Love in the Time of Pertussis

J got three shots today...varicella, MMR and DTaP.  And for the first time since her first H1N1 (no one knew when the health department would get them in, so we had very little notice), I wasn't there.  What a crap mom I am!  She was supposed to get her immunizations last week, at her well-child exam, which I took her to! She'd been sick, however, and we were headed to Oaks Park and then Busytown, so her doctor let us put them off a week.  I had somehow thought she was supposed to get them before starting kindergarten, but I guess they have moved this back to the four-year-old check-up, so I wasn't expecting it. G took her this morning, and of course he was more than capable.  J took it like the champ she is, and a shout out to Ally at PMG for giving shots so quickly and expertly.

But I still feel like crap.  

I feel bad, I hasten to assure you, because I wasn't there.  I do not feel bad because I think vaccines are dangerous/cause autism/make you gay.  I don't.  I fully support immunization, and people who argue that "herd immunity" protects children piss me off.  If you want to be part of this society, there are some things you have to do.  You pay taxes, you keep your stereo at a reasonable volume, and you vaccinate your kids.  Sure, your kid might handle measles swimmingly, but what about the kid down the block--the one who can't get vaccinated because he has cancer and a compromised immune system?  He sure as hell isn't going to handle measles.  And what about all the babies who are too young for the vaccines but not too young to die of the disease?  I guess that's OK as long as it's not your kid.

Don't get me started.

Anyway, the verdict is in that I am a crap mom.  Am I also a crap wife? 

It's possible I am not the best wife.  I mean, I can't rule it out.  But I have done more than 50% of the heavy lifting, and I'm tired.  Really, really tired.  


Just sayin'.

Busytown Rocks! Papillons...Don't

We loved "Busytown."  J loves Lowly.  There was plenty of Lowly.  Enough said.

And now I have J in Seattle with me.  My manager desperately needed coverage, and I offered to work over my vacation if I could bring J with me, since I had, after all, taken the week off to spend time with her.

Three viewings of "Dumbo" later, she had had enough.  So had I.  For extra fun, the hotel is hosting a Papillon PCA National Specialty (and no, I do not know what that means--other than thousands of Papillons in a not-very-large hotel).  Today's scheduled consisted of:

Wednesday
 6:30am – 8:00am Hospitality Suite open  (NOTE--RIGHT NEXT DOOR TO OUR MEETING ROOM!)
 9:00am – 12:00pm Sweepstakes  (lunch break at the Judge's discretion)
  2:00pm – 4:00pm Open Board meeting 
 4:00pm – 5:00pm Phalene fun match 
 5:30pm – 7:00pm Phalene banquet 
 7:00pm – 9:00pm Genetics seminar

I was not familiar with Papillons, let alone Phalenes, but I am now.  Papillons are small, hairy dogs that all look exactly alike (and nothing like butterflies):  

The little beasts are everywhere, as is their fur, their pee and tables upon tables of Papillon-themed merchandise.  As my brother would say, there's a sub-culture for everyone. 

The staff is hating it.  And we're hating the yapping that penetrates the thin hotel walls during normal sleeping hours as well as during work hours, not to mention the overload on the elevators, the gift shop (out of Diet Coke!) and the bar.  But crueler blow, the pool, which had been the bribe I'd used to keep J going through my work day, was closed due to a broken pump. 

Instead, I took J to the play area at Southcenter Mall, conveniently located across the street.  Who, and by that I mean, who the hell, puts a candy store right next to a play area?  And calls it Candy Tyme.  A misspelling of time and thyme, which must have taken some thought.  So my plan for J to run off her pent-up energy was lost to the siren song of gummy sharks:  

Which she wouldn't eat after deciding, quite rightly, that they didn't taste good.  I could have told her so, but I am not that mother.  I'm better.  I told her they would probably taste better tomorrow, during the seventh showing of "Dumbo," while Mama and her friends negotiated furlough and recall rights.

Swimming to Disney World

So, yeah, I took J to Disney World.  It was hard to say no, even though I had sworn we wouldn't go until she was at least six (and even then I meant the much-closer Disney Land).  But J's aunt was at a meeting in Orlando for the week of J's 4th birthday and invited us to squat in her hotel room, and since G is in the National Guard, we got Disney tickets for less than half price.  A few e-mails, and I got the week off.  So, yeah, I took J to Disney World.

I guess I live in a dreamland, because it did not occur to me that the week of March 12 was spring break.  Spring break here is the week of the 26th.  But, in fact, for a good deal of the East Coast and the Midwest, spring break was the week of the 12th.  So the place was packed.  We didn't get to see and do everything I wanted J to see and do.  But once I reminded myself that it was about what J wanted to see and do, I relaxed and we had an amazing time.

After flying the redeye Sunday night, we got to the hotel Monday morning around 11 and napped for a couple of hours.  After lunch and a shower (me), we got off the ferry and entered The World.  

