Here’s this week’s column, old news to most of us.

“So we’re taking the kiddo’s to Disneyland. To be honest, the man and I have been far more excited about our “surprise” trip than I could have imagined. Who knew rodents dressed up in polyester had so much appeal?

Being the creative geniuses that we are, we decided to copy the commercials and surprise the children. Thanks to a call from “Mickey”, aka my part ventriloquist brother-in-law, the kids believe we’ve been personally invited. They also think the mouse is paying.

Stupid, rich little rat.

We packed up the car and kids yesterday, determined to make this the Best Road Trip Ever. Taking a cue from my mother, I brought along coloring pages, cheese sticks, a communal water jug, a Grab Bag filled with good behavior toys and doo dads, and seventeen pounds of candy.

What could go wrong?

Ten minutes down the road my kids were singing Kumbaya and sharing Skittles. Forty minutes down the road they were singing Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer and hoarding their Skittles. An hour into the trip, no one was singing and they were trying to shove Skittles up each other’s noses. Oh yeah, Mickey would totally love that.

By the time we hit Nephi we had stopped twice at Walmart, three times at public restrooms (two were dry wolf cries), and once at the orphanage in case anyone wanted to get out (okay, the orphanage bit was just in my mind, but it was a serious consideration).

And then we hit the snow storm.

Here’s the thing about snow. When you’re in love and tucked away in a cabin in the woods, it’s romantic and inspiring. When you’re trapped in the car, 22 miles from the nearest exit, with two kids who have to pee, it’s, well, kind of like Hell, frozen over.

We stopped at St. George to hole up for the night and stretch our legs, then packed the kids back into the car bright and early the next morning.

Cue sick child.

Our three-year-old had spent the previous afternoon coughing and sniffing and complaining of an ear ache. I gave her the suggested doses of the appropriate drugs, and we all prayed her ear would get well in time to see Cinderella.

I don’t know if she stuck a skittle in there or what, but by the time we were three hours into  day two of The Best Road Trip Ever, she was hurting something fierce.

Cue the Mojave Desert.

When a woman brings a child into this world, the doctor secretly plants a Freak Out chip in her brain that can be triggered by things like short sleeves in winter, toilet lids left upright, and a lack of pediatricians in the desert.

By the time the afternoon hit, my panic level was through the roof. We were hours from our destination and neither of us have a smart phone (aka a cell phone with magical powers that can call down the host of Heaven while ordering pizza). HOW CAN I SAVE MY CHILD AND FIND A DOCTOR WITHOUT A SMART PHONE?

We secured an address, made like the wind, and tried to get to the doctor before closing. As luck would have it, we missed the clinic by two minutes. That’s right, no matter how cute my snot crusted little dumpling was, they weren’t about to bust open those doors on a Sunday evening. I’d like to blame them, but really I can’t.

By the time we rolled into Carlsbad our children were passed out in the backseat, the baby was tired of her plastic prison, and I needed a vacation to get myself revved up for the vacation.

That was four hours ago.

But, tucking those little darlings into their beds, with whispers of tomorrow floating through the air, I can’t help feeling like maybe, just maybe, there’s going to be a little magic left for us tomorrow. Well, first a doctor’s appointment, but after that, definitely magic.”

Please don’t make me go back there tomorrow. No seriously, my feet and I just can’t take it.

Why, oh why, am I the vainest person in Southern California? And why, oh why, can’t I just suck it up and buy a pair of tennis shoes?

I have recently realized that I don’t own flat shoes. After raiding my shoe trunks, it’s apparent that a two inch lift is as short as I get, and that’s including a run to the mailbox and early morning car pool treks.

So, in preparation for this vacation, I went out and bought myself three new pairs of flats so I’d have a decent variety of footwear, just in case anyone at Disneyland noticed I was wearing the same shoes two days in a row. And yes, this takes personal vanity to a whole new level for me.

Not only are my feet crying, but my children have joined the chorus. On the haul to California, it became apparent that we had two budding ear infections in the girls. Yes, we’ve had them seen and purchased the appropriate medication, and yes, they’re grumpy and sleepy and just want to go home. They really didn’t need the vacation from their nap schedules right now, but what can we do?

On the plus side, my dear friend Becca suggested we head straight over to City Hall and ask for help with Rex. You all know about his anxiety, and standing in line for hours isn’t the best thing for a kid who gets antsy and nervous. Our therapist concurred, so I went to the cast member on duty and asked if she had any suggestions for helping him in case he freaked out.

Not only were they happy to help us out, but we got the Disneyland Golden Ticket: a pass for six that allows us to go through the handicapped entrance so Rex doesn’t end up in the fetal position halfway through the Peter Pan line.

