Adventure Island in Tampa officially began its season of “Island Nights” on June 10th. And the folks at Adventure Island graciously invited me to bring my family and check it all out. Considering how much my children love water and how HOT it has been in Tampa already, we jumped at the chance to see what this water park is all about.
For three nights a week during the summer, Adventure Island opens its doors to families late into the evening. Guests are welcome to cool off at night on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays from June 10th – August 14th.
And why would anyone want to hit a water park in the evening? If you’re asking that question, you’re obviously not from Florida. The sun here is HOT. Floridians are constantly concerned about sunburns and sunscreen reapplication. Also the heat of a summer day in Florida, water park or not, can be a bit overwhelming. Even when the sun sets, the air stays very warm in Florida. So being able to soak our summer weary bodies without the intense sun makes an evening visit to Adventure Island a very cool and refreshing plus.
So what did we think? My boys and I had a fantastic time. Truly. There are water rides for every age: splash pools for toddlers, age appropriate slides, climbing fun, water guns and dumping buckets for bigger kids, and then every combination of water slide for the oldest kids.
And by oldest kids I mean adults. Because there is something about a water park that makes every adult a kid again.
There are good deals for Florida and Georgia residents so check their website for ticket prices. However, be prepared to pay an extra $12.00 for parking. And if you want to rent a locker (which is very convenient) they cost $12.00 a day too. Also, I’ve heard that you need to get to the park early during the day to stake out a spot. We didn’t have any issues with a place for our things during the evening (we also rented a locker) but it is something to be aware of as the park gets busy.
Here is a quick video of our visit. It’s quick because I spent most of my time having fun. But it should give you a feel for the place during the evening. Plus my very sad seven year old at the end of the video (he did NOT want to leave, he had the time of his life, truly) cracked me up. Poor kid. But his tears are a sincere indication of how much fun he really had at Adventure Island that night.
Enjoy!
FTC Disclosure: Adventure Island paid for my family’s parking and admission.
This is a warning to all you parents who think that your pride has any hope of remaining intact during the course of your child’s upbringing . Because heed my words: they will do everything they can to seek and destroy what little bit of dignity you have left. I know this sounds like some sort of conspiracy theory. Because I’m certainly not accusing our children of doing it intentionally.
But they are out to get us.
Before they finally skip off into the sunset of adulthood, expect to be horrified, mortified, humiliated and flat out humbled on multiple occasions, in varying scenarios, in every location – most always public.
You probably already know what I’m talking about. You probably have your own laundry list of mortifying moments to share. If not? Well. Let me share a few of mine.
It’s baby poop on your pants without realizing it, and loud conversations about your privates in the public restroom stall, and climbing on you, hooking their foot and pulling your bathing suit off in the pool, and reaching up from the grocery cart and grabbing your chest to “honk, honk” you in the check out lane, and opening the restroom door and walking out before you’re done, and pointing out the “reeeally really big fat lady” on the bus (full disclosure, that was me at three), and screaming how much they hate their food when your new friend made them dinner, and never ever ever saying hello or good-bye or please or thank you no matter how many times you insist that they do, or announcing the play by play of exactly what you’re doing while holed up in another public restroom.
(Clearly, the public restroom has been a source of much humiliation.)
They are honest. They are saying and doing what they experience. Etiquette and social niceties and even basic manners just don’t come naturally to preschoolers. We try desperately to encourage this instinct, and I think (hope?) it comes eventually. But until then, expect to be booby-trapped at any moment, where your pride falls through a trap door and into the pit of your stomach as you realize your kid has found and unwrapped a tampon (previously zipped away in your purse) and is swinging it for all the customers in the check out line to enjoy (full disclosure: my friend’s experience, not mine).
These moments. They happen all the time. Seared into your memory, convincing your ego you should never set foot in that particular store, friend’s home, or public restroom (so many of those) again.
But these moments also force you to stand nose to nose with your ego and tell yourself to get the hell over it.
