Red Flags

I feel like I’ve been holding back on some of the “Kids Say the Darndest Things” moments we’ve had recently, but honestly…my memory has been for shit lately. They say something and I think “I have to blog that.” And then five minutes later it’s gone.

Just like those Jimmy Dean Pancake & Sausage on a stick microwave breakfasts that I should have NEVER tasted.

Morgan: I’m lucky to have you as my mom.
Mom: Well, that’s a very kind thing to say. I’m lucky that I have such a kind daughter.
Morgan: Well, sometimes I’m not very nice at Thea’s to Zoe.
Mom: I think it’s hard for sisters to be nice to each other all the time.
Morgan: Especially little sisters and big sisters. Do you think big sisters are mean to little brothers?

Red Flag: My kid is becoming a suck up.

Zoe: I had a dream last night that I went looking and found a monster with a green face.
Mommy: Was it a mean monster?
Zoe: Yes, he had fire in his hands and he blew Barbie’s head off. But then it was okay because I just went to the basement with Megan.
Mommy: Who’s Megan?
Zoe: Big Megan.
Mommy: Ben and Gabe’s Megan?
Zoe: Yes.

I actually didn’t confirm whether she was talking about one of her Barbie dolls or if she meant my soon-to-be Sister In Law Barbi. I’m going with the doll.

Red Flag: My kids are still calling my step nieces by this inaccurate modifier. How many times do I have to tell them their last name is Jones?

Morgan: I can’t wait until I’m done with college.
Parents: Why exactly?
Morgan: Well, there are two reasons. One is that it means I won’t ever have to go to school again. And two, it means I can start my home job.
Mom: What’s a home job?
Morgan: If I just make art, I can do that from my house and never have to leave it.

Red Flag: If she doesn’t become a Marine Biologist, there go my reduced-priced tickets to Sea World.

Zoe has invented a game called “I Love You Much More Than…” and we take turns coming up with silly things to end that sentence. No kidding, she made that shit up all by herself. Items include: toothbrushes, shoelaces, fans, Potter slobber, flip flops, shower curtains….you get the point.

Red Flag: How long before she changes the game to “I Hate You Much More Than…”

Stats

Ever since I've learned there is a "stats" tab on my blogger dashboard (which is shockingly not long), I've been consiously trying NOT to pay attention to it.

But that is futile.

And while it is interesting to see how many people view my blog without ever commenting (come on, like you don't have a story of your own to make me seem even the least bit less ridiculous?), that is not what I find myself looking at.

Disclaimer: I cannot see who specifically is looking in any way, shape, or form. Your secret is safe with me.

My favorite stat is under "Traffic Sources" and it tells me what search words were used to get to my blog. Mostly just versions of Hatter's Clean Cup, obviously. And sometimes if I write about something of pop culture, those key words show up.

Top 2 Favorite Search Terms (because most of them are boring):

Annual Gyno Exam - Probably not what they were looking for.
Courtney Cox Left Eyebrow - WTF? What's wrong with Courtney Cox Left Eyebrow and how many of you are going to google it after you leave this blog?

My next favorite stat comes under the heading "Audience" and it tells me from what countries people are logging in. Right under United States? South Korea with 30 hits this year. I can only assume it is the same person trying to find Courtney Cox's left eyebrow and forgetting they've already searched here.

Denmark had 14 and all I can think is, "Is Denmark still a country?" Where the hell have they been? No offense Denmark, my Great Grandmother was born there and I'm sure you have lots of important goings on like attending your annual gyno exams like clockwork.

Other country of note - Romania - who I can only assume is on to my vampire theories surrounding my brother John.

Moral of this story...if you do a google search on Favorite South Korea Cox - you'll probably end up here.

Murphy's Law Wedding Edition (with Illustration)

My college roommate Allison got married on Friday in Cincinnati. And before I become my usual cynical self, I will take a moment to say how happy I am for her.

Though our actual conversations are few and far between, she is one of those people in my life that when I do finally touch base, it feels like we never skipped a beat. And that's the mark of the truest of friends.

