My husband, daughter, mother-in-law and myself are going to Disney World this July.  Yep, you heard me right, Florida in July, with hot pavement, sweaty kids, and exhausted parents.  Can you imagine being the guy (or gal) in the Mickey suit?  Anyways, somehow the topic of going to Disney came up last Fall and there is no backing down now- Grandma is excited, the kiddo is already packing, and the airline tickets have already been bought!  Whether I like it or not I’m going to spend some quality time with the Mouse.  Did I mention we’re going to be there over the 4^th of July?

 Planning a trip to Disney feels like a full time job- from deciding where to stay (Disney or non-Disney property), to which attractions to visit and for how long (because there are dozens of permutations of the ticket plans alone), whether or not you need to rent a car (kind of dependent on where you stay), to where to eat (to dine at Disney or not), down to the nitty gritty of how to manage your time while at the parks themselves.  So I did what any self-respecting Type-A mom would do, I bought a book.  A big, thick book, which will tell me where to eat, how to bypass long lines, which hotel has the cleanest pool, the best places to view the parades, etc.

But honestly, I don’t want to be that scheduled.  I have a 5 year old- and I have learned in 5 years that schedules are only rough estimates of what you are going to do and when.  A temper tantrum, illness, injury, or impromptu nap can all wreck havoc on an organized person’s plans.  You just have to go with the flow, or risk insanity.

I am completely overwhelmed with all the options, and now realize why all-inclusive traveling is so appealing to me.  Do parents really have fun like in the commercials?  I want to enjoy this trip- I haven’t been to Disney in over 20 years and am really looking forward to sharing this experience with my family.  Obviously I need to have a basic plan outlined but how much is too much or not enough? 

 As a child, I can vividly recall sitting on the reading carpet in my 3rd grade classroom, while my teacher read Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree and Where the Sidewalk Ends aloud to the class.  I loved the poetry in Where the Sidewalk Ends, with it's rhythmic patterns, and it's silly words and whimsical drawings.  The story of The Giving Tree always gave me a warm fuzzy feeling, and I used to pretend that the giant weeping willow in my parent's backyard was my Giving Tree.

Growing up, I always fondly remembered these books, and anticipated the day that I would introduce them to my daughter, and hoped that she would embrace them with the same enthusiasm that I did.   So when my daughter brought home her Scholastic Book Club order form from school last month, I was thrilled to see that a collection of his books was available- and I placed an order right away.  But, if there is one lesson I have learned from parenting, it is that, despite your best intention, things have a tendency to not work out the way you planned- so I wasn't expecting the Norman Rockwell moment I had envisioned for the past 5 years to actually occur.

Several weeks later, the big day came, and the books arrived.  That night, I asked my already sleepy child if she wanted to read the new books for her bedtime story.  She reluctantly agreed, and I tucked her into bed, curled up next to her, and began to read The Giving Tree.  I was no more than 5 pages into the book when I began to feel my lower lip tremble as I told the story of how the tree loved a little boy so much, that he played in her branches and slept in her shade, and ate her apples- and the tree was happy.  I held back a teary-eyed sob when my daughter snuggled even closer to me as I read of how the boy went away, and the tree was sad, but when he came back as a grown man the tree shook with joy to see him, and gladly gave him her branches to build his house.  I finally broke down, my voice quivering and tears streaming down my face, when, at the end of the book, the boy, now an old man, returns to the tree, after cutting down the trunk to make a boat, sits to rest on the remaining stump, and the boy and the tree were happy.  My daughter was asleep, and I was a complete Mommy mess.

The book still had me after all these years, although now as a parent, my view of the story and the way it applied to my life had changed.  I was no longer the young child who found the generosity of the tree heartwarming- I was a parent, whose life paralled the tree's.  As the tree gladly gave more and more of itself to the boy, it was happy, much like a parent will give and sacrifice so that their child has a good life and is happy.  I kissed my daughter goodnight and crept out of her room, with a huge smile on my teary face.  The introduction of my daughter to Shel Silverstein couldn't have gone any better.  

