cross from Ohio into Indiana before we drive straight North.

If I hadn't been so enamored with the basic ability to get online while moving 70 mph, I would have been live blogging this spectacular event. As it is, I shall be so kind as to provide a review.

- Cinnabon? I hate it. With the fire of a thousand suns. I saw the heavens open up, I heard angels sing, and I felt a moment of sheer unadulterated bliss when I saw a sign for the joint somewhere back near Cleveland. It took some coercing, but I managed to convince Mr. Husband to make an unscheduled stop only to find that Cinnabon was closed. At 7:00. I don't know that I've felt this kind of disappointment in my entire life. I might cry. Real tears.

- The first hour we were on the road, I was reminded that we shouldn't take the dogs anywhere. They suck in the car. Jasmine, in particular, has tempted me to "accidentally" push the window button and "accidentally" help her stick her head out a little too far out. She seems to have decided it would be a good idea to roll around in some form of animal pee at the park today. It was all good until we were trapped in a small moving box with her. Now I can tell you she stinks more than the fact that my laptop batter is going to die in just 16 short minutes. BOO!

- I really, really, really wish I would have had the camera ready for the moment when Alexis realized she was going to get to enjoy her portable DVD player in the car. I don't know that her face has ever lit up like it did in that moment when she recognized its case and determined that it represented hours of Signing Time viewing pleasure. She's a happy camper.

- Speaking of the happy camper, she took a break from staring intently at the tiny DVD player screen to eat a piece of pound cake from Starbucks. I'm thinking that there might be something wrong with the fact that she kept breaking off a piece, eating it, shoving her hand in the Bulldog's face to get it licked clean, and then repeating the whole process all over again. Mr. Husband and I briefly considered breaking up the germy party, but then reconsidered because the toddler? She was happy. The Bulldog? She was happy. It would be stupid to interrupt that. (This is where you nod and agree and refrain from telling me all about the horrible diseases dogs can transmit to kids, mmkay?)

A Word of Warning

To the fine people of Indianapolis, beware for we are in town. You'll recognize me by the caterpillar firmly planted above my eyes (I'd be happy to fix the situation if a certain Toddler hadn't stolen my tweezers and hid them where I will never again find them, but for now you're just going to have to deal with it). You'll recognize the Toddler as she will introduce herself by saying, "Hi, I'm Crackers!" and then promptly run away. Mr. Husband can be spotted as he is the man dressed in fourteen layers of Steelers gear.

For the rest of you, this means you may or may not get regular posting. Consider yourself warned.

Things I've Learned in the Past Week

- If you thought it was a wee bit embarrassing when your Toddler screams "Mommy potty" while using a public restroom, it will be exponentially more embarrassing when she yells "Mommy pooping" and someone a few stalls down, as if on cue, unleashes some sounds that you didn't know could come out of a human being. And then everyone sees you with the Toddler at the sink and thinks you are the disgusting person.

- You should never, ever step on the crack between an elevator and the floor outside. Instead, grasp tightly onto the wall, as if hugging it, and carefully step as far as you can across the threshold. Don't worry about the door closing because Mommy will hold it, thus irritating all other elevator passengers.

- If you thought it was gross when your Toddler went digging for buried treasure in her ear then promptly stuck the shovel/finger in her mouth, wait a few minutes. She will wait until you've forgotten all about the incident, start sticking her tongue out at you in hopes that you will follow suit and then will swipe her nasty little earwax-covered finger down your tongue. Mmmm . . . I know you're all jealous you didn't get some of that.

- Bulldogs do not like to wear coats, but they will if it means they can stay warm.



- Restaurants do not give out purple crayons. I know this because I save all the crayons Alexis gets when we eat out and stuff them in my purse for future use. (The girl LOVES to color.) After months of doing this, we still don't have a purple. I realized it yesterday when I really needed purple to finish my pretty picture.

- It's not a good idea to allow your Toddler to fall asleep in the car then wake her up when you get to the hotel. If you do it four nights in a row, she'll think that she's supposed to wake up in the middle of the night and will continue to do it long after you return home.

- It's really fun to run through the halls of a hotel. It's even more fun to yell while you run through the halls. Mommy will join in because if you're going to pay to be somewhere, you might as well have as much fun as possible doing it.



- Whatever this thing is that Alexis has caught, it's kicking her little butt. If she's not fever free all day tomorrow, she's going to have to go to the doctor. Germs suck.

- You can read Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed as many times as you want, discussing the dangers of jumping on a bed each time; it won't make a difference. When you put cousins together, they will jump on the bed. Repeatedly. At least none of these Monkeys fell off the bed:








(Thanks, Ashlee, for the Monkey photos!)

Obligatory "We're Home" Post

Since our entire family is mostly inept at making phone calls, all relatives can consider themselves informed that we survived the drive home. And I only wanted to throw the dogs out the window one time, so that should tell you it was a pretty good drive home. But then again, that's what happens when I'm able to convince my husband that we should stop in Columbus and shop for a while. A little mall action always makes things better, especially when Cinnabon is involved.

Speaking of better, if anybody managed to get a photo of all the grandkids not making funny faces, please send it to me. You just know we will never get them all in the same place at the same time again and this photo isn't exactly 8x10 material. But it is pretty humerous :-)

Sick

Alexis has been fighting a cold for over a week and last night the little cold escalated to Sick (with a capital "S"). The poor kid obviously has a sinus infection and is flirting with the idea of having the infection spread to her eyes. Her timing, as always, is fabulous. It wasn't until 9:00 last night that it became evident that she was losing the battle. Too late to get hold of our Pediatrician. Too late to do much of anything. Except! Except that my Mother-in-law works at a doctor's office! Magic can happen late at night when you have access to someone that can call in a prescription after just a few phone calls. That magic will be the only reason we will survive the six-hour drive back.

I wonder if my Mother-in-law could arrange for some sedatives for the dogs. Pups sleeping in the back of the SUV would make for the best drive of all time.