Whenever I'm asked to do one of those little "get to know you" questionnaires and I'm asked to name a person I most admire, it is usually her. I should probably tell her that someday.

We know each other so well that when we got together earlier this spring, we both started talking about "Glee" before even asking if the other one watched it. It was just a given.

Being that Scott and I were out-of-towners that weren't friends with any of the other guests, she could have stuffed us at a back table with somebody their parents forced them to invite, but instead she made room for us up front with her hometown friends. What grace.

I wish her and Drew the very best of everything! Even though we almost didn't get there...

Zoe decided to throw up Friday morning...TWICE. (no photos available, sorry) And then started a fever. I pathetically offered (without out right saying it) to my mom that Scott could maybe possibly stay home, while quietly hoping and all the while knowing that my mom would graciously put herself in harms way to watch over her grand daughters.

Scott is officially allergic to something that comes around at 3 in the afternoon, as that is the precise time that he started his sneezing fit (also no photos available, because I didn't yet know I should be documenting for posterity) in the car, which is roughly what time it started on the way to Columbus the previous weekend.

Due to MAJOR traffic delays around Cincinnati, in spite of the best of intentions, we were 15 minutes late to the ceremony. Which was made only more noticeable when the priest's homily began with some analogy about the view from the front of the church and how he sees everything, including people that are late to mass. Thanks, man.

The one picture that I get to take with the bride...

...my eyes are closed.

The shoes that successfully saw me through 2 other weddings with no issues, caused me to hobble from our car to the hotel room.

The Miami Inn's air conditioning went down. But in an anti-Murphy's Law chain of events, they moved us to the Marcum Conference Center, where we were upgraded to a semi-suite and got the only balcony in the whole building (which we used only to take this picture).

For those unfamiliar with Miami University...it should be known that there is an air of slight personal competition similar to "keeping up with the Joneses" that has a tendency to linger post graduation. So just when you think you have your shit together you realize...

...you're the only one not driving a Porsche ("poor-shuh" - Joey Tribiani). Welcome Porsche Enthusiasts. This explains the weird presence of multiple Porsche in the hotel parking lot the previous night.

And especially for the Stanton Hall girls...

..."Paging Dylan McKay...is there a Dylan McKay here?"

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Bat

Kindergarten Readiness Update:

There is no update. I have now e-mailed and left a voicemail. The school opens for business next week anyway, so I can just conduct a stake out if I have to. I am now researching other transportation options.

1. Hire a town car with dark windows and driver to whisk her to and from, but charge the bill to the city. As Denise pointed out, my taxes should definitely cover that.

2. Teach her how to skateboard so she can grab hold of the bus bumper as it speeds past Thea's house in the morning, refusing to stop to let her on.

3. Drop her off on their doorstep when I leave for work in the morning, supply her with finger paint, and tell her to be creative.

4. Teleportation or Worm Hole. Both, highly viable solutions if we lived in Eureka.

Lessons Learned Over the Weekend:

The weekend consisting of Tina's birthday dinner on Friday night, driving to Columbus for Kelly's birthday party Saturday night, a Triathlon Sunday morning, the final day of the Tour De France and an episode of True Blood.

1. There can only be one Uncle John.
Mommy: Uncle John's waving at you. Do you want to go see him?
Zoe (adamantly): Not Uncle John. Uncle John not here.
The fact of the situation is my Uncle John (my father's brother) was in the room. But Zoe's Uncle John (my brother) was not. I stand corrected.

2. If you ever want to get attention, borrow a kid with curly hair. I can't go 2 feet next to Zoe without someone stopping me.

3. It is possible to sneeze non-stop from Cleveland to Columbus. Just ask Scott. I offered some of the girls' clean socks that I happened to have in the car when we ran out of tissue, but he declined. I would not have been that proud. Not with that amount of snot. The related lesson learned: Generic truck stop sinus medicine works better than Claritin, which did absolutely nothing.

4. I kick ass at Beer Pong. Okay, maybe not kick ass, since we didn't win, but I have shockingly improved since the last time I played.

