Crazy Beast

At The Rail Pizza Company in Rogers, AR

I want this sergeant pepper jacket in my size.

Someone has taken my toddler and replaced her with a crazy, moody beast.

I say this with a lot of love, but also a teeny, tiny bit of desperation.  Has anyone seen Annaliese?!  You know her, she's about 33" tall, blonde hair, chubby belly, kissable face.  Something that looks like her is living in my house, but the devil inside this monster isn't my cute, squeezable, funny baby.  No, this three foot nothing lil woman can't be Annaliese!  This lil woman is a constant litany of whining, screaming, kicking. This lil woman speaks a language that I don't fully understand, and this inability to communicate is the ultimate trigger for destruction. This lil woman is racking up a lot of QT on the time out rug. And worse still, this lil woman dare I say it, hates shopping!  But I trained her so well, from day one!  She was supposed to sit quietly in the cart, laughing and smiling at strangers.  This can't be her...climbing out of the cart, pulling cosmetics off the shelves at Target, running full speed towards freedom, and (gasp!) being carried out in a football hold as we leave our full cart abandoned in aisle six. Oh the shame!

My mother often reminded me, all through my childhood and everyday since, that when I was around 2, I was (or so she thought) possessed by something unholy.  So convinced was she, that she called in a priest to see if he could exorcise the demons!  I'm happy to report, there was no exorcism that day, but I can now finally and fully appreciate what drove her to such drastic assumptions.

Could it be that this "unholy" spirit is hereditary?  Or is it that every toddler goes through this phase, making parents call priests, drink copious amounts of wine, and doubt their decision to reproduce ever again?  I've gotta believe there is a light at the end of this tunnel, because people keep having babies, right?!

I've talked to many friends and they all are going through something very similar.  "It's just the age," they say.  To which I must ask, through what age should I expect this crazy beast, and when will my sweet Tiny return?

Beast or no beast, Annaliese will still rock fabulous, as her opinion about all matters including her wardrobe are stronger than ever.  While, at the same time, I can feel myself falling down a slippery slope, shamefully donning yoga pants and pony tails. Today was a real low point, at her gymnastics class, when another mom asked me if I was wearing some kind of barret in my hair.  I don't wear barrets, so a little confused I reached up and found a Minnie Mouse sticker plastered to my hair/forehead...absolutely clueless as to how long I'd been rocking this hotness.

Here's hoping when Annaliese returns, so does my dignity and self-respect.

Nati' Love

Out for a Thursday stroll. Tiny walks the trails in
Bentonville with Nana and Dodo.

That's right folks, I did it again. I flew with this tiny terrorist
and this time only one small, teensy, tiny incident. 

While in the Nati we got to visit with some of my besties,
which just happen to be some of Tiny's besties' mamas.
We are two very lucky girls.  Thank you friends!
(also worth noting...we plan to show this photo
at A and O's wedding in 2040.)

What a crazy couple of weeks!  Since my last post, we had a great visit from Nana and Dodo (Bret's parents, and I swear Dodo is a self-inflicted nickname), celebrated Bret's birthday and took another trip.

Being far away from home I can't tell you how nice it is when grandparents come to visit.  Annaliese was over the moon and so were we.  We did fun touristy things, but we also just had good, quality time to do nothing but hang and catch up.  From nice long walks to taking in some truly amazing Norman Rockwell art (at Crystal Bridges) to eating the most delicious crepes al fresco (at Crepes Paulette), thank you Nana and Dodo for a great visit and for even allowing us a date night!

Nana and Dodo were in town Thursday thru Monday, and with the scars of the Florida trip still fresh Tiny and I packed our bags and headed back home to Cincinnati with them.  My folks are moving, and the hubs was out of town on business so we thought it was a good chance to visit with the rest of our fam and friends and bid adieu to 672.

I am happy to report, my tiny terrorist was by no means perfect, but she was an angel compared to the whirling dervish on the Orlando flight.  Her only true meltdown occurred with 15 minutes left in the flight when the flight attendant mercilessly declared that all electronic devices must be powered down.  Ripping the iPad from Tiny's hands and shoving it in my bag, the look she gave me can only be described as a "WTF" look.  I might as well have stabbed her stuffed Minnie in the heart.  But, this got me thinking, have we really not figured out how to let passengers keep their iPads and kindles fired up for these last few and oh so cruel minutes?  Airline industry I implore you on behalf of stressed out mothers and over worked business men and women everywhere, give us these last few minutes!

Having arrived safely and nearly incident free, we had a really great, but too short trip home.  Although, I feel like I should be sad to say goodbye to my childhood home, the truth is I couldn't be happier for my parents.  A home isn't the physical house, but the people that live inside it.  As I left 672 for the last time, I got choked up, not because I'll miss Sundance but I miss my family. Watching my baby girl give bye bye kisses to her Nana and Dodo and her Peeps and Papa Jack, that's the real hard goodbye.  When she asks me a dozen times a day, "where's Caroline? where's Ry Ry? where's Ka Ka?  where's Papa?  where's Nana? where's Peeps?" I just say they're in Cincinnati honey and they are sending you lots of Nati' Love.