Like when you are getting your kids ready for a pool party and trying to smear as much SPF onto your wriggling child as you can and while you’re distracted wrestling him, another smaller child happens to stuff something down the back of your sundress. And you aren’t sure what it was so you ignore it but make a mental note to check your dress after you’re done with this (“SIT STILL!!!”) and then you leave without checking but remember you need cash so you stop at the busy corner ATM. And while waiting in line you glance over at your reflection in the window and notice something not quite right. Oh ok. Now you know what got stuffed down your sundress. A pair of your underpants. Which happen to be sticking out the back of your sundress, sticking out like a little hoodie or cape, but clearly pink underpants, yours, sticking out and flapping in the breeze for everyone in the ATM line to see.
(What did I do? I snapped them off and balled them into my hand and made my transaction as if nothing ever happened. And, no surprise here, I didn’t make eye contact with a soul as I stomped back to the care. And stuffed them into the glove box. Where they remained until yesterday when I remembered to get them out and stuff them into my purse when I dropped off my car for an oil change. But it’s a big purse and I have to dig around to find my wallet to pay for said oil change. So I’m pretty sure the Kia guy at the front desk got a good look see at them too. Yay, Hanes Her Way, in pink, is everybody happy now???)
Parenting requires a very large dose of self-deprecation. And humor. And resignation that your dignity means nothing in a restroom stall as long as every little one got a pee pee in the potty and are entirely wiped and hands were washed.
Onward. Who cares. Pride swallowed. I’m over it. Pink panties stuffed where ever, so be it. Thanks and have a nice day.
Call me an animal freak. It’s OK. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m hoping that my animal obsession adoration will be passed along to my children. I’m hoping that they might learn to crawl through the grass following a spotted frog or “oh” and “ah” over animal prints in the mud or bird watch with genuine, honest enthusiasm. Somehow.
So when Busch Gardens contacted me a few weeks back and asked if my three year old and I would like to attend their new series for preschoolers called “Busch Babies”, I enthusiastically agreed. Busch Babies is a described as a 45 minute, three part “educational program” which “combines crafts, story time, and of course up-close and personal visits from special animal friends.”
Yes, please. Sign us up.
We finished our program this past week – and I am so sad it is already over. My son and I had a terrific time. Here’s my take on our experience with a list of pros and cons. And if you don’t feel up to all this reading, scroll to the bottom for a video taken at our third class. It’s pretty darling and certainly speaks for itself.
What We Loved
The staff. Ms. Amber and Ms. Cherish were wonderful and extraordinarily patient. They seem very well trained as educators – especially with this tricky, slightly unfocused age. They were also very well informed about each animal and made every effort to teach the kids at their speed and in their language. And clearly, they were having fun too. (I’ll miss seeing them every week!)
The program. Each class offered a combination of crafts, play, sensory interaction and learning. We sang songs, we touched cool things, we colored and glued and glittered. We even had a small snack during story time. And the best part was – of course – meeting a new animal at each class.
The location. The room we met in was perfect. It was close to the entrance of the park so we didn’t have to trek too far. It was close to the Safari of Fun so that we could head there right afterwards. It was held in a small, comfortable, intimate room with cozy carpets, low lighting and brown papered kiddie tables. Perfect.
Constructive Criticism
One more class. In a perfect world, I would love to see one more class or so added. It took the first one or two classes for the kids to finally get comfortable and used to this new experience. Would it be worth adding more classes even if it cost more? I think so. I should add that they offer a “playgroup” show at the Safari of Fun stage the week following the last class of each session that anyone can attend. We went today and my son loved seeing the staff again.
It’s a time commitment. After driving there, parking, getting to the program, peeling your wee one away from the park, catching the train back to your car, getting back on the highway and home – well, expect a long morning. The good news is that your child will be exhausted. The bad news is you will be too.
Tips for Parents
Be a Busch Gardens pass holder. This program is designed for local parents who are already pass holders and expect to make multiple trips to the park over the course of the year. Be sure to have your parking already included and paid for with your pass or else you will pay an additional $12.00 a day for parking.