The next night we began reading Where the Sidewalk Ends, where the pressing question of the evening from my daughter was "Mom, where does the sidewalk really end?  I mean, does it really end?" Could there be a more perfect question from a 5 year old?  Not to this Mommy...      

High school.  

What memories do you have of those infamous 4 years?  

For me, high school was so-so.   I attended a notoriously cliquey suburban WI high school, and it lived up to all of it's expectations.  I wasn't in the "cool" group, wasn't in the "dorky" or "jock" group, I guess I was a part of the masses who are somewhere in the middle.  I didn't love it, didn't necessarily hate it, but definitely have no desire to relive any of the moments over again.  In fact, I have cautiously avoided all of my reunions because honestly, there's noone there that I really want to see.  I'm comfortable with where I am in my life now, and those I choose to share it with.

Hence my most recent dilemma.  Last week my husband decided to create a Facebook account.  Now, for those of you 25 and younger who are reading this I'm sure this is a completely normal occurrence in your life.  However, in my life, this is rather unusual.  I always assumed that Facebook and myspace were for teenage kids, famous people, those seeking 15 minutes of fame, porn stars, and old men trolling for 14 year old girls to meet at the mall.  I couldn't think of a reason why a 30 something, hardworking, busy adult would need a page on one of these sites.   Apparently I was completely wrong.

So I received an invitation to be a "friend" of my husband's on his Facebook page, but in order to view it (and, ensure that any photos he posted of me were flattering), I needed to join.  Fine, I thought, what's the big deal?  A few minutes and several painless questions later I had my own Facebook account.  I started to feel young and hip- "Yeah, that's right, I'm still on top of technology.  I'm cool," I thought to myself.  And the next thing I know, it's offering to show me all sorts of people from my high school who also have facebook accounts. "Really?"  Curiousity got the best of me, and I soon started browsing through the list, looking at who was "Facebook friends" with who.  Here's the thing- it's the same situation as high school, just now in cyberspace!  Why would I want to do this?  Am I socially inept because I don't find Facebook thrilling?  It actually makes me kind of uncomfortable.  I don't like the idea of petitioning someone to be my "friend", only to have to sit back and wait for them to accept me.  Nor do I really like having to make that decision about others.  It's like the first day of school all over again.

I really just want to delete the account and call it quits.  I'm too busy to try and be popular in cyberspace- heck, I'm too busy to try and be popular in real life.  I'm pretty happy being me.  But there is a side of me that thinks I should keep the account and conduct an informal experiment, to see if my social expectations are confirmed or proved wrong.  Will it always break down along clicque boundaries?  Will someone unexpected offer me a virtual olive branch as a sign of cyber unity?  What do you think?

I am not a knick-knack type of person. 

In fact, throughout the year I have no displays carefully arranged in curio cabinets, no treasured Hummels, china, crystal... nothing.  Yet last year I got the knick-knack bug at Christmas.  Suddenly, I felt a strong urge to have a Christmas Village prominently displayed in my home.  Why?  I don' t know, but several hundred dollars and a few Christmas gifts from the in-laws later my little town was born.  Tiny homes were trimmed with mini Christmas lights, I had a ski hill (complete with moving skiiers), a chalet, a winery (of course), a bed and breakfast, and other little odds and ends.  It was like a mini Napa Valley- and I was pretty pleased.

So this year I decided to expand my town into a booming metropolis and added several more homes and businesses- my tax base was growing, and the people were happy.  Oh yes, my city even has lots of little people scattered about the fluffy snow covered streets.  This required me to re-locate my village to an 8ft card table in the dining room, which again, I thought was pretty cool that I had a whole table dedicated to my Christmas biosphere.  I can't believe my husband puts up with this!

Yesterday morning I woke up, got ready for work, got the kiddo up, and headed downstairs.  As I walked through the dining room I glanced over at my town, and stopped dead in my tracks.  There was an intruder in my village!!  Staring back at me with a look that says trouble, is my large, clumsy, very sweet, but not-so-smart cat Harry.  And he is standing in the middle of the town square. 

"Harry!"  I hiss- and he knows he is busted. 

