I Only Have Two Words For This Day

DARN IT!

The girls falling to their knees in anguish as the Ducks lose to Florida.

Mickey Mouse is Cursed

About a week ago I wrote some about my troubles in finding Mickey Mouse paraphernalia for my daughter's birthday party. It was my original belief that perhaps there was a weird boycott going on that prevented the selling of any and all things Mickey Mouse.

It was so bad that all my daughter's Mickey Mouse favors were bought at the Dollar Tree.

Anyway, the day of my daughter's birthday party arrives and I have a pretty full morning schedule, but I also have a plan. Chris is going to come over and watch the girls while I go to my Doctor appointment, pick up the cake, and go to the Pizza place to decorate. I've loaded everything into the car either the night before or just prior to her arrival and I'm off.

First stop is the Doctor office, which takes a little bit longer than I had hoped for, but since I love my Doctor I was okay with that. Besides, it wouldn't take me that long to decorate, I thought. The appointment went... as to be expected... and I left with a new meter in hand. (Yea!)

Next was a stop to get a Mickey balloon (at the Dollar Tree), then I stopped to get the cake. I'm now running 10 minutes later than what I had budgeted, but still feeling optimistic.

I arrive at the Pizza place and start pulling out the first round of items to be taken inside to start the decorating process. I walk up to the door, grab the handle, and... kathunk. I shake it. Kathunk, kathunk, kathunk. O-kay...

I readjust the stuff I'm holding and walk over to the other door. Same thing. The doors seem to be locked, which is odd since, yep, yep, I look at the sign, they open at 11am.

It's now 11:10.

I had called the day before to place the order for the pizza and just make sure that someone would be there to hook up the DVD player to the big tv so that we could watch Mickey movies, so I know that they know I'm coming... with 25 of my daughter's closest friends. So, what now?
The girls are at home and the time is creeping toward the 11:20 mark. I have to drive the 15 minutes to get them and then 15 minutes back and they are not dressed in their party clothes yet. People will be there in 40 minutes and I'm starting to panic. Where is everyone?!

A lone car drives into the driveway and parks. "Oh thank goodness", I think, but the relief is short lived. She doesn't have a key. Luckily, she has a cell phone and she starts dialing, but she's not able to get ahold of anyone! It takes 5 minutes to reach anyone with a key and that person is 10 minutes, at best, from being at the building. I can't wait that long because I have to be back before the party starts at noon.

The girl offers to bring the stuff I've pulled from the car inside and start decorating for me once the building is unlocked. So, after pulling the cake from my car, because the girls wouldn't fit if it was in there (not to mention that toddlers and a cake probably don't mix well), and setting that on the bench outside, and then giving all of my trust to this lonely person outside the building, I'm off to get the girls.

Drive home. Grab girls and put in car. Request Chris stop and get me COFFEE!!! And we are OFF!

I make it back in record time, but there are already people (mainly my dad) in the parking lot. That's odd, I think. The doors should be unlocked by now.

My dad gets out of the car and tells me that he thinks they are not open yet since the doors are still locked. I'm pulling the kids from the car and preparing to go inside when the girl that was there earlier runs outside to tell me that the person that drove down with the keys did not unlock the front doors for some odd reason and asks us to come in the back door. I say okay and grab the girls' party clothes and turn around... to see the same girl from the pizza place walk around the corner and tell me that the back door locked behind her.

We're locked out again.

With no choice but to change the girls outside, I give my niece to my dad along with her clothes and hoist the short person up onto the car to change her... as three more cars for the party arrive.

And it starts to rain.

And my daughter starts sobbing.

Oui Vey.

There hits a point where you have to accept the unexpected and realize that your perfectly prepared, four weeks in the making, plans are not going to be anything near what you expected. There comes a point where you say, "Okay. Whatever happens, happens. It's all about the people and about making sure my daughter has fun." This was that moment.

At 12:05, the owners and about 20 employees they picked up along the way, drove into the parking lot and let us in. I went against my own "You are the guest, sit and enjoy yourself" rule and put people to work helping to decorate. The employees busted butt to get everything ready and...

I think the party turned out great. Chaotic. Loud. But wonderful. Definitely one for the books and for this blog.

But I swear, Mickey Mouse is cursed. I didn't even get the invitations in the mail! They are all still sitting in my briefcase at home. Thank goodness for email-- although... LMAO... even that was its own funny story since I used a font no one could read on the emailed invitation.

