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Disney Nuggets Part Three – “Kids at Heart”

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on February 5, 2010| Leave a Comment »

When you go to Disney World without kids, as Ross and I did before we were married, all you notice are the people with strollers.  They’re everywhere.   Ev-er-y-where.  Without a stroller, you are the outsider.  And, while we still more or less enjoyed ourselves at the time, we sort of felt (not sadly) that we didn’t really belong at Disney World.  In hindsight, we had no idea how lucky we were.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  It’s delightful to hear your children squeal and point when they first see Mickey.  It’s beautiful to watch their eyes turn teacup as they glide through the magical “It’s a Small World.”  Blah, blah, blah, blah.

Blah.

See, I’m a roller coaster person.   And, in the land of the world’s coolest roller coasters, know how many I went on last week?

Zip.  None.  Nada.      


Grrrr.

When you’re there with your two year old and your five year old, there’s no Space Mountain, there’s no Big Thunder Mountain and there’s no Splash Mountain.  At Sea World there will be no Manta and at Animal Kingdom there will be no Everest.   Harumph.   I’m already looking forward to when we go back in four or five years and my boys will be so psyched that their Mom wants to go on these rides.  Over and over, please.

Ross and his buddy, Bill, made it onto one cool ride, though.  Bill’s wife, Katie, and I encouraged them to hit a water-ride roller coaster type thing while we watched the kids.  The line looked shortish and there was a good spot where we knew we’d capture their faces with our cameras as they came down the steepest incline towards the water.  Kids at heart, they took us up on the opportunity.

Here’s the shot:

The guys are in the back.  Ross is on the left here with his arm in the air.  
They came off the ride wet and laughing like children.  It was great.   
“So,” we asked, “was it cool?”
“Oh, yeah!  We were laughing so hard.  Did you see our fellow passengers?” Snorting laughs to each other.
“Yeah, I mean, I guess so.  Kids, right?”
“Yeah…”     More snickering together.

It wasn’t until we were home and looking at the days photos that we took a closer look at all the shots from the water ride and really looked at the rest of the people in the boat.  And then, for some reason, we were all snickering.  Then, those deep belly laughs.  Then tears and hold your stomach doubling over laughs.  All four of us.  I don’t exactly know why it was so darn funny when we saw the actual kids.  The fellow passengers.  Their faces.  Ross and Billy sitting there behind them.  I don’t know.  But, damn, we laughed.
You be the judge.  

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Disney Nuggets Part Two – “A Great Grand Trip”

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on February 5, 2010| Leave a Comment »

Our kids are lucky enough to have two great-grandparents.  They have a great grandmother who lives in Houston and a great grandfather who lives in Melbourne, Florida.  I care very much about getting the boys to each of them as often as we can swing it financially and logistically, which sadly doesn’t make it happen often enough.   Both Grandma Schieffer (86, I think) and Papapa (90) are amazingly healthy and “with it”. They both live relatively independent lives in their own apartments within a larger care-taking complex.  I wish they didn’t live as far from each other as they do because I know they would really hit it off.

My grandfather is a lifetime military man.  He was a four-star Major General in WWII and continued to serve the Army at the Pentagon for many years after he returned.   He will, one sad day, join his wife in Arlington National Cemetery where he will receive full honors.  He was badass then and he’s badass now.  Just a very cool, no bullsh*t kind of guy.  He’s pretty near to being deaf and nearer to being blind although he doesn’t let either fate stop him from accomplishing just about anything.  In fact, he has a driver who brings him to a local community center to teach the blind how to more easily achieve their day to day tasks. (Toothpaste on your finger before the brush, spooning your food towards the center of your plate instead of to the outside, etc).  He teaches an exercise class in his complex and there’s a live bird in his act.  No kidding.   He listens to satellite radio, has a machine that scans and reads his newspapers and he is a religious baseball fan.   Ross and I were taking him to dinner one night a few years back and, in search of somewhere near to his home, we suggested The Outback.   His reply?  “Hmmm.  Isn’t that the place with ‘no rules’?  I don’t much like places with no rules.”   Like I said, a military man through and through.

So, anyway, we were all set to make the 90-minute drive to Melbourne from Kissimmee with the kids the day after our arrival to Florida.  We had planned it (with my wonderful Aunt Betsy who lives nearby) to the minute (military folks like schedules, you know).   We would depart by 9:30, arrive by 11, go to a nearby diner by 11:30 and beat feet, so as not to make the day too long for him,  by 1.   But kids, of course, can really screw up the best laid plans.