The Most Magical Place on Earth

They don’t serve beer at Walt Disney World.  I repeat, they don’t serve beer (or alcohol of any kind) at WDW.  Sign me up for the mom of the year award, but I couldn’t believe it. 

Walt Disney World is supposed to be the most magical place on earth.  This may be true when you’re 5 and obsessed with Disney Princesses.  But this princess is all grown up and after spending hours waiting in line (for the parking lot tram, then the ticket kiosk, then the Ferry Boat), just trying to get into the park, I’m not drinking the kool-aid, well actually I am because that’s all they serve. 

I knew Annaliese was a little young for Disney, and our intention was just to go, check it out, ride a ride or two, meet Minnie and then leisurely stroll the park, beer in hand, and quietly judge the other park patrons.  We had thought our timing was just right… before the major spring break crowds, yet still nice and warm.  Turns out we went the first Saturday of Florida’s spring break (read busiest day of the year) and the high was a very chilly 60 degrees. The lines were so outrageous, that even the duds like the President attraction was queuing up over an hour wait.

We didn’t ride a single ride, but we did get to meet Minnie.  And, although we dropped a mint for this little 5-minute meeting, it was worth every single penny to see the look on Tiny’s face.

From the moment we got in the ‘Minnie/Daisy Meet and Greet’ line, Annaliese was hyperventilating as she chanted their names over and over, “Minnie! Daisy! Minnie! Daisy! Minnie! Daisy!”  Finally at long last it was our turn to hug, smile and grope.  Annaliese greeted Daisy with a casual “Hi Daisy” playing it cool the way I did when I happened to see Nick Lachey at First Watch.  But, with Minnie there was no restraint, she went running, arms open into Minnie’s warm embrace and stayed there until we pried her tiny, sticky fingers away.  With one last kiss on Minnie’s cool, plastic nose, she whispered “Lub You Minnie, Bye Bye.”  I melted.

With this box checked we continued our search for sanity and suds.  Another $100 bucks and a monorail or two later we found ourselves at Epcot, where the beer and wine flowed like water and the crowds merely trickled.   We dined with Italians, danced with Moroccans and sipped espresso with the French.  Now, this was magical.  

Orlando...the Saga!

As I mentioned in one of last weeks posts, we went to Orlando.  Bret had a work conference, and Tiny and I decided we were not going to miss out on Florida sunshine so we met him there.  I have too many stories from Orlando to sum up in one post, so I’ll be writing about our trip all week.

Tiny Fashionista or Tiny Terrorist?

Day ONE-Friday, March 1…Getting There

I always knew flying with a toddler “lap child” would be hard.  But, this was like bad Rom-Com character hard, except in my movie my cute boy is not serendipitously seated next to me ready to save the day, but instead hubs is flying on a totally different airline in first class no less.

Paint the scene as we arrive at airport: flustered girl (me), big bag stuffed to the gills with toddler ammunition, larger than life stroller, seemingly happy Annaliese. 

So far so good, then…problems at security, frisked, frisked, frisked, broken elevator, very awkward escalator ride, delay, delay, delay…and finally we are boarding! (Bret has assured me that they let people with small children board first, and I believe this to be true of every airline in the world other than Allegiant Air.)  Gate Agent begins boarding and says and I quote, “anyone needing extra time or special assistance can board now, with the exception of those travelling with small children, you need to board with everyone else.”   Say what?!?  I glance at the other shocked and desperate parents just waiting to be thrown a bone and can clearly see I’m not the only one that so wants to smack this jack@$$.

Twenty minutes later, we arrive at seat 19E to find we are in a middle seat, there is literally not a single inch of leg room and I can sense immediately that the two people we are to be squished between for the next two hours are childless and already loathing me. Flash-forward one hour into flight and thanks to all the delays we are now two hours past Tiny’s bedtime and the screaming begins.  And not a cute baby scream, this is thrashing, kicking straight up all kinds of crazy screaming.  I’m at a loss.  I try all my tricks, singing, reading, stickers, cookies, iPad…even Minnie is not working.  How is this possible, Minnie always works!??    Here comes the flight attendant, perhaps she will let me stand up and try to help my child.  Nope!  The oh so helpful stewardess has come only to ask me, “what’s wrong with her?”  Seriously!!!!!  She’s one and a half, and miserable and so am I and believe me lady not a soul on this plane is hating and judging me more than I’m judging me. 

At this point the girl next to me is offering me sympathetic smiles and quietly whispers, “I’m 14 weeks pregnant.”  And, I say well it’s a good thing you’re already knocked up, because after this flight you may have wanted to remain childless.  We have a good laugh, and it helps.

After what seems like 12 hours, the plane mercifully touches sweet Florida soil.  We have landed.  We scramble out of our seat when at last it’s our turn, double checking to make sure we’ve left nothing behind but my dignity. As we are deplaning, I can hear the whispers, “that’s the screaming baby and her mother.”  I take a bow as I exit, and Annaliese in her oh so adorable travel attire, flashes the flight attendants her megawatt smile and says, “thank you.”