And, um, holy crap.  I should back up.  I have four siblings.  When we went on vacation, which was maybe twice in my memory, it was to somewhere like the Illinois State Fair, where we'd stay at a Super 8 and feed quarters into the Magic Fingers on the bed.  I had been to WDW twice before as an adult, for a grand total of three days.   My most recent visit was in 1996.

WDW has changed a LOT since then (no Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, for starters). Moreover, I had never experienced it through the eyes of a child. More particularly, through the eyes of MY child. WDW does embody a lot of things I hate:  excessive consumerism, marketing to small children, long lines and heat.  But it also has something I love.  A LOT.  WDW has magic.

When I told J we were going to Disney, she was much more excited about the plane ride.  She has seen a few Disney movies--Dumbo, Peter Pan and Cinderella.  She also knows Winnie-the-Pooh and the classic characters, Mickey Mouse and his buddies.  (From watching "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" at her old daycare.  Just one reason she doesn't go there anymore.)  But there are many, many more she doesn't know. She's never seen The Lion King, Cars, or any of the other Princess movies.

In short, she had no concept of Disney World.  Neither of us had any idea what to expect, but within five minutes of walking into the Magic Kingdom, she tugged at my hand, eyes sparkling, and exclaimed, "Mom, I LOVE this place!"

The next day was her birthday, and I had booked a character breakfast with Pooh and friends at the Crystal Palace.  All the other breakfasts had long been sold out, but Pooh would probably have been my choice anyway.  She thought the buffet was super-fancy (chocolate Mickey Mouse waffles! strawberries! three kinds of melons!), and she loved that they brought her a cupcake with a candle.  It was all just perfect, except that, as it turned out, J was scared shitless of all the characters--Pooh, Tigger, Eeyore and even Piglet.  She would not talk to them, touch them or look at them.  She spent a great deal of the meal under the table, where they could not see her: 

Money well spent!

Tempting fate, we did wait in line to see the princesses.  J said she wanted to see Cinderella, and well, it was her birthday.  Big mistake at the end of a long, hot day.  Fortunately, the line was indoors, but at the end of that line, they usher you into a big room where Sleeping Beauty, Belle and Cinderella are seated in identical alcoves (color-matched to their dresses), ready for their meet-and-greets.  But my daughter would neither meet them nor greet them, unless I went up with her.  So I ended up in all her photos, looking fat, sweaty and ready to kill someone.  Good times!  

J loved, loved, loved everything else, and so did I.  Dumbo, Peter Pan, the merry-go-round, Small World, even Splash Mountain.  She laughed until she almost wet her pants at the Country Bear Jamboree (there is no WAY old Uncle Walt was not constantly stoned).  I loved her loving it.  And since the tickets were cheap, we I didn't feel bad about just spending a few hours each day at the park.

Because, of course, what she really wanted to go was swim in the hotel pool. My guidebook had warned me that 76% of pre-schoolers report that their favorite part of WDW is the pool.  J is part of that 76%.  Her new trick is "ballet swimming," where she holds on to the side of the pool and does arabesques.  My new trick is a mai tai in the shallow end.

A chacun son gout!

Circus Party!

Wow, can I throw a party!  


I mean, have you been to a four-year-old's birthday party where any of these things happened:

• The candle on the cake sets off the smoke alarm?
• You get to perform the Heimlich on the birthday girl (your own daughter)?
• The keg runs out?
• The kids play with dead ladybugs instead of the games you brought?

Yes, our Cruelty-Free Circus Party featured each and every one of these events. PLUS goody bags!

A good time was had by all.

At a Play

I went to see "Wicked" on Sunday with a couple of girlfriends.  My mom always made a point of taking us to see Broadway touring shows a couple of times a year.  I have very distinct memories of sitting in the back row of the second balcony at the Arie Crown or the Schubert, watching such classics as "South Pacific," "Oklahoma!," "Annie," and, of course, "Evita."  It didn't matter that you could barely see anything from the nosebleed seats.  What mattered was that you were at a play.  Nothing compares with the magic of that moment when the curtain goes up, the conductor lifts his wand and a hush falls over the audience.

I am so grateful to my mother for instilling in me a love of live theater.  I'm trying to pass that on to a third generation in the form, of course, of J.  I took her to Seattle last fall to see "Harold and the Purple Crayon."  We rode the train up from Kelso, stayed in a hotel and hung out at Seattle Center.  We've read the book approximately 1,074 times, so I knew she could follow the basics of the plot.  The Seattle Children's Theater has no assigned seats, so we got to sit in the front row.  She loved every minute, though it was trippy to watch a grown, slightly chubby man in blue footies. 

Next week we're headed to Portland to see "Busytown." 

Awesome, right?  We're going with friends, and I'm thinking a bottle of red prior to curtain might be in order. 

My goal is to find plays, puppet shows or other performances several times a year and make mother-daughter dates out of them.  It's expensive, though.  We may be looking more at high school and community theaters than at the "official" children's theaters.  She won't know the difference--to her, it's the story and the experience, not the price.  She'll be at a play--with all that implies.  I love it!