5. There are still a lot of people that do not know how to estimate the kilometer to mile conversion.
"More mature" ladies to each other: "Well, now he has to run. I wonder how long that is?"
Me, butting in: "It's a 5k for this one."
Lady: "But how much is that in miles?"
Me, resisting urge of sarcasm: "A little over 3 miles."
Lady: "So how long will that take?"
Really? It's a race! It will take some people a short amount of time, and some people a long amount of time. Get with the program.

6. I don't know the name of who won the Tour De France, but I did see Lance Armstrong finish. Because it's all about the US, isn't it? (Okay, I personally should know the name of who won, since Scott watched all 20 days, and I'm sure that I heard it said, but I honestly don't remember, so maybe it's just all about me.)

7. Sookie is too dumb to try her electric blue fairy power on Lorena. Humans can bite through vampire's skin, but they can't make it look real with special effects. Russell didn't believe Bill's allegiance, but he believes Erik's despite the weirdo smile Erik plasters on his face every time they are together. There is only one werewolf in all of Mississippi that is not white trash.

What I Learned From a Funeral and Other Stories

What I Learned From a Funeral

Being of the soundest mind I could possibly have, given my life, I want the record to show that you should donate what you can then cremate the rest of my body. Under no circumstances do I want people coming to gaze at my corpse. Yes, one of these days I'll have my attorney (AKA husband) put that in a legal document, known to most people as a will. Until then, you have been warned! Don't make me haunt you.

Guess who?
"Sometimes at cemeteries people stand in a circle while they put the box in the ground."
"Where did you learn that?"
"Jaws IV"

It actually is acceptable to jostle an open casket around in the middle of a viewing while family and friends look on, because it wasn't quite sitting right on the pedestal.

More people wear their keys attached to the belt loop of their nicest blue jeans than I had imagined.

What I didn't learn from a funeral, but wondered on the way to the cemetery: What happens if an emergency vehicle was traveling in the same direction as the funeral procession? I mean, I realize the emergency vehicle would have the right of way, but how could one possibly get around that line of traffic? I should have asked Morgan, she probably knew.

Other Story (not for the squeamish)

Scott calling from the back door: "Anna, can you bring me a rag...quickly?"
Anna, debating in kitchen between drawer of dish towels and roll of paper towels: "How big of a rag?"
Scott: "BIG. I dropped the pruners on my foot. Just so you know, it's bleeding...a lot."

Anna gets to door where pools of blood have developed and sees a trail leading back to the potting shed.

Anna: "Do you need me to have someone get you to the emergency room?"
Scott: "Just call my dad."

Oh, that's right, Papa Turtle, DDS. I love our family.

Dentist (AKA Dad) arrives while Anna gets Scott to sit down on the garage floor and let her apply the pressure.

Scott: "I think I might be going into shock"

He does look quite green and is sweating more profusely than even this hellish weather should permit. I don't know why. He only spurted out enough blood to supply a Wes Craven movie.

We lay the patient down and I get him some water. After working through the shock, showing Morgan his bloody foot, one trip to Walgreen's by the good doctor, an unpleasant moment involving anti-bacterial sanitizer in an open wound, butterfly bandages applied and a wet Cinderella wash cloth offered by Morgan to clean him up, he's ready for his next triathlon.

On a side note we pulled into the girls' swimming lesson a couple hours later and see the Red Cross is there and set up a big sign that reads "Blood Donors Needed". The irony.

The Oreo Gene

Little known fact: your DNA strand holds the key to how you eat Oreos. This is just a theory, of course, but it came to me in such a flash of brilliance, it has to be true.

Morgan eats her Oreos by dunking them in milk, like her mom.
Zoe eats her Oreos by twisting them apart, like her dad.

Pretty sure we never taught them either of these methods.

Pretty sure they shouldn't be eating that many Oreos for me to find this out.

Also interesting, Zoe does not eat the side of the Oreo with no cream filling. She purposefully seeks out the dog to give it to him, but if he is hiding, she will settle for giving it to me.