In his haste to get off the table before I *ahem* "take" him off, he starts to stumble through the town, like Godzilla after a night of drinking.  The people in my down are knocked over like dominoes, and I realize there's a real danger that he's going to take some of my precious porcelain with him as he jumps off the table.  I grab him in the nick of time and get him off the table with minimal casualties.  But the poor town is forever traumatized, as this will go down in the history books as the day the town was attacked by a big, black furry beast, and something tells me this won't be the last invasion, either.   

I am thankful for the unnamed woman at the gym on Friday, who is in my Zumba class.  We've never spoken, but as I was leaving the gym with my 5 year old daughter the lady approached me with a look of astonishment on her face.  She proceeded to tell me that there was no possible way I could have a child as old as my daughter, because I looked so young!  After reassuring her that I was in my 30's and that my daughter was only 5 (though she's tall and could pass for 6-7), I left the gym with the biggest smile on my face.  Too young!!!  Thanks lady, for making my day!

It’s around this time of year that I start thinking about Christmas.  Not because I LOVE Christmas, or not because radio stations are already playing Christmas music (gag!), but because the holiday catalogues start piling up, and I begin to budget for holiday spending. 

Most notably, I begin to think of gifts for my five year old daughter.  Here’s where the problem begins- my daughter wants for nothing.  It’s actually kind of embarassing, but seriously, there’s not much that she wants that she doesn’t have.  Between tons of grandparents, and a doting push-over Daddy, the girl’s loaded.  She has a bedroom full of toys, a playroom full of toys, a basement full of toys, and a toy box in the family room.  She doesn’t even remember all the toys she has! 

I have been trying to encourage her to set aside toys she has outgrown, to give them to someone who could use them, but it doesn’t work.  She’s convinced she still needs a 0-6 month light up rattle at the bottom of the toy box.  **SIGH**  I’ve tried telling her that Santa can’t bring NEW toys to a kid until she is charitable and gives some of her OLD toys away, to make room for new one.  Nope- no luck there either.  I’ve attempted to discretely bag up some items to throw or give away, but she always catches me when I’m taking the bag outside, and then I’m really busted.

So a few days ago I gave her the big toy catalogue from Toys R Us, and a marker, and I told her to circle all the items she wanted Santa to bring.  I then surreptitiously watched as she began to rapidly circle everything, and I mean everything, that was pink in the entire catalogue.  She probably circled over 30 things.  Then I told her we needed to look at the items she selected.  Here’s the kicker- she didn’t even know what some of the items were! 

Me:  What’s this? (pointing to a pink polka-dot handheld camcorder)

Her:  Well… ummm… it’s a…. well… it’s a looky-through thingy.

Me:  What do you do with it?

Her:  I don’t know, I just want it!

Herein lies the problem.  My daughter is spoiled.  Too much.  And it needs to change.  I think there’s a value in earnestly writing Santa a letter, asking for a special toy.  And counting the days, waiting and hoping for that special toy to appear under the tree on Christmas morning.  The magic is gone from my household.  It bums me out.  I don’t know what to do about it.  I’m all alone on this one.

But yet, I go back to the catalogues, because, whether I like it or not, the grandparents will be calling me any day now, asking for a list of what they can get her.  And they don’t take no for an answer.  So I carefully give each their allotted amount of items, making sure that there’s no overlap or repeats.  And the toys will get opened, and after a few days, discarded in the toy box like all the others.  There will be no magic, short-lived excitement, and no real Kodak moments.  Bah humbug!

I need to buy some carbon credits to offset my husband's energy use during the football games this Sunday. 

Not only did he have 3 TV's on in the house, he had 2 radios playing outside, and 2 computers running, one on each floor of our home.

Every time I turned one off, it magically turned itself on the moment I left the room.

I suspect it had something to do with his fantasy football team, and I've learned over the past 10 years that there's not much I can do about that.

I did turn the heat off- does that count for much?  And I recycled a whole bunch of stuff too...

Please keep up the good work, and give us a nice winter and an early spring.