The Short Person Enjoying a Slice of Pizza at Her Party. Since it was a Mickey Mouse party, everyone got mouse noses and whiskers painted on and a pair of mouse ears-- which my daughter would not wear. LOL

The Toilet of Terror

I think my horoscope may have had a point yesterday when it said, "Today, you have bitten off more than you can chew."

From the moment that I picked up the girls from the sitter's I knew I was in for a night. It was constant screaming, bickering, and "Mom, she's looking at me!".

We got home and I proceeded to make dinner-- and attempt to settle arguments in the interim, feed the girls, and then get them ready for bed. In between the feeding and the bedtime, the bickering and screaming got so bad that I decided to sit them at the table and let them paint for awhile. This, unfortunately, did not go as smoothly as planned. For one thing, I'd forgotten that a two-year-old likes to taste-test every new substance put in front of them.

Once I'd finished eating my dinner (thankfully the quiet lasted that long), I went back to see what they were doing trying not to look at the paint on the tables, walls, and sent them straight to the bedroom so that I could get in there and take a baby wipe to their painted faces, hands, and hair. While they were walking down the hall, I hurried and picked up the paint, water dishes and brushes and moved the wet paintings to newspaper to dry.

It was about this time that I noticed that things had gotten unusually quiet. Quiet and toddlers is NOT a good thing when that quiet is not a direct response to something you've had control over. But my wait for answers was not long in coming as the tiny one showed up in front of me covered in toilet paper and water.

"What the hell?" I murmured, looking across the room at my husband who was lying on the couch, but he was oblivious to everything but the UCLA game.

Following the trail of water droplets down the hall and toward the short person's bedroom, I found my daughter standing just outside the bathroom instead, dripping wet with wads of wet toilet paper in her hands.

"What... is going on here?" I asked, putting a lid on my short-fused temper. I peered into the bathroom and groaned. "Were you playing in the toilet?!"

"Uh-huh. We were trying to fix it." The short person replied.

I can, unfortunately, tell that she has recently used it and forgotten or refused to flush it and I feel the roots of my hair stand on end. My face turns red and I wait for that feeling of my head lifting and spinning around a few times to take place. Once it does and I can once again breathe normally, I look at her.

"What... exactly... needed to be fixed?"

"Well..."

"You know you are not supposed to play in the toilet, right?"

"Well... She did it first, Mom."

I look at her, trying to assess whether she is pulling my leg and trying to get out of what she must have know was a world of trouble.

It was one of those parenting moments where you are sure that other people have been through this before and yet there are no crib notes on how to proceed. I stood there, looking at her, trying to figure out how to simultaneously get through her skull all the things that could happen because of toilet germs and keep the "I'm really mad" facade going. Sighing, I make a decision.

"Even if she started it, it does not mean that you need to jump ship too. YOU knew it was wrong and you still chose to do this, so what do you think your punishment should be? A time-out or spanking?" I've now gotten the really mad point across because she's crying now.

"I need a hug, Mom."

I hug her and tell her to sit down in the bathroom floor. "What do you think your punishment should be?"

"I don't want a spanking." She's crying.

Since I'm not all that mad anymore, just resigned, I start in. "You cannot play in the toilet. There are germs in there that will make you really sick. You will need to go to the Doctor and stay in the hospital. I love you and I don't want that to happen to you." I look at her and she's looking at me.

"Okay, Mom."

"So, I still need to know how we should proceed. What's a good punishment."

She's looking at me miserably and I'm thinking. Since I don't have the energy for a 10 minute scream fest when I put her in time-out, and I don't believe in spanking without at the very least a warning that the action taken is a spanking offense, I make a decision.

"You said that tiny person started this first and was involved, right?"

The short person nods.

"Okay. Sit there, I'll be right back." I go into the living room and retrieve the other culprit in this disaster and bring her back into the bathroom. Since tiny person hasn't heard the lecture, I give her a brief run-down. "There will be no more playing in the toilet. It will make you very sick if you do. The next time, you will both be spanked. THIS is a spanking offense and that will be your consequence."

Both girls are now looking at me with the "Wow, she really means business" expression and I nod to make sure they know I'm the mean mommy right now. "Your punishment for this time will be to clean up the floor."

I pull out two of the Lysol wipes and hand one to each girl and they set off cleaning the floor while I do the toilet. The short person is complaining that I'm doing her job and I reiterate that the toilet can make her sick and only Mommies and Daddies can clean them.

After about five minutes of cleaning, and they did a really good job of it too, my daughter says the funniest thing to me.

"This is SO MUCH FUN, Mom!"

I looked at her, somewhat disgruntled, and reply, "This is punishment... it's not supposed to be fun!"