In other health news...Morgan told me her heart felt bad today. She said it was eating her stomach and growing too small, like the grinch. Both mortified and amazed, I asked her why she felt this way. "I don't know, Mommy. It's just not a lucky day." I'm pretty sure this stems from Christmas being over, but I am on the lookout for PTSD due to Jaws 3 in 3-D.

On the flip side, I also caught her singing Black Eyed Peas..."I got a feeling...that tonight's gonna be a good night..." and then she stopped and told Zoe, "Take it from the top. That means, go back to the beginning."

Pinky Dinky Doo strikes again!

10 Days To Christmas

This past weekend I organized the "Hats, Gloves, and Scarves" bin. I have one of those. It's the bin with all the random items of winter apparel that aren't our first choices, but have to be turned to when the others have gotten waterlogged or have been mischievously hidden by garden gnomes.

In my parents house, this bin has been around for centuries...okay, decades. And anyone that visited their "cousins/friends in the country" can vouch for its existence.

Because one snow mobile ride gone bad, one hour of ice skating on the creek, or 15 minutes of pelting Little John with ice balls, and your own gloves/mittens are done. That's it. You are doomed to the bin. And the bin is bad. It is bad in a two-pronged fashion.

Prong one. We didn't want those gloves anymore. That's why they are in the bin. They most likely have a hole somewhere in them and they most definitely are ugly as sin. And god forbid you get stuck with mittens.

Prong two. You will never find a matched set. Go ahead. Search for hours. The only way you will be successful is if you happen upon an old set of my mothers. White knit gloves with blue and pink flowers crocheted into them at a length up to your elbow. And none of us want that. Except, now that I think about it, those gloves would look really cool with my long camel coat. Other than the fact that they have holes in them.

Hats are another story. You will definitely have to wear one that either has a HUGE pom pon on the top of it or covers your entire face like you are planning a jewel heist. In the past, hats were a non-issue, because as soon as you sat on the sled, the dog would steal it from your head anyway.

Scarves, you have the option of long-enough-to-swaddle-yourself or so-loosely-knit-you-may-as-well-not-wear-one. Either way, you can guarantee to get a mouth full of dog hair in your first breath.

Outside the bin there is the coat rack. The coat rack covers the gamut from Dad's old letterman jacket to snow pants Mom wore to Peak and Peak in the 70's.

On the ground is another cardboard box of wool socks, which if you're desperate you can wear as mittens, but you will run into the same problems as previously mentioned.

Yes, we often looked like your corner homeless person. But when you're flying over drifts at 40 miles per hour...steering a sled so it hits the ramp you just built...or sweeping the snow off the ice to have a game of hockey...it really couldn't matter less.

Giving Thanks

It goes without saying, that I'm thankful for my friends and family, but I just said it anyway. I'm thankful we have food and shelter and jobs to keep it that way. Though I'm not too thankful for Scott's job, because it sucks so bad. I'm thankful for my little marine biologist and the devil's spawn.

I'm thankful for reality TV because it makes my life look a lot better. And I'm thankful for works of fiction so I can escape it. I'm thankful to the library for making it free. (Special thanks to Professor B Worm for reviewing"The Hunger Games" - that's the best book I've read in quite a while.)

I'm thankful I no longer have to find every one's e-mail address when I want to write something mildly amusing.

Morgan is thankful for everyone, but most notably Thea (her caregiver) and Santa Claus. She is also thankful for belugas, humpbacks, orcas, dolphins, penguins and sharks - even robot sharks. Obviously, she's thankful for Pixar and Noggin. And a man named Steven Spielberg.

Zoe is most likely thankful for her lung capacity, vocal chords, and motor skills that allow her to stomp on the floor and swing her arms wildly above her head at the same time. I'm also pretty sure she's thankful for Oreos and M&Ms, but who isn't? Add to that list anyone willing to wrestle with her, give her pony rides on their foot, or let her stick rocks in her mouth.

I'm sure Scott's thankful I write this blog instead of vacuuming or remembering to pick up the dry cleaning. But perhaps slightly more thankful he doesn't have to take blood pressure medication anymore and can fit into clothes he wore in high school (though I'm thankful he doesn't choose to do this).