So anyway, back to "Wicked."  Somehow I had never seen it, though I knew the score and I had read the book, so I had the general back story.  It is NOT a kid's play.  I was pretty shocked at how many little kids were at the play; some even dressed in Wizard of Oz costumes.  I can only imagine how bored and/or scared they must have been.  With tickets costing up to $200, it seemed a shortsighted extravagance, since a lot of the kids were crying and many left at intermission.

The cast was great, and I very much enjoyed it.  I mean, I was at a play!  G won't go to plays with me.  I think I am just going to have to start going without him.  It's a part of who I am that I don't want to lose sight of.  There's a metaphor in there somewhere.

And, yes, soon I will tell you all about J's birthday and our trip to Disney World.  But I'm still decompressing, and the pictures are still on my camera.  Soon.  I promise.  Because I know you can't wait.

"The Lorax" Sux-ax

I took J to see "The Lorax" today, along with her friend F and F's mother, L.  In case you were wondering, the movie, um...blew.  It was preachy, though to be fair, so is the book.  Far more unforgivably, it was really, really boring. But we had popcorn and lemonade and J sat on my lap.  After the movie (finally) ended, J and F played in the arcade--without money; they just pretended to drive cars and, as we found out when L and I finally stopped talking and paid attention to them, shoot guns.  "J!  Don't, don't, don't shoot your friends."

I should write a parenting book. Or stop watching this guy:

Bread and Circuses

I used to be very political.  Now I am just kind of resigned...a loyal Democrat, of course, but let's just say I'm not occupying anything.  In fact:

That pretty much sums up how I feel these days.  I am more interested in J's first real birthday party than I am in the results of today's primaries.

Oh, wait, did I mention J's birthday party?  Why, let me tell you about it!  I should say upfront that I am not one of the Craft People.  I am not an event planner.  I have never thrown a kid's birthday party before.  I just have sort of a lot of downtime with my laptop in hotel rooms.  And I am cheap.  You have been warned.

So J wanted a Dumbo party.  It may surprise you, as it did me, to know that NO ONE makes Dumbo party supplies. Well, technically, you can order them on E-Bay from the UK, but they're not cheap and they're geared toward baby showers and first birthdays.  I managed to talk her down from Dumbo to an ordinary circus party.  And no, she has never been to the circus, and yes, I am morally opposed to circuses. (Insert righteous indignation here.)  I have to credit G with the idea of holding it in a yurt at a nearby state park.  Yurts are tents, circuses are in tents, stay with me, people!  And it costs only $42 to rent a yurt on a cold wet weekend in March.  So we got a couple.  It's not a sleepover, but a few of our family friends with kids J's age rented them too, so we can throughly enjoy the pony keg of Fort George Vortex that G reserved for the occasion, without having to drive home afterwards.

I ordered circus-themed plates and napkins from Party City. 

Classy, I know!  In a moment of insomnia inspiration, I decided to make my own invitations.  I tried to download some circus fonts, but--I am not making this up--they only had periods and commas for punctuation.  I needed the colon for the time, so that would not work.  Then I found and downloaded (for free!) the world's totally cutest font:

http://www.fontspace.com/search/?q=elefont


Still no real punctuation, but I had to have it.  And that was the end of my creativity.  I did not know you could just buy blank cards at the craft store.  Maybe because I've been in a craft store like, twice in my life. I bought some, but I could not figure out how to print the invitations onto the cards. So I let J pick some 8.5x11 paper (pink and purple, of course) and just ran them through my printer.  Again, classy.  And, yeah, I maybe sort of mentioned the Vortex in the invitation.  I do want people to come, after all.

And that's it.  The party is next Saturday, and I will be home for a grand total of 2 non-consecutive days between now and then.  Here is my tentative party plan:

Play with toys
Play some games (freeze dance?)
Maybe have a parade around the campground
Eat hot dogs
Eat cake
Presents
Vortex

Half-assed is my middle name.  The best part is, J won't remember any of it, until some therapist drags it our of the recesses of her memory when J's having her mid-life crisis.  Or I will just put the following pictures in her baby book and totally fuck with her memory.  Because this party sure as hell isn't going to look anything like this:

Or this:

Seriously, do these kids' parents not have jobs?  Well, actually, probably not.

But there will be goody bags.  I had no idea of the amount of controversy you can find on the internet concerning goody bags.  Either they're obligatory and you must be very clever and make your own crafty-and-kicky-but-clearly-expensive goody bags:

Or you must have NO goody bags at all.  Because they send the wrong message, and encourage greed and consumption of plastic Chinese-made crap, and probably children who receive them will grow up to be Republicans.  (Insert righteous indignation here.) When you do a Google image search for "goody bags send wrong message," you get this:

and this:

(Yes, I can see why they have a patent on their search algorithm.)

But when I was a kid, my favorite part of a birthday party was the goody bag, which we called a loot bag.  My feelings were pretty much like this:

So I took the middle route:  paper bags with a lolly and a coloring book.  If I am feeling snappy, I may take my Sharpie and add the kids' names! 

It's going to be a wild ride.