The eliminated wait time has been so refreshing that I never want to come to Disneyland without a handicapped person again. It’s been the silver lining to all the sickness and aching feet. Also, my sister has requested that Rex accompany them next time they attend as well, cause he’s just so fun.

We are going to Disneyland!! RIGHT NOW!!!!

Jason and I have been planning a surprise trip for our kidlets and we left on Saturday. As you read this, we’re on the road to Anaheim, heading to see The Mouse.

We (I) sent the kids on a scavenger hunt all over the house Saturday morning and it ended in the Charity Ball Jar. Remember back when I told you our theme this year was Charity Makes Me Happy? Well, we started a jar (per someone’s suggestion) and have been trying to fill it with kindness inspired colored balls in order to “earn” a previously paid for vacation to Disneyland (the kids thought it was St. George).

I’ll be honest, the past week Jason and I have been shoving handfuls of balls in that stupid jar when the kids aren’t looking, just to hit the fill line in time and save us from looking like liars (which we obviously are).

So, when the last clue sent the kids to the jar, they found a phone number inside. Ten digits later, they got Mickey himself (also known as my ridiculously talented bro-in-law Jake who agreed to play said part). He invited them to Disneyland and they said yes. To be honest, there was a moment there when we thought they were going to turn him down for St. George, but it all came out right in the end.

And so, after two days of Hell in the car, we’re now, officially, headed to Main Street. I absolutely can’t wait.

(Also, the kids think Mickey paid for the trip. Stupid mouse, taking all the credit.)

Here’s this week’s column, brought to you with all the passion I’ve got in my pent-up mommy account.

“There comes a time in every mother bear’s life when she has to ask herself: Do I fish him out of the river, or stand back and watch him choke?

I, for one, am done with the choking.

Two months ago my husband, our therapist and I enrolled my five-year-old, Rex, in a begginer Karate class. He’s young for his age, distractable, and adorably enthusiastic. But the class was for ages 3-5, how bad could he be?

His first class was positively painful to watch. All that pent up anxious enthusiasm led to goofy, non-Karate acrobatics and absent minded summersaults. But, by the end of his 30-minute class, I could see a definite improvement.

The second class was slightly less painful, with a measurable amount of progress. I was impressed. This was a brand new adventure for him, and he was starting to get it.

Then the third class came along. Unfortunately, the head Sensei lady stood in as a class substitute. She’s your typical Type A personality, perfect for running a tight Karate operation. Not so perfect for little boys who are just trying to figure things out.

Having missed Rex’s earlier performances, she didn’t realize that what she saw was improvement. It might have been small, but it was only his third class. At the end of session, she “invited” us to enroll him in private lessons. There was no other option.

Ouch.

Being the non-confrontational person that I’d like to pretend I am, I held my piece and went along with Dad, who immediately jumped on board. Hey, we want our kid to succeed, if a few private lessons are going to help him, we’ll fork over the extra cash and play ball.

I’d like to tell you that watching my boy giving his heart to this woman has brought me joy and happiness. Instead, what I’ve been seeing this past month is a lady who doesn’t like my kid. He tries harder to obey her than I’ve ever seen him try at anything, yet I can feel her palpable dislike for him. And I don’t care what anyone says, you know when someone doesn’t like your child. It shows.

So, per her suggestion, I dropped him off alone last Thursday for his private lesson. He was scheduled to work with the Sensei from 5:00 to 5:30. At 5:28 when my husband walked in, my child was still sitting quietly by the door, looking out the window. She’d “gotten busy,” “other people needed her at the front desk,” and “we just started a few minutes late.”

Right. Because ignoring him for half an hour is totally acceptable. Hey, as long as his overbearing mother isn’t around, why should she give the kid any attention?

After his lesson (which I watched quietly from around the corner, and which he totally rocked) I took her aside to get a read on his improvement.

“Hey Sensei, so how is Rex doing? We’re anxious to help him get back into his class, just wondering what your thoughts are.”

“Oh,” she said, “Well, I don’t think that will be happening any time soon. He’ll need two, probably three more months before we even consider moving him back into a class.”

At that moment, after watching her impose her hard-core techniques on him for the past month (techniques that our therapist was slightly alarmed by), I knew it was time to fire the Sensei.

A karate chop to the throat also crossed my mind.

There are moments in life when a mother has to do what’s best for her child. Sometimes, doing what’s best means helping them pick up the pieces of life’s learning experiences and setting them back on their feet. But sometimes it means kicking the Karate teacher’s trash all the way back to Hong Kong.”

With two days left to tie up all the last minute wedding details I’ve invented, things are a little nutso around here. The past three weeks have been delightfully insane. They’ve included multiple coupons for JoAnn’s and Michael’s, power tools, favor call-in’s, hot glue guns, and enough spray paint to make Al Gore cry real tears.