I'm not yet thankful to the Ohio Lottery, but I hope to be someday soon.

I'm thankful to those people who already have their Christmas lights on, because now I have a blog topic for next week.

Nature Lesson by Morgan

Not too sure how much psycho-analysis my 4-year-old has in store for her future, purely on the basis that she liked Jaws so much, we let her watch Jaws II. But it does illustrate her ability to apply the same problem solving to similar situations, which has to be impressive.

"Mommy, do you want to play with me?" asks Morgan.

"Yes, what would you like to play."

"I am playing school, and I am running away. Do you want to run away with me?"

"Definitely. Where should we go?"

"We're going shark hunting." She turns quickly to me with wide eyes, waving her hands, "But don't worry, I'm going to be in a cage so they can't eat me."

"Oh, good."

"And I'm going to put rubber around it and not stick my arms out. And not stick my fingers out."

"That sounds like a good idea. What kind of sharks are we hunting? Not all sharks, I hope."

"No, just big white sharks."

"Great White Sharks?"

"Yes. But just mean ones. Because Bruce is a Great White Shark and he was bad, but then he turned good. And all the sharks from Shark Tale are good. And Bruce's friends are good, because the one is a hammer head, and they aren't bad. Well...they can hit you on the head, but they're not bad."

"So what you're saying is, only sharks like Jaws."

"Yes, but I have a plan to use wires to electrocute them. I will stick the wires in them and they will die. But just the bad ones. Hurry up and get your cong shell, so we can listen for them."

Translator: Cong = Conch (We happen to have decorative conch shells in our living room, although I was surprised she knew their name. Chalk one up for the Wonder Pets.)

Problem: Rogue Shark

Solution: Electrocution.

If you remember, in Jaws II after many people get eaten, Chief taunts Jaws enough to make him charge and throws a huge utility wire that he drug up from the ocean floor in his mouth, causing him to explode. That's entertainment!

Washington DC - Day 3

Scott’s race wave goes off at 7:21 a.m.! He has me set the alarm for 4:00 a.m.! He calls me at 5:30 a.m. to read him something off an envelope - I may have read him the label on my shampoo. Wake up call is at 6:00 a.m.! (Yes, this is a vacation.) Morgan sleeps through all of this. For continental breakfast number two, she chooses only a sprinkled donut at first, but then she can’t take her eyes off my eggs, so she fills up. Always eat eggs when someone else is making them.

Thankfully, we are taking a taxi down to the race. As instructed by Scott, I tell our driver to get us as close to the Korean memorial as possible. He drops us off on the Vietnam side of the mall but closer to Washington than Lincoln. In other words, nowhere near Korea. Thanks, man.

We knew we missed their swim, so we set out to find a spot on the bike path. We managed to find a curb very close to where they would be dismounting their bikes, and were settled in by the time the first biker was coming in. I had no idea if we were going to be able to spot them. There were times when twenty bikes all came at the same time. We did, however, get to watch asinine people almost get run over as they crossed right in front of athletes traveling at speeds up to 35 mph, so that was fun.

I spotted Scott about 2 nano-seconds before he passed us, but he says he heard us cheer. Now all we had to do was wait for Phil. Michelle was fairly adamant that he would be behind Scott despite starting ahead of him. We continue to wait as Paige and Morgan wreak havoc on the snacks and Morgan wears out her whining privileges.

Finally, we decided there was no way it took Phil this long and we must have missed him, so we make our way to the finish line. I had estimated that we got there right about when Scott was going to cross. Turns out, I was probably right; because twenty minutes after we got there I had a call on my cell. Scott was finished, and had already retrieved his possessions from the transition area – including Phil. Turns out, Scott had caught up to Phil – almost at the exact place that we had been watching. So while we were yelling for Scott, we had totally missed Phil bike by at the same time.

So the purpose for our trip had come to an end, but I still hadn’t gotten Morgan to the Natural History museum. Since the guys had to wait before they could take their bikes out of transition, I decided that I would walk her there and then meet them at the hotel. L’ Enfante might be the biggest jack ass ever. How in the hell does it take so long to walk what looks like five blocks on my map? Okay, so maybe he wasn’t around anymore when they started erecting monuments and museums, but I need a scapegoat, and that goat has Frenchy’s name on it.

