We are back from The Happiest Place on Earth. And now I am at The Messiest Place on Earth joins up for a mean conspiracy with The Tiredest Place on Earth. Because seriously? My baby that has never been the go-with-the-flow sort of kid - she switched to Florida time (plus a time change) effortlessly. The trouble lies with her lack of willingness to switch back.
I have a billion thoughts to pen, and a billion less seconds to write them. Baby sleeps, washer and dryer work overtime, and I look around pretending I might be in someone else's home because I have no idea how my house resembles a frat house.
I'm pretty sure one baby sleeps (early, which means we'll see the sun rise. Again.) and the other eats something reeeally close to this (I changed the sprinkles to make it my own. I'm unique and gifted in the kitchen creativity department like that) while watching a movie. And I'm in some faux half-coma where I'm pretty sure hallucinations are happening; a sure sign my bed needs me.
So, here we are. Without sufficient brain power to write the words that the magical pictures deserve. For now, an overwhelming amount of instagram photos because I'm indecisive and in love.
Some quick, half-formed and yet noteworthy things:
Me and humidity? We will never get along. I'm raising my can of hairspray to all of you people that pull off the hair with that nonsense. *clink*
When we were in Florida, the unthinkable happened. My husband and my child fell in love with a minivan. I'm scrambling for more excuses on why we can't ever have one. The I don't want to look like a soccer mom in a space shuttle has seemed to have lost its power and pizazz.
If you fly without children, don't take it for granted. My girls were angelic for all four flights, the time spent waiting, and transporting by train, bus, car, and plane. But the stuff? It's endless. I am an overpacker anyway; multiply that by two children, necessary themed outfits, entertainment that will be sufficient for 8 months on a stranded island, and then limit it by number. Well, then I have very awkwardly-shaped bags with stressed zippers and muttered choice phrases on how there has got to be a better way to do this. And really, there is only so long you can make your two year old believe that the dogs in Sky Mall are that exciting.
And also? Should you fly without children - us moms? We can smell your fear when you look at a baby. The slightest wrinkle of your nose? Saw it. The way your eyes flash to other empty seats, like maybe you could make an inconspicuous switch. I wish I could go back and smack the me that used to do this. The one that knew everything before they had kids. Yeah, that one.
Is it just me or is Ginger Ale like the holy grail of complimentary in-flight refreshments? Like, I can't drink it any other time, because it's reserved for that. I realize this might be a little peculiar.
I met up with a dear friend of mine in FL. You know it's a true friend when they have been with you since the awkward years of elementary school. An amazing reunion and a little more love in my heart after seeing my girls with her.
We were eating dinner one night, and Ruby was inspecting something. Jimmy said, "When did you get so weird?" Without missing a beat, she said, "I didn't, I got so cool."