John developed a little cough a few days before we left.  By the time we got to Florida, he had a low grade fever (sorry JetBlue Flight 431 passengers!).   I texted my Aunt Betsy about it and said that unless  he took a turn for the worse we were still up for the trip but maybe bringing a sick kid around a 90-year old wasn’t a good idea?  She got in touch with him and got back me.  Silly me.  Did I actually think that a man who led troops and took incoming fire from thousands of enemy soldiers for somewhere between four and six years would be afraid of a two year old with a cough?  Heck no.  He told her he’d had his flu shot.  Bring it on.

Well, then John spent the entire first night in our bed not sleeping.  Just a hot sticky mass of kicking feet, whines, cries and coughs.   Fever was higher.   Definitely not a happy camper.  But, I really, really, really didn’t want to cancel.   So, on we pressed.  Got everyone (exhausted) into the car on time.  Stopped at a local Walgreens for some medicine.  Miraculously got miserable little John to take the medicine delivered by Mom from front seat to back.   Drove about 1/4 mile more and…yup…throw up.

On John.  On car seat.  On “Baa” (his precious bunny that goes everywhere with him when he’s not feeling right).

Change of clothes?  Um, no.

Handi-Wipes?  Check.   Much-too-hot John-sized sweatshirt in my bag?  Check.

Poor kid.  It was like we were torturing him.  He should have been home in bed or curled up on my lap or at the very least watching Yo Gabba Gabba on the couch.   But, it was Papapa.  Who had been waiting for and looking forward to this visit for months.  And so were we.  So, we clean up as best we can.  A stinky John is better than no John at all, right?

Onward.

(Hoping it isn’t true that when you lose one sense the others get stronger.  No sight, no sound…just SMELL!  Lucky you, Papapa.)


Amazingly, John rallied enough at our arrival to Southland Suites to come into my grandfathers room with an audible (even to Papapa) “Hi Papapa!” before crawling up onto my lap.  And, Will, as usual, did us proud with his high-pitched chatter and interest in all things new and touchable.  My brilliant Aunt Betsy made them “treasure boxes” — shells, sheriff badges, silver dollars in wooden cigar boxes — which held their attention for a while before we went out to lunch.

Lunch was a bit of a mess.  My kids ordered toast, which only Will ate.   John lost it (his mood, not his lunch) about halfway through so Ross and I took turns with him outside while everyone finished up.   We all put our best faces on but it was certainly not the trip we all hoped for.

I know that the most important part is that Papapa got to touch my kids, hear them talk, show them around a little to the people in his complex, and know that we love him and miss him and think of him often.  We wouldn’t miss a chance to be with him.  He’s an amazing man and I love him so much.

So it did my heart good when I heard that he recapped the trip to my Mom and told her that he was proud when Will shook his friend Henrietta Wakefield’s (Tim’s grandmother) hand when he met her.  And that John rushed in and said “Hi Papapa!” despite how how badly the little guy was feeling.  And he was glad we came.

Next time, Papapa.  Next time, it will be better.  Or…maybe not.

But, at least we’ll be together.

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Disney Nuggets Part One – “Marital Bliss”

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on February 4, 2010| Leave a Comment »

We just returned from a week’s vacation in the Orlando area which, of course, yielded me a few blog nuggets.  But, I’m currently buried under piles (of laundry), miles (of unsorted bills) and vials (of amoxycillin) so will just have to post them individually as I have the time over the next few days.

Somewhere in the middle of the trip we all went to Disney Animal Kingdom and hit the Kilimanjaro Safari ride.  Pretty cool.  Saw elephants, lions, giraffes (“raffs” as John calls them), hippos, and these guys…

      
I think I’m pretty funny sometimes so I announced to Ross, loudly enough so that the throngs of strangers around me might hear,
“Hey.  Their butts look like mine!”
Ross, a seasoned veteran at dealing with my “aren’t I funny” moments, didn’t miss a beat in his equally bold reply.
“Nah.  Stop.   Yours isn’t that hairy.”
He’s such a charmer, my husband.

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So, what about the "Confessions" part?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on January 20, 2010| Leave a Comment »

Ok.  We’ll consider this a running list.