Get there early. Trust me, plan for traffic and accidents and who knows what else. (The day I was impossibly late due to an accident, they were very accommodating. Thanks Amber and Cherish for letting me attend the next class!) Also get to the gate early too. Our class was at 10:30am so I tried to be at the gate by 10:00am so that we would have plenty of time to park, take the tram and walk to our class. (Three year olds tend to get distracted while walking through Busch Gardens!
Cost
One adult and one child combination costs $50 for each three part series. $30 is charged per each additional child or adult who joins you. Also this program is designed for season pass holders who have parking included in their annual ticket already. These cost (at minimum) $99.95.
The Next Series
Be sure to check here for upcoming program dates. There are three more planned for the months of May, August and September.
See For Yourself!
Here is a video of our last day of class. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Busch Gardens paid for our Busch Babies attendance. I paid for all other costs (seasonal park passes, parking, food, etc.).
Nothing spells out a fabulous day of preschool like a sweet little face covered with glitter.
While so trying so very often – I do adore this age. Where life is a curious and carefree collection of moments such as circle time, ABCs, sitting criss cross applesauce, line leaders, elmer’s glue, juice boxes, hand holding, being happy and you know it, peering at ladybugs, make-believe, washable crayons, swings and slides, freeze dance, squishing play-doh and falling into an exhausted heap at nap-time. They are old enough to have thoughtful conversations but still too young to be self conscious about any of it. They make wild leaps of logic with adorable statements such as a headache while eating an apple would be “apple brain” (as opposed to “brain freeze” while eating ice cream). They hum and swing their arms and live for the present – assuming there is not a bad thing in this world. They trust, they adore, they snuggle, they are much more than wee toddlers but hardly true, rough and tumble, “whatever, mom” kids yet.
Glitter on your face. Such is the wonderful world of a three year old.
(However, I will say that an enormous tantrum erupted from this child once I did try to wipe the glitter off before nap-time. Kicking and screaming and “No wipes! I NOT TIRED!!!!” and wrestling and wrangling until he was in his bed, clutching his bear and weeping about how I wasn’t being nice to him. So. This post was a therapeutic reminder of the glorious, gleeful glitteriness he was only an hour ago. I do adore him so.)
Look, I know watching videos can take a little time. So certainly wait to watch this one until you’re scarfing a sandwich down at work or waiting for the pasta to boil before dinner. But please do watch this. Because I am pretty sure I can promise you 6 minutes and 39 seconds of the the cutest cuteness you’ve ever seen.
I know I know. I’m his mother. The cutest cuteness? It’s a lot to promise and I am far FAR from objective
But come on, just check it out – even for a little bit.
You see, my three year old told me he was hungry. So I handed over an apple. Dinner would be ready in an hour and I didn’t want his appetite ruined on anything else. But I had no idea that today’s apple would result in such careful consideration. And joy. So even if you don’t think this is the cutest cuteness you’ve ever seen, I will promise you this. You will learn how to plant an apple seed with careful direction from a three year old at the very least.
Enjoy this sweet spring moment I captured yesterday afternoon in my backyard.
Live music has its way with me. No, it’s true. I don’t care what I’m hearing live: a local marching band, typical piano bar music, some hoaky cover band. Love them all. But seeing live music that you AND your kids absolutely adore? Well, that’s just about as close to total rock and roll mommy perfection as I can get. My boys and I saw They Might Be Giants live in Orlando yesterday afternoon – and I am still spinning in a star struck TMBG haze. I think my kids are too.
A few years back, when my eldest was a wee two year old watching Playhouse Disney at dawn while I stared half awake over my bowl of Cheerios, TMBG had managed it’s way in between Higglytown Heros (gah!) and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (oy…) for a few musical interludes. Somehow (and it took a great deal I tell you), I perked up. I probably paid more attention initially because these guys were on my college mix tapes. Oh yeah. TMBG. They’re doing kids music now. Cool.
But it was more than that. Their kids music was actually GOOD. And my two year old thought so too – staring, dancing, and staring again. This music wasn’t campy, not sing-songy, not condescending. It kept their usual ironic, quirky, intellectual flair – but styled it just right for kids.