Sincerely,

Erica 

 Last November, much to my husband's dismay, we got a dog from the Wisconsin Humane Society.  I was given a very specific set of requirements from my husband- he must weigh less than 20 lbs, be non-shedding, and short-limbed (meaning, he can't reach to take food off tables)- the dog, that is.  So I set out on my quest to find the perfect dog, and within weeks the Humane Society had a 1 year old lhasa-poodle mix looking for a good home.  I was told he was a stray from down south somewhere, and likely had been born in a puppy mill, but he was such a cute, curly little fella, I took him home the same day.  I asked my daughter what she wanted to name him, and "Joey Handsome" was christened and the name tag etched.  And so began our happy little family.

Flash forward to the present- Joey has turned out to be one of the sweetest doggies I have ever met.  He's mellow, loves to cuddle, and wears pink t-shirts with gusto.  But, as expected, he has a few issues.  He has proven to be extremely difficult to potty-train, and basically needs more structure and manners in his furry little life.   He also always knows when bad weather is coming- long before it appears on the horizon, he heads for cover.  It's strange, but I can only attribute it to his year as a stray, and he's more accurate than any weather forecaster I've ever seen. 

Wednesday was our first night of doggie obedience class, and we headed off to the local pet store to get a training collar before class.  Joey hates the car-  he's the only dog I have ever owned who gets violently car sick a block after leaving the garage.   Here's how our night went.  Joey drooled profusely to the store, and vomited in the parking lot (better than in my car, which usually happens).  We headed into the store, and while I'm looking at the collars, he peed all over the floor.  This was shaping up to be a fun trip.  After cleaning up the pee, I flagged down a salesperson to unlock the collars that I've been told I need for class.  The 20-something, save-the -world clerk was horrified that I needed a prong collar for little Joey, who was still looking a little green from our car trip.  The clerk then started lecturing me on how inhumane the collars are, and apologizes to Joey as she's putting it on him.  I'm thinking, "Seriously lady, just put the collar on and save the lecture for your next customer.  I have things to do, and I've used the collars in the past and have no intention of hurting my dog."  I almost lost my temper, almost, but I pulled it together, paid, and got out of there.

More drooling on the way to class, but we arrived vomit-free.  We met the teacher and others in the class, and began working on our first 2 commands, "sit" and "stay."  While we were listening to the teacher, I noticed that Joey had moved to sit firmly in between my feet, and didn't seem to want to move.  Then I looked on the horizon, and realized that it was black as night and approaching fast.  My dog's no dummy, he wanted nothing to do with training- he wanted shelter, and I was it!  The funny part was, unbeknownst to him, he was obeying the sit and stay command like a champ.  And that's how the next 30 minutes went- Joey sitting and staying, nervously eying the horizon, and me looking like I had a fabulously trained dog.  When it was done, we drooled our way home, curled up on the couch with the kiddo, and watched the storm roll through.  All's well that ends well, I guess...  we'll have to see if I can keep up my Dog Whisperer image next week.
 

Friday night Hubby and I returned from a week in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.  It was a much needed vacation- I mean, I really needed a vacation.  Ever get that way, where the pressure from daily life starts to build and build and pretty soon you're sure you're going to explode if you don't get a little R&R?  Well, that was me a few months ago.  So, I called our travel agent, gave her the requirements- sand, surf, sun, big pools, nice view and abundant food and drink.  The Riu Santa Fe fit the bill, and we were booked.  Our daughter and dog went to Grandma's and off we went.

Would you believe that I never really looked up Cabo before we left?  As in, where in Mexico it is (the tip of the Baja I now know), the climate, etc?  I know, very un-Type-A of me.  So we land at the airport in Cabo, I exit the plane, and much to my surprise, I'm in a desert.  A true honest to goodness, all brown sand and cacti desert.  And all I can think is, "Um, excuse me, amigo, where the heck is the ocean?"  But after an hour long nausea-inducing bus ride, we made it to the resort, which, as promised, was on the ocean- and it was beautiful.  There's something incredibly striking about the brown sandy cliffs and rocks of the desert combined with the blue waters of the pacific, I never got tired of looking at it (from my beach chair or at the edge of the infinity pool, of course.)   I definitely got what I ordered.