1) If I come visit your house and your toilet paper runs from the bottom of the roll instead of up and over the top, I will change it.  I will.
2) I might snore.  He says I do but he might just say that because he knows it mortifies me to hell to think it actually might be true.
3) I have a pair of UGG boots and I have no idea whether I’m supposed to tuck the jeans in or wear the jeans out (you can’t Google this sh*t with any reliability).  So, I alternate and just hope that the right people see me at the right times.  That’s probably not likely to be happening for me, is it?
4) I ignore the phone.  Like, almost always.   And, I know that most people who call me probably know I’m home because I live on a busy road, people see my car, I have a very predictable schedule and, well, I almost never go anywhere.  But, don’t take it personally.  It’s not you.  It’s me.
5) I am incapable of going to bed with dishes in the sink.  Can not do it.  So, when you’re a guest for dinner or here for a weekend, don’t be offended if I ignore you for a bit after dinner while I clean up.  I will be much better company when it’s done.  If it really bothers you, then let me know because I’ll probably need to stop inviting you over.  And, if I’m being completely honest, it makes me a little uncomfortable if I’m an overnight guest at your house and you leave dishes in the sink overnight.  I know.  Issues.  Oh well.

To be continued…

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Pick Me Up a Bottle of Chardonnay

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on January 20, 2010| Leave a Comment »

…because guess who’s NOT cooking tonight?

Ha.

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Grrrrrrrr-ill

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on January 12, 2010| Leave a Comment »

Know what this means?

It means there’s no grilling going on Chez Us.   None.  So, my oven’s working overtime.
I’m thinking about going out there with my hairdryer.

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What’s a Serial Swooper?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on January 11, 2010| 2 Comments »

When my friend Liza, who was my matron of honor (she hated the “matron” part) and is undoubtedly my most-tenured friend, recently asked me what the hell a “Serial Swooper” was, I realized I probably owe anyone reading this blog an explanation on its title.  Because, if Liza doesn’t get it….probably no one gets it.

I’m bilingual, you know. And so is my husband and, now, our kids.  I speak English and I speak Hills (my maiden name).   Because my Dad has always used a few words that are, as far as I know, completely of his own making.   Or, he takes words that mean something else and incorporates them into Hills vernacular with an entirely new definition.  One of these many words is the verb form of the word “swoop”.

“To swoop” is to remove something from somewhere else, usually in a quick motion, in an attempt to neaten up. To use the word in a sentence (a sentence often used as I was growing up)…”Marion.  Did you swoop my Wall Street Journal?”  Most likely, my father had been reading it, got up to do something else, left it on the couch (with all intentions of returning to it momentarily), and returned to find it was gone.  Not likely thrown out, mind you.  Most likely just “swooped” into a pile somewhere.  Because my mother’s style of “cleaning up”, like mine today, involved a number of well-organized piles.

And, no one is immune to my swooping, either.  Christmas week, as I lay in bed for a few extra minutes as Husband and my mother-in-law got up early with the boys, I hear this exchange from the living room.

“Grammie?”
“Yes, Big Brother”
“Where did you put my little chair?”
“I don’t think I did anything with it.  Did you ask your Mom if she swooped it?”
“Yes, Grammie.  And, she said you swooped it.”

There are more Hills words, of course.  And whole phrases.   Such as…
Zeeks — men’s underwear.
Panackacakees — pancakes.
FROST! — what you yell when someone (usually a teenager who isn’t listening) says “What?” for the hundredth time rather than “Excuse me”.   The explanation on this one is long and drawn out.  Just believe me when I tell you there actually IS an explanation.
Ratzenfratzen! — When something kind of bad happens and “Rats!” just isn’t good enough.
Really with you? — One of my favorites.  This, roughly translated, means “You can not be serious.”  Used situationally: “I think Elin should take Tiger back.”   “Really with you!?”
Rack — A synonym for “Yum”.  And if something is really good, you may even use the stronger emphasis form of Rack and say Rickety Rack.   And if it’s so good you can hardly stand it you might go as far as to say Rickety Rack, Reeky Fack.

Laughing out loud to myself.

You all must think we’re a pack of crazies.   But, seriously, my kids are using these words.  And, I’m actually pretty psyched about it.

So, anyway.   That’s why I’m a Serial Swooper.  Now you know.

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That day.

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on January 6, 2010| 5 Comments »


I must preface this blog by saying that I am, in no way, implying that my experience on that horrible day (9/11) is in any way more traumatic, more incredible or more interesting than any of yours.   In fact, I know, in a number of cases, that some of the readers of this blog had far, far worse experiences.   One worked closely with two of the brave young men seated in first class who lost their lives, most likely, at the hands of those unspeakable monsters before the flights hit the towers.   Another climbed into a cab at the base of Tower One just minutes before the plane struck.   Another lost a fraternity brother (one of the funniest men I’ve ever met) who was working at Cantor Fitzgerald.   My experience (and my memory of that day) cannot even stand in the shadows of what those people feel each day.  I hope that, in reading this, those who eternally carry that pain inside them, will forgive my indulgence.
I write this because I want to remember how such a small decision in life can change so many paths.  It’s amazing to me to really think about how each action, which may seem so completely insignificant at the time, is just a domino in this path we call our lives.   And, I write it because I plan to make this silly blog into a book someday (no, not a real book, of course, but a book that I put together after a year or so of writing and tuck it away in a drawer for my kids to read).   Because, as I’ve learned, you never know who will be around to tell the stories when they’re ready to hear them.