Really, it makes so much sense. TMBG translates perfectly into children’s rock tunes. In the tradition of what they’ve always done for the past 25 years, they wind kooky story lines in and amongst educational concepts. And kids, who totally get kooky story lines, line up to hear about paleontologists and the periodic table and the vowel family. No they do, for real. It’s utter TMBG kid music magic.
I ordered TMBG’s Here Come the ABCs soon after hearing them for the first time. Finally. Music I could bear and my two year loved. Truly, he loved it. “Go for G”, “E Eats Everything”, “C is for Conifer”, “D is for Drums”… we couldn’t get enough.
(For the record, C has never been for cookie but always for conifer. And when we saw an actual conifer – look out, it was a crazy big deal. And you thought Santa was the only Christmas celebrity.)
Some years passed, I had another son and when he was about two years old, well what should come along? Here Come the 1,2,3s of course. “Infinity”, “High Five”, “Figure Eight”. More magic. And suddenly, lo and behold, both kids loved their music. I was finally the proud mommy of two TMBG fans. Score.
This Christmas, Santa brought the most recent TMBG creation to the Morningside household: Here Comes Science. “I Am a Paleontologist”, “The Bloodmobile”, “Electric Car”. Crank it up, we were all jamming out once again. It’s a bit more mature this time, but isn’t that convenient – so are my kids.
And now both kids are old enough to take it upon themselves to jump online to watch bookmarked TMBG pod-casts, they know it all word for word, they’ve studied whose who in the band, “no Mommy, Marty plays drums and Danny plays Bass. Sheesh.” True kid fans.
So when tickets went on sale for a special family show in Orlando at the Hard Rock Cafe? I’m fairly sure I may have rattled the house with a jarring TMBG groupie squeel. And I was on ticketmaster’s site in no time.
They Might Be Giants! Here comes my family!!!!
(Well, minus my huz. He was away in NC. And he was missed. He would have been there rocking out with us in a heartbeat.)
So yesterday was the day. And in true groupie form, I made T-shirts for my boys and I. My 6 year old helped me design them, carefully over-seeing the entire process. I could have painted my car too. And made signs. But I didn’t. I’m totally not that TMBG freaky, mmmkay?
But the kids were so fired up. Their first rock concert. It was kind of a big deal.
Oh wait! Another total bonus to our TMBG experience was meeting up with Maria from Mommy Melee and Colleen from The Mess Potential is Exponential. We met at the Hard Rock and decided on lunch there. As fab as the company was, let me just leave you with these words of advice. If you want to eat somewhere before a Hard Rock concert in Orlando, the Hard Rock Cafe restaurant itself probably isn’t a great choice. We had a whole slew of issues. It’s a long story but just take my suggestion for what it’s worth. *Disappointed sigh*
Anyway, so in we went after lunch and we were over-joyed to find that our early purchases for TMBG tickets meant fourth row seats! Rock and roll, baby!
(Yes, yes, I’m such a mommy dork, but humor me alright? This was a big deal for my fam.)
Predictably, when the lights dimmed and Marty, Danny and the “Johns” all ran on stage… dude. Consider me totally star struck. And as they started in with the “Alphabet of Nations”, it all became surreal, crazy – my years as a parent actually flashed before my eyes. We’ve listened to these songs ceaselessly on repeat in my car and on the computer and on the DVD player and anywhere my kids will beg to have them on. And now live, before our very eyes, here were TMBG.
They played a ton of our favorites: “Never Go to Work”, “Meet the Elements”, “Electric Car”, “Seven”, “I am a Paleontologist”. Their sock puppets even showed up – but sporting their new “avatar” looks. Hysterical.
I tried to take a few pictures. But they suck. Want to know why? I was afraid I’d get booted for taking pictures so I took them far too quickly. I know. SO bad ass rock star of me.
So we watched and rocked and swayed and clapped and danced. My three year old stared, wowed – often asking “What songs next?” And my six year old remained in “wheels turning, soak it all in, must process this whole damn experience” mode. He said very little. He clapped only when appropriate. He never lost focus. Seeing his favorite band was serious business. And after retelling a few of his favorite moments in the car ride home, he has insisted that we try to see them again. Twist my arm.
Anyway, forgive this hella long post, it was clearly written in a fan crazed froth.