All in all, it’s been one of the greatest creative outlets I’ve found to date. In my next life, I’m going to be a wedding planner.

To give you a little glimpse into the insanity, I’ve decided to post a step by step look at the creation of the center pieces. I’ve made 11 of these babies, and it all started with a tree.

This one lives in my front yard.

I headed out, big fat cutters in hand, and trimmed off a substantial bushel of branches to take back to the kitchen, where I cleaned them up. Don’t they look inspiring.

Then I took these flowers from the dollar section and popped the heads off. I pulled out the Burn Man and hot glued them in no apparent order on a few select branches. Cue ambulance.

Here’s where I got really tricky. With a little help from my favorite spray gun and Walmart’s Hi-Ho Silver spray paint, I found the perfect balance of early spring silver buds. Watch.

Pretty, right? At this point I went out to our very small wood pile in the garage and rummaged around. I found a few uncut logs, took them to my wonderful neighbor guy who’s retired with a saw, and had him cut them into stumps. To make a long story short, we drilled holes in the top, wove our magic wands over them, and presto! Really cool center pieces.

I did the math, each of these girls cost us (DeNae) right around $12, minus 7 years off my life for power tool PTSD. But really, so worth the sacrifice in the end. (They’re so lovely in person, the red table cloth doesn’t do them any favors.)

And BTW, if you’re available this Friday morning and March 3rd and would be willing to help, please email me at regardingannie@gmail.com. I could use a few more girls who Like To Do Wedding Crap to help with setup since I’ll be gone on the big day. (Barbaloot, your email address apparently hates me. Will you give me a holler?)

It’s going to be fabulous.

I would love to start out with something witty and enlightening, but I used my funny all up this weekend with my sisters.

Holy crap we had so much fun.

Each year, my mother and two of my older sisters and I get together for a weekend getaway in February. We leave hearth and home behind and meet up for three days of Old Country Buffets and Ross marathons.

This year our mama was particularly festive, she went so far as to bring a Grab Bag filled with  mostly cheap prizes that could be earned with good behavior, coke-through-the-nose jokes (cttn is the new lol), or willingness to try on particularly unattractive clothing (or prom dresses).

Here I am working on my “second chance prom” look. We might or might not have brought in the janitor to help zip me into this dress. And yes, I’ve got all my undergarments tucked away under my armpits. They were kind of ruining the picture.

We took Georgia with us and she was an absolute angel. Minus the time she “got violent” and attacked my mother with kicking and headbutting because I took off to the hot tub without her. Apparently her finely tuned smelling skills told her that lunch had left the building.

All in all, it was an absolutely amazing weeked. I fly home tonight and can’t wait to hug and squeeze my babies and their father. There’s nothing like a few days away to make me conveniently forget all the puking and the biting. Get ready because Mama’s coming home tonight!

PS – Vanessa named me her Monday. Swing over and take a peek, if you’d like.

Here’s this week’s column for The Standard and Vidette. Honestly, I am a such a work in progress (minus the progress).

“It’s a funny thing about New Year’s Resolutions; now that we’re in February, I can think of twenty that should have made the list.

Last weekend my husband and I headed out to run a few errands. This is something he does because it’s his responsibility; I tag along because it means he’s trapped in the car with me and can’t escape. Usually this works to my advantage. Usually.

“So,” he said as we pulled out, “I really think we need to talk about something.” In my marriage, this is never a good start. There I was, all snuggled up next to him with Karen Carpenter crooning away in the background, and he had to go ruin it with a Something conversation.

“What is it this time?” I asked.

Here’s the thing about “Things We Might Disagree On”. These conversations need to happen. They have to happen. If we don’t talk about them eventually, nothing good will ever happen. Also, I hate them.

In his typical, calm, adult manner, he addressed our current hot topic. It took about 13 seconds for me to raise my voice.

“Honey,” he said, interrupting me, “Can’t we talk about this like normal adults?”

“I am talking like an adult! All adults talk like this!!” I said.

“Okay, can’t we talk about this without yelling?”

“I am not yelling! Believe me buddy, you’d know if I were yelling!!”

“Really? Because it kind of sounds like you’re yelling. Perhaps you could just bring your volume–”

“What’s the matter with my volume? I’m a passionate woman! You’ve been married to me for eleven years, this really shouldn’t be such a surprise, especially since we’ve talked about my volume 4000 times!”

“I’d just like to have a civil, quiet conversation without you getting all excitable.  If you’d just learn–”

“Learn? LEARN?? I’ll never learn! Haven’t you figured that out about me by now? This is who I am, and I am excitable! Just because I’m passionate does not make me bad, I like to speak with conviction! If you didn’t like it, you shouldn’t have married me!” Probably not the best moment to remind him of that decision.