Guess what? Morgan doesn’t want to see dinosaurs. In fact, she barely got excited about the whale, but she did enjoy the large mammal exhibit and I was able to get my commemorative magnet for my fridge, so not a total loss. Just a long uphill battle back to the hotel and we are homeward bound.

Morals of this story:

If your child is between riding in a stroller and walking on their own for 20 miles, do not take them to DC.

If you disregard the first moral and take them anyway, choose the bulky all-terrain Jeep stroller with shock suspension instead of borrowing the light umbrella stroller that is three inches too short for you stand up straight while you push it and has wheels the size of Eggo waffles.

If there is a choice between using a roundabout or just having an intersection, choose the intersection. The world has enough statues and fountains.

Never under estimate how much joy a tunnel through a mountain can bring.

Washington DC - Day 2

Saturday morning and Morgan is further impressed by the continental breakfast. She gets scrambled eggs but passes on the sausage patty. Then we both pass on what I can only guess was some type of hash brown with ketchup mixed into it. I was not willing to investigate further. No matter…there are donuts with pink frosting, so we are good to go.

Since the Paige is a late sleeper (lucky bastards), and since Phil and Michelle got in the day before and already did a quick tour, we head out on our own to see what there is to see, before we get down to triathlon business.

Despite the mob scene of protesters near Pennsylvania Avenue and Morgan’s own protests against getting out of the stroller to take pictures – as evidenced by her happy expression in several photos – we manage to see the White House and the Washington Monument. And with only one wrong turn and a block of backtracking, we move towards the World War II Memorial.

Turns out, Morgan loves fountains. She is up and out of the stroller, setting up photo shoots. Thank God. Potential disaster number 3 averted. It’s going on 10:30 a.m. – a good hour and a half after we left the hotel, but a majority of that time was just getting down the hill. Now I can see the Lincoln Memorial. My goal destination is within my grasp.

Phil calls and they are going to take the Metro to the zoo. No problem, we will walk up to visit Abe and then head for the Metro ourselves. We can even take in the Korean War Memorial on the way. As I take pictures of the life-like statues, I turn to find a family of Japanese tourists taking pictures, as well. Except they are taking pictures of Morgan sitting in her stroller. WTF? They smile and nod their heads as they thank us (I think). Scott and I are wondering if the photos will show up on some anti-American site. “Look how lazy American kids are. They get pushed around in little buggies all day.” We will never know.

By the time we get to the steps of Lincoln a good forty minutes have passed. And another half hour to walk to the closest Metro (according to an information booth worker, but it just doesn’t seem right). Then another fifteen minutes to figure out how and what pass to buy, then there’s the ride and the walk to the zoo from the station. Just in time to meet our friends as they head back to the hotel.

Scott has to join them, because he and Phil need to get to the triathlon briefing and swim practice if they want to be allowed to race on Sunday. (Incidentally, their briefing is filled with West Pointers. How is that for intimidating competition?) However, Morgan has perked up again - perhaps because she sees potential in the large gift shop we have just passed. So we head out on our own. Three hours later (okay, maybe it only seemed like three) and we have seen just about everything. And of course a gift is purchased before we leave.

Morgan actually falls asleep the second we leave the zoo and I manage to get her on and off the Metro before I have to wake her because I can’t find an elevator. I anticipate rebellion, but there is none. Not even when I go the wrong way on Dupont Circle and have to cut back through the center (Damn that Frenchy). Potential disaster number 4 averted.

We have agreed to go back to the hotel and take a little rest, but of course housekeeping is currently in our room. Really? We were gone for six hours! What are the chances? We eventually make it in and Morgan zones out to some Cartoon Network (No Noggin! Yippee!) I tentatively ask her if she wants to go see the dinosaurs and a big whale in a museum. She is up for it.