I’m just so happy I got to experience this music with my children. This music, so woven into our days and trips around town and moments home together, has become part of our lives more than I think I even realized. These are the moments, this is when you realize all the groundhog days are worth it, this is when parenting can rock you and roll you with your kids jamming along side.
Hold your lighter up to that and sway to it, yo.
(Oh yeah, disclaimer time. Apart from the free sandwich I got due to bad service at the Hard Rock Cafe, I received nothing for writing this. It was my pleasure entirely.)
Because how else would a blogger give a Valentine but through words, online, for all the world to see?
But I think it is about as close as I’ll get to any sort of rooftop where I can somehow yell (to all who might care to listen) that I adore my husband.
Because I do.
Because I think about who we were 13 years ago, when we first met, with all the time in the world to discover and adore the other’s idiosyncrasies. I think about how we find each other now, in fleeting moments, while caught up in the minutiae of our own groundhog days running parallel. I devour those moments and then wait. They always happen again, once the dust settles and the kids are put to bed. And then I think about us in days ahead, dizzy from time gone by, readjusting our identities as parents and partners.
You and I, we’re not tied to the ground
Not falling but rising, like rolling around
Joy is boiled down to it purest form on those days when we both have two bumping, leaping boys besides us. Days we make some variation of adventure happen on an hour long hike or a picnic at a playground. Our days at the beach, digging trenches and crunching sand in our potato chips. These are those days that we’ll hold tight, and retell, and laugh out loud about how our boys were ever that small and wanting and new.
Oh, and when the kids are old enough
We’re gonna teach them to fly
Someday it will be just us again. And we will come back together, without two cracker hungry children whining in between, and miss this painfully same everydayness. And look at each other like, “oh yeah, us.”
We can always look back on what we did
All those memories of you and me baby
But right now it’s you and me forever girl
And you know we could do better than anything that we did
I want to remember us from before and find all that wonderful novelty. I want to hold on to these regular moments before they fall away entirely revealing two young men eating everything in our refrigerator before vanishing into their own lives. I want to look forward to adventures that don’t require kids menus or car seats or getting back to our room by 8pm.
You and me together, we could do anything, Baby
You and me together, yes, yes.
What an incredible gift to share history with another, to share children with another, to share a future with another. I adore you husband of mine. And I can’t wait to spend a couple hours out alone tonight - time together – you and me, baby.
The First Lady has taken on the fight against childhood obesity in her most recent initiative called the Let’s Move Campaign. I got an email yesterday from a journalist at Bay News 9 asking for my thoughts. And as I was reading the link he provided, I saw that the First Lady was speaking live about this initiative on MSNBC. So I stopped, read, listened and sent him my thoughts.
This is basically what I emailed him.
There can be no argument against that fact that we have a severe childhood obesity issue in our country. McDonald’s chains are often more common than supermarkets in some areas. One third of our nation’s children are overweight or obese. Junk food is stuffed into beautiful, fun packaging. Sugar tastes so damn good and its deliciously addictive. We eat big portions in this country – most of which is just a lot of nothing, filling the hole, cheap and easy. It’s here, it’s there, it’s everywhere, nom, nom, nom.
Bottom line? Our bad eating habits are so effusive that they have become a culture issue. My friends and I ate junk growing up, and now my kids and their friends want it too. And unless we want to continue seeing more children facing health issues and obesity before they even get to high school, we need to change our culture’s ideals about fast food fast.
I have to point out that the First Lady made a great point about obesity before she launched into the points of her program. She made it clear that this is not about how someone looks. Its about how children feel. Both in reference to their own body image and how they feel medically.
There is a huge issue of fat-ism (for lack of a better word) and body image in this country – and this initiative can’t and should not be about that. I am hoping that healthier habits change attitudes on many levels but never single out anyone for not fitting some expectation of “model thin” beauty. We are what we are, but let’s be the best we can be. Just saying.
So back to the Let’s Move Campaign. We have to change the culture of our country. So that means we need support. Parents need support from schools, schools need to actively educate children and funding will be needed to really push a campaign of healthy eating habits forward. Sugar has too strong a pull on us not to come back at the causes of obesity with guns blazing.