Now, this last statement was said with something a little stronger than your typical “conviction”. Words to describe my actual tone might be more along the lines of “hysterical”, or “extremely loud”, or even “good golly can’t I drop her off by the side of the road?”

The worst part of this rather unpleasant conversation was that up to this point, we hadn’t even begun to talk about the actual issue because we were so busy arguing about how to talk about the issue.

Lucky for my husband, it was right about then that we reached our first destination. I threw open my door, barreled out of the car and slammed it passionately behind me. He locked it.

Being the overly excitable soul that I am, there’s nothing better for my excessive zest than a cold walk in the winter air. Something about all that silence made me realize that perhaps, just maybe, he had a really good point.

Just because my natural inclination spurs me to react with fervor doesn’t mean fervor is always right. There’s a time and a place for every emotion, perhaps it’s time for me to cut back a little on the fervor? Was he really asking that much of me? To talk in a nicer voice?

I was back at the car five minutes later, feeling much more subdued and not a little chagrinned at my rather zesty outburst.

I knocked on the window and he grudgingly unlocked the door. I climbed in and looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?” he said.

“You’re right. I need to chill out and speak in a calm, adult manner.”

“Honey–”

“No, let me finish. I’ve decided to make it my New Year’s Resolution–” he’s heard this phrase 19 times in the past two months “–and I can change, I can be…vanilla. I will learn how to talk like a reasonable person, even when I’m upset. Now, what is it you were saying?”

It’s amazing what a little dose of discipline will do for a girl. Would you believe we went on to finish our discussion and still wanted to hold hands when we were done? Now that is progress.

In case you missed it, I’d like to welcome Primrose Preschools to my side bar. Emily, my bloggy friend, just sent me this write up she did on an upcoming event. It got me so excited, I am now planning elaborately choreographed routines in my head that I will force my children to perform on video so we can win $5000 and I can get a tummy tuck. I mean, so we can take family vacation. Please, do not try to take us on, we will smoke your blue suede shoes. Just sayin’.

Dance, Dance, Dance!

Submitted by Emily Patterson on behalf of Primrose Preschools

Dance can be a fun, easy way to introduce physical activity into your family’s daily routine.  As a provider of educational child care, Primrose Schools has recognized and is actively fighting against the childhood obesity epidemic. Your family can join in the fight- all you have to do is dance!

The Family Dance-off supports Children’s Miracle Network Hospitals, a non-profit organization that raises funds for more than 170 children’s hospitals.  They take this money and distribute it to where its needed most.  When a donation is given it stays within the community, collectively they treat 17 million children annually for every illness and injury imaginable.

Families are encouraged to record and submit a 30 second video of their family dancing to promote fitness and strengthen family ties.

Participating in the Family Dance-off is easy:

1.       Record a 30-second video of your family’s best dance moves. Let loose and don’t be afraid to get a little silly!

2.       Visit The Family Dance-off site and upload your best take by March 19^th.

3.       Share your video with your friends via email, Facebook, Twitter, etc.

4.       View and vote daily (you can place five votes per day) for your favorite family dance video!

What would a competition be without prizes? Primrose Schools is providing prizes that aren’t only great for your family but for your whole community, with $65,000 in donations to local Children’s Miracle Network Hospitals:

·         Grand Prize: $5,000 and Primrose will make a $30,000 donation to a local Children’s Miracle Network Hospital

·         2nd Prize: $3,000 and Primrose will make a $20,000 donation to a local Children’s Miracle Network Hospital

·         3rd Prize: $1,500 and Primrose will make a $15,000 donation to a local Children’s Miracle Network Hospital

·         All 14 Finalists will also receive a FLIP camcorder

Visit The Family Dance-off site for details on how to take part in the fight against childhood obesity, participate in the competition, and view past competitors!

Honestly, when I see give-a-way’s I don’t usually even comment. Let’s face it, my chances at winning things stink. I know, The Secret will tell you that these statements alone are holding me back from certain lottery success, but I can’t help it. I never. Win. Anything.

Until now.

That’s right, this week my children and I received a package in the mail from none other than the fabulous Vanessa Brown who never grew up, and holy crap, I’m so excited. I won a fairy garden! Rex is freaking out, it’s like a dream come true. And the best part? They’re all old enough to not eat the dirt.

We’re planning to crack it open tonight and get the dirt down, then make a few fairy suggested additions. I love you Vanessa, thanks for making me a better mom.

In case you missed the subtlety in my post-Valentine’s report, my sweetheart cheated on me with me. Just making sure his good name stays good.