Setting myself up for failure, I convince her to walk instead of ride in the stroller, to give my arms a rest. It’s only a little after four and the museums are open until 5:30. I decide we can run in to the American History museum and see the Ruby Slippers before checking out a larger portion of the Natural History museum.

Why does everything take five times as long as you think? We got her picture with Dorothy’s shoes and had to head back up the hill. Granted, at least fifteen minutes of that trip was spent debating the merits of purchasing a ruby slipper snow globe the size of a thimble and the manufacturing cost of a penny, being sold for $12. Mommy won, via compromise, but no meltdown, so considered a great success. Potential disaster number 5 averted.

In case you are wondering, it takes twice as long to walk up a hill than it does to walk down it. Daddy is in charge of the stroller for our walk to dinner. Morgan asks to go to sleep by eight and I’m in bed a little after nine. Right after I find out from my mother that the devil’s spawn is eating like a champion and wrapping everyone within a three-foot radius around her little finger.

Washington DC - Day 1

I’ve decided to start my blogging career with our trip with Washington DC for Scott to compete in The Nation’s Triathlon. We decided to take Morgan (4) with us. But as a result of a two-hour scream-fest driving home from Columbus this summer, we opted to leave our Zoe (1) with my parents.

This trip could have been the poster child for disaster – short time frame, traveling with a 4-year-old, said 4-year-old has a cold, potential for drowning in Potomac - and yet I have nothing of cataclysmic proportion to report.

Our trip starts off with a stop at the local deli for lunch, where Morgan asks if she can have the veggie tray with carrots, celery and broccoli. This is not my child. Then, when given the option of turkey, ham, or bologna sandwich, she chooses roast beef. Okay…and we’re off.

Roast beef sandwich finished, she asks for her veggies and is suddenly skeptical of the broccoli that she had only moments before been wildly asserting she loved. I make the mistake of saying “Looks good!” to which I am offered a piece to “try.” So I do. Yeah, still don’t like broccoli, but please give me props for not gagging, spitting it out into the glove compartment, and/or vomiting into my bag of chips. “Mmm.” Morgan takes one bite, also realizes it is nasty, and takes a swig of her chocolate milk. Still my child. She does finish the baby carrots, though. So maybe I won’t have to pump her too full of Flinstone vitamins in her youth.

Not only does Morgan not nap, she doesn’t even ask for a movie until we are an hour and a half out of DC. I can’t tell you what we did for the other four and a half hours to entertain her. She did remove just about every activity I had packed in her tote. And I vaguely remember some singing - her not me. Of course the Pennsylvania turnpike tunnel had her rapt attention for the entire sixty seconds it takes to complete. The only major problem was that I forgot her headphones, so she had to use my ear buds. Kids don’t like to stick things in their ears unless they are specifically told not to.

So we have entered the greater DC area and here’s where I see potential problem number two. The Mapquest directions indicate we will be proceeding to a “roundabout.” This will clearly add thirty minutes to our drive time. And though we did miss our “exit” on the first time around, we quickly compensate and only lose fifteen minutes – a decisive victory over the city planner (who I'm pretty sure was French so will hereafter be referred to as "Frenchy").

Since Morgan doesn’t remember the first vacation we took her on to Hilton Head at age 1, she considers this her first hotel stay. We have a small “suite” so here’s a quick run down on what impresses her: the appliances (“We can put things in the refrigerator! And here’s a dishwasher, so we can wash our dishes!”); the beds (“I have a bed and you and Daddy have a bed!”); the desk (“We can put Daddy’s computer here!”), etc. Now that we have had a complete inventory of the room contents, it’s time to settle in. Everything that was in her travel tote gets a spot on “her” bed.

And that is Day 1.

We stroll around town with our friends (Phil, Michelle and daughter Paige) to have a late dinner and are back in the hotel just a bit past primetime television. I get Morgan hooked up with a new movie and manage to watch the repeat of the Glee episode I missed on Wednesday. Bonus!

I call home to find out the devil’s spawn, AKA my darling Zoe, has been a complete angel for Nana and Papa – including standing in line with them for an hour at a funeral home. Of course she did.

I’m in bed a little after ten.