___________________________________________________

August 15, 2001  (a.m. EST)
Sitting in his office, he asks me to go out to Palm Springs sometime in the next month or so to do a site visit for the 2002 President’s Circle, my company’s annual sales staff incentive trip.   I am to visit three properties, meet with group sales staff, check out the golf facilities, the spa, the meeting space, the dining services, negotiate pricing as necessary and come back with my recommendation.


August 16, 2001  (p.m.  EST)
I contact our corporate travel services and book my flight.   Boston to Los Angeles.  Direct.  American Airlines.  Flight 11.   Tuesday, September 11th.  Departing at 7:45 am.


September 4, 2001 (pm EST)
My live-in boyfriend / future husband (and I really want the ring) tells me that his beloved New York Giants are the Monday Night game next week.   Playing the Broncos in Denver.   I’m bummed because I want to watch the game and know that, with a 7:45 am flight on Tuesday morning, I’ll never be able to stay up.   “Can you go in the day before?”  he asks.  “That way, you can get there, settle in and catch the game that night.”    “Hmm.  Maybe.  Let me talk to my boss.”


September 5, 2001 (am EST)
“Sure.  Sounds fine,” he says.  “If it works with the hotel and the flights.  Just come back a day sooner.”


September 5, 2001 (pm EST)
Flight changed.   Now departing Monday, September 10th.   American Airlines.  Flight 11.  Departing at 7:45 am.


September 10, 2001 (pm PST)
The Giants lose to the Denver Broncos, 31-20.  I talk to R. after the game, turn off the light and settle into my safe and comfortable bed at Westin Mission Hills, Palm Springs, CA.


September 11, 2001 (6 am PST, 9 am EST)
I’m up, I shower, I don’t turn on the television.


September 11, 2001 (7 am PST, 10 am EST)
My cell phone rings.  It’s my friend Beth calling from Boston.   “I can’t believe I got through.  Turn on the tv.  Oh my god.”


And, by then the towers had both fallen.  A plane was missing.   Terrorism.


Flight 11.


September 11, 2001 (7:15 am, 7:45 am, 8:00 am, 9:00 am PST…and so on)
Cannot reach R.  No cell service anywhere.    My parents, my parents, with whom I share all itineraries and all travel plans and emergency contact info.  My parents, who are in Scotland on a golfing trip.   My parents do not know I changed my flight.


September 11, 2001 (2:45 pm PST)
My cell phone rings.  It rings! It’s R.  He’s fine.  I’m fine.   “Your parents reached me”, he said.  “They know you’re ok.”    “You talked to my Mom?”   “No,”  he says, “Your Dad.  Your Mom couldn’t even ask the question.”


September 13, 2001 (8 am PST)
I board a flight with roughly six connections (not many airports are open so we have to puddle-jump around the country) to get home.  Home.   I, like all my other flying brethren on that day, am fearless.   Just.  get.   me.   home.   Flights cancel repeatedly.   The airport televisions show suspicious people getting pulled out of airports, airports once opened are closed again.   No restaurants are open because there are knives inside.  Everyone is carrying their luggage because flights are changing so often.  Everyone is inconvenienced by jostling and cancellations and heavy bags and repeated searches of bodies and bags and laptops and who knows what else….and no one complains. A gentleman and his wife in Las Vegas offer to share a rental car with me to Phoenix, the closest open airport, when we learn that O’Hare had closed to our scheduled arrival.   And on it went.


September 13, 2001 (noonish CST)
I call R. from Cincinnati.  I cry.  Logan has shut down again.  I don’t know how I’m going to get home.   Home.  “Get anywhere,”  he says.  “As close as you can.  I’ll come get you.”   I cry again and rebook.


September 13, 2001 (pm EST)
I get off the plane in Providence.  And there he is.   He’s able to take me home to our apartment now because it’s been reopened.  Our home, in one of two towers that sit on the shores of Boston Harbor, just across from the airport, is deemed safe now as police boats light up the water in front of its entrance.   He tells me that the F-15s have stopped passing over but that the airport remains closed.   He tells me stories about the horrors I’ve not been privy to as I hunkered through airports.   He tells me about heroics.   He tells me he loves me and holds me.  “You’re home.”