We spent the week sleeping, sunning, playing volleyball (in socks because the sand was sooooo hot our feet turned an alarming shade of purple), eating and drinking.  Wake and repeat- it was pretty easy to do.  We went sailing, saw dolphins, met some great people, had a blast in downtown Cabo, and went on an Eco-Adventure in the desert mountains (ziplines, rock climbing, commando lines) where I swear I almost died- it was too hot!

After a week, we returned to Milwaukee, tanned, relaxed, and desperately missing our daughter.  I think sometimes that's the whole point of a vacation.  It's not what you do or who you meet, or what you eat or drink, as much as it is about making you appreciate coming home.  I never was so glad to see green trees, humidity, Lake Michigan, and my little girl running out to greet me in all my life.  It's good to be home.

My daughter recently completed all day K4, at Burdick Elementary, and (gasp!)  my baby's getting older!!  We have been very pleased with the school, and just blown away by the dedication, energy, and enthusiasm of all the teachers we have worked with over the past year.  They're just a great group of people.  To them I give my deepest thanks.

So, on the last day of school, my daughter's teacher sends home her final "end of the year" newsletter.  It contained the normal niceties, thank you's, etc., and then came the part that caught my eye.  My daughter's teacher listed how she would remember each of the children in the class.  Time for a quick sidenote:

I leave for work well before my husband takes our daughter to school on his way to work.  I used to set out her clothes for the next day every night, carefully color coordinating her outfits down to her socks, shoes, and hair clips.  I gave that up about half way through the school year, when I decided that hubby was capable of selecting color coordinated outfits, and getting her to school in a somewhat decent state.  Boy was I wrong!    OK, back to the story now...

So, as I am reading her cute memories of each child, "So thoughtful with a shy smile," "Always my little helper," I started to think about what she would say about our daughter.   She is the youngest in the class, and definitely one of the most precocious.  She's quite smart, has a great sense of humor, and is very outgoing.  As I scan down the alphabetical list to find my daughter's name, here's what I found next to her name- "Her unique sense of style."  What?!  Seriously!?  With all of the choices the teacher could pick from, my husband's lack of fashion sense sticks in her memory?!  Looks like I'm back to laying out the clothes next year...

 For all intents and purposes, I am pretty normal gal.  I have a semi-normal life, married to my husband for almost 7 years, raising our little girl, working full time as a city inspector (more about that later), and just trying to keep things afloat on a daily basis.  I moved to Bay View a year ago and I LOVE it here.  But that's the boring stuff- here's a few things about me that are more interesting and somewhat entertaining:

1.  I love to Zumba.  For those of you who don't have a clue what I'm talking about, Zumba is a latin-inspired dance workout.  We salsa, meringue, cha-cha, reggaeton, hip hop and generally rock out and shake it for a hour at a time.  It's joyous and expressive, sassy and spicy, and an awesome workout.  I'm excited to try my moves out when hubby and I go to Mexico next month- I plan on hitting the dance floor!

2.  Be warned.  I have red hair and all the fire, temper, and passion that goes with it.  And so does my 4 year old daughter.  Pair that with my Type A personality and things can get a bit dramatic around here.  That alone keeps life pretty interesting.

3.  And speaking of red hair, my neighborhood is home to a family of beautiful red foxes.  If you live east of KK near Oklahoma Ave. you likely know exactly what I am talking about.  We see at least one of them almost daily, and for some reason I am fascinated with them!  These creatures are ridiculously bold, and kill things around my home on a regular basis.  It's like "Wild Kingdom" around here- and I have a bunch of stories to share.

4.  I run a local wine club.  Wine is one of my great passions- as a matter of fact I'm sipping a nice Albarino as I sit here and type.  I have made many dear friends through my club, which is comprised completely of women.  We meet monthly to explore a particular varietal, region, or style of wine.  It's a fun, boisterous time, and in between talking about our kids, husbands, favorite TV shows and assorted "girl chit chat", we even talk about wine!

 5.  Finally, I am a parrothead.  Translated- I am a huge Jimmy Buffett fan.  I'm still waiting to find my own personal Margaritaville, though I've definitely been to that One Particular Harbor.

That being said, I hope you enjoy reading my blogs in the days and months ahead.  I know I am looking forward to writing them.