So will kids actually be able to learn how to eat better? I don’t think it is ever too early to start educating and empowering children about food. My six year old has a peanut allergy and has been reading food labels for as long as he has been able to read. And more recently, we’ve been taking steps to read the entire label. He knows to look for sugar, sodium, trans fat, protein and vitamins. And now that he generally understands what reasonable amounts of each should be in his food, he knows we need to pick Cheerios over Fruit Loops. He may not be happy about it, but at least he now knows why.
Also, it is my hope that some of the funding will make healthier foods more accessible to families in need. Feeding a family off a dollar menu is a hell of a lot cheaper than cashing out at a grocery store. Healthy eating should be something everyone can afford to do.
Finally, there has been some crabbing about this campaign banning certain foods in school. While I think banning food is never a good idea, teaching kids about better choices certainly is. And then, we would hope, kids will learn to pick better food choices and drive the market to provide healthier alternatives in vending machines which kids feel OK about buying.
“No way, dude. I don’t want that lame Ho-Ho. I want that bag of sliced apples! AWESOME!”
Er. Here’s hoping at least.
And if my son’s PTO votes to remove all sodas and cupcakes and sugary crap from the schools vending machines, so be it and good riddance. But that’s the schools collective choice. I’m just hoping that with focused education and better access to healthier foods, it will be my children’s choice someday too.
Oh and be sure to check out my friend Apryl’s post about this too: First Lady Michelle Obama takes a Bite Out of Childhood Obesity. Apryl, who writes at About.com, was in on a conference call to the White House as the President signed the executive order to fight childhood obesity.
It’s Groundhog day! It’s my holiday. Cheers, a toast to me.
Well, its my holiday in the Groundhog Day MOVIE sense of the holiday. Do you remember that movie? With Bill Murray? From about 15ish years ago? I remember going to that movie with an old boyfriend. I thought the movie was kind of lame at the time. So did he. I don’t think I ever thought about that movie again. At least not for a long while.
However. Years later, this holiday – in the sense that it is in the movie – has become my day. And I am sure you can guess why. Or why any mother home with her kids might relate. Stuck in my own personal Groundhog Day, I wash the same damn dishes every day, I yell the same demands of “stop beating your brother on the head with a baseball bat” about the same time everyday, I ask daily that they eat their carrots, and pee in the potty, and pick up their underwear off the ground, and not slosh every drop of bathwater onto the floor, and stop jumping on the bed, and WIPE for God’s sake, and yes you DO need a nap, and look both ways. Its always the same. THE SAME. Everyday.
In some ways there is a certain comfort in it all. I know there is for my children. By nature, kids require adults to create predictable rhythms and army issue schedules which we can set our watches to. They need that routine. And parents abide. To a child, in an ever-changing world, that schedule is wholly welcome and needed and comforting. And who am I kidding – the guarantee that I will see my 6 year old at 3:45 everyday is assuring and wonderful and something I look forward to daily.
But while I look forward to 3:45pm, to see him bopping up to my car with his backpack on, it always seems that this day could be the same as the last or the day before or the next day coming. The same buses pass me on the way to school, the same cars line up and sit next to me in the car line, the same fights happen in the backseat on the way home.
Its Groundhog day. Everyday.
Ugh, so… do I really need to make a disclaimer here? And say that while this painfully predictable same same saaaame-ness in my daily schedule can be extraordinarily tedious… and even though I admit to that plainly here… even so, I do truly love being here for my children. Do I need to say that? I hope not. I hope it is clear that I cherish my time with my boys. Just because my job is mind numbing and exhausting, doesn’t mean I don’t love it. I know. It makes perfect sense.
But oh once just to throw nap schedules to the wind, to bust out of the car line, to not have dinner ready at 6pm. My children would be better off for some spontaneity now and then. Which we try to do. And succeed at now and again. But I will tell you this. While the crazy fun is exciting initially, they don’t do so well with unpredictability long term. And they are much easier to parent if they know what’s happening next. So the routine is a must. It allows them to grow, to flourish and to trust that their world around them is still the same and that dinner will be ready by 6pm, I promise.