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I resolve…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on January 4, 2010| 1 Comment »

…to get with the program again after two long weeks of not Watching my Weight. This includes but is not limited to refusing any and all invitations from my sweet children to “have some, Mommy?” when the item in question comes from the frozen foods section or comes with a packet of bright orange powder.

…to get out all of my thank-you notes all my non-family thank-you notes by the end of this week. Firstly, this includes the friends who love me best and do not give my children presents with 750-easy to assemble pieces or anything with sand, doh or marbles in the packaging. Secondly, I suppose, it will also include the friends who my children love best because they didn’t give a damn what I thought about the mess their awesome gifts would create. To those devil woman friends of mine who fall in the latter category…just wait ’til next year when your kid gets a drum set from Aunt Swooper.
…to hug more, yell less. There were many, many crazy moments over the last two weeks in which my boys were racing around the house like whirling dervishes, chanting synchronized nonsense at the top of their lungs together. Together. And, much of the time I was shushing them or telling them to stop touching each other. Touching each other. And when it got really “bad”, I was even threatening time-outs to separate them. Separate them?   No.  Perspective.  Deep breaths.  Perspective.
…to wear lingerie, matching, prettier under garments.  ‘Nuff said.
…to do something other than home chores on my child-free Tuesday and Thursday morning. Ideally, something at the gym that involves sweat, my iPod and sneakers. Where are those things, anyway?
…to host a party little get together.  Because we owe people and because I’m social. Best start working on Husband now about that. (see resolution listed two up from here)
…to forgive. And realize that people are rarely capable of dramatic personality change (particularly those of an older generation). Faced with too many untimely deaths of late, it’s time I get a clue and take the hint. It may not be the conventional relationship but he loves me. He does. And, I him.
…to stop giving a hoot about Facebook, Farmville, Fish World and Cafe World and pretending that Big Brother is the one most interested in them.  “Hey, Big Brother!  It’s almost bedtime!  Have you harvested the watermelons?!”   Really, Swooper?

…to be more grateful for the life I’ve been given.  To look my husband in the eye every day more often and let him know how much I love being a stay at home Mom and how much I appreciate how hard he works to make this life for us.   To look at my boys and really see them.  Their innocent faces, their tiny hands, their boundless energy and their completely distinct and loving, little personalities.   To embrace them longer, close my eyes and really feel them in my arms.   It won’t be long before they decide I’m totally so uncool.

Happy 2010, everyone.   I wish you all the best.

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Miss Otis Regrets…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on December 10, 2009| Leave a Comment »

‘Twas Christmas Walk weekend and in old Marblehead

There was Santa by boat, there was Gingerbread
The town was a twinkle with white lights galore
Trees on the roof racks and wreaths on each door
But that Saturday night there was more don’t you know
We looked forward to a party Chez Matt and Chez Mo
7:30 the start time but we called the sitter that night
“Can you come a little early, so we can grab a bite?”
At just about 7 we sat down at the bar
The Barnacle, our choice — from the party, not far.
He ordered a vodka with olives, you see
So I stepped up to the plate with an appletini
Then a second, which was clearly my downfall, I fear
I should have known better. Husband ordered a beer.
An old sot named Victor had us chatting, its true
But I wish Vic had told me “Dear, the drunk here is you.”
So then off we went, down the street just a spill
Where I presented my cheese platter, then it all went downhill
“Chardonnay? Oh, yes, please. Oh yes, sure, another?
I know you from t-ball? Isn’t that guy your brother?”
“Have you met my husband? He’s a big Yankees fan.
Do you think that Tiger is a really good man?
What’s your opinion on health care? Oh, what did you say?
I’ll just stir up the pot and then saunter away.”
“Have you seen my husband? He was just here, I think.
Oh well, I can’t find him, wanna go get a drink?”
Well, he found me, thank goodness, not a moment too soon
And brought me directly to the food table room
Where I made an attempt at some crudite
Or some crackers, whatever, I just couldn’t say
But then talking and walking it seemed was a struggle
So I leaned in and listened when Husband said with a snuggle.
“Party’s over, I think. Honey, don’t you agree?
It’s time to head home to two seventy-three.”
I briefly protested but then acquiesced.
“Let’s go,” he said firmly, “You’re a bit of a mess.”
So, please let me say sorry to my host and hostess
For ducking out quickly, no doubt for the best
The party was fabulous, from what I recall
Good food and good friends, the event had it all.
And I am so sorry that I couldn’t attend.
And hope you’ll invite me, when you do it again.

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