But still. Happy Groundhog Day to me.
And if you forget to wish me a happy one today, well that’s ok.
I dream a lot. And I dream some keeerazy, far too realistic dreams which happen to stick with me for half the day. And very often I wake up and have determined that my husband is in trouble for something he absolutely did not do. But I sure dreamt that he did and that’s good enough in my book. My mother used to do this to my father too. My father and husband commiserate over having spent days in the dog house for indiscretions we’ve dreamt up in the wee hours. It’s just one of those lovely hidden traits that spouses find out about long after we’ve walked down the aisle. Sorry, huz.
Anyway, I am usually not into replaying my dreams publicly because come on. What is more boring than hearing what someone dreamt about the night before? My husband gets to hear every detail – because listening to irrelevant dreams is in his husband job description (however fine the print was) I’m afraid. But I try to spare boring the rest. Because really I know, *YAWN* … so to speak.
But I had a dream that is worthy of sharing I think. It offers a unique insight into the mind of a mother. Maybe you’ve had a dream like this before? Well, whether you have or not, the real reason I am posting it is to rid myself of its demons. Because I am fairly sure I aged a couple of years just by having it. It was a doozy. And to start off telling its tale, I must ask you one important question:
Do you know what mom stress dreams are made of?
Well I’ll tell you.
I am riding in the very back of my friend’s red mini-van. And the car is filled with children that are not mine. Where were mine by the way? I have no idea where they are. And where are we going anyway? Oh look. No one is driving the car. That’s right, I am careening down a highway, in a minivan filled with children who aren’t mine, with no one at the wheel. So I scramble over the seats. And as I am doing this, I look down to see that the kids are actually not strapped into their car seats. And some of the car seats are far too small for them. And the kids are dirty. One little girl was covered in coffee beans. Could she choke on those? Holy hell, she has a handful in her fist right now. But wait. The van is still careening down the highway and starting to veer. Must. Crawl. To. Front. Of. Van. Oh no. My foot gets wrapped up in one of those dangling straps belonging to one of those children that isn’t strapped in. And now one is crying. A lot. He is squirming and its clear his diaper is full. Something leaks out the side. Oh this is bad. Finally, I’m in the front of the van, my foot yanked free, hoping to God those kids don’t crawl out of their seats. I grab the wheel. But, predictably, I could not reach the break pedal. The cliched slow motion, walking in syrup moment of it all was torturous. Reaching, reeeeaching for those pedals. Finally I do and I break. Kids fly around everywhere, I feel thudding on the back of my seat. What have I done? Screaming, crying, oh my God are they ok? I find myself stopped on a back road. I push open the door. Where the hell am I? Who are these kids? WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN? Where is my cell phone? I really need help. So I am searching and searching and searching in my bag when I look up. One child has escaped the car and is elbow deep in a conveniently placed trough of manure. Poop was all over her. And she is about to put it in her mouth because she’s just one of those “mouthy” kinds of kids. I grab her, tell her not to touch anything, and where are my wipes? Standing there on the grass, one hand on her, I am frantically searching searching searching my bag for wipes, pleading that she not move. But something does move – its the van. With the van door still open and every child still unstrapped crawling all over the inside, it begins to roll away from me, rapidly picking up speed. They start screaming again, and the van rolls further away, faster and faster and I am chasing it, slow motion AGAIN, with this manurey child on one hip, and I’ll never catch it (- oh shit I left my bag behind -) the van is gaining speed, its just too far away, a shoe just fell out the side of the van or was it a bottle? I’ll never catch it, OHMYGODHELP!!!….
And that, my friends, are what mom stress dreams are made of.
By the way, my children, my wipes, my car, my car seats, my cell phone and my bag are all blessedly accounted for.
Adventure Island in Tampa officially began its season of “Island Nights” on June 10th. And the folks at Adventure Island graciously invited me to bring my family and check it all out. Considering how much my children love water and how HOT it has been in Tampa already, we jumped at the chance to see what this water park is all about.
Stumble It!
For Local Blog
