Pierce Vacation 2012 - Day 2

The first night in any hotel room is usually uncomfortable.  It's a new room, new bed, new sheets.  Yet, here, my OCD kicks in to a higher degree.  If you think I'm bad at vacation planning, you should see how I sleep, and how I "prepare" my room.  Again, Elisa would call this a medical condition.  I just look at it as "setting the table".  Let me explain.

I tend to start the routine by making sure the temperature is right.  And by right, I mean frigid.  I'm a believer that you can always add another blanket if you're chilled.  No matter how many sheets you throw off when you're hot, it just doesn't do the trick.  Then again, I can't sleep without being covered.  Sheets are a must, and it's better if the sheet has some substance.  Onto the room itself.  The door must be closed?  Why?  Because it must be, silly.  Isn't that a good enough reason?  The fan must be on.  And I must use the bathroom the absolute minute before I start trying to go to sleep.  This is why watching TV at bedtime is such a bad idea.  I go to the bathroom, come back to bed, get sucked into whatever's on the television, and while only 5 minutes has passed by, I must go and tinkle. 

Once I'm in bed, it must be silent.  Now I don't mind the normal car passing by (heck, I lived in Draper for 9 years...I got used to the train at 5 AM rattling everything in the house).  But by God, if the fan starts making a ticking noise, I'm done.  I play a game of laying in bed saying "tick, tick, tick" in my head.  And then I strategically start inching my way up to a kneeling position.  I must be quiet.  I must not wake Elisa.  I must stop the incessant ticking.  I push the fan around for awhile, and then collapse into bed as if I just rolled over.  Whew.  Now, I can sleep.  Tick...tick...tick...I'm worse than Captain Hook.

OCD.  The poster child.  Send your condolences to the wife.  So being in a new hotel room only complicates things.  I scored my first victory of the trip, however, by cranking up the air conditioning.  I was probably the only person that didn't think it was a problem that the children had icicles in their hair the next morning.  The fan was ticking.  Yet this fan was on a higher ceiling between the two beds.  I wasn't about to start flailing my arms around while jumping up and down.  That wouldn't earn bonus points with the wife.  And finally, the bed was creaking.  Now, it wasn't creaking in a "oh yeah, baby.  This is vacation!  Just stay quiet because the kids are sleeping in the bed next to us!" kind of way.  No, this bed wasn't rocking.  You could have come a knocking.  It was just that every time I moved, the bed would groan in pain.  This wasn't fair.  I hadn't even had a chance to put on 10 lbs. of vacation pounds yet!

Wait, did I just talk about Day 2's midnight-6AM time period for 4 paragraphs?  My apologies to the peanut gallery.  I've spent more time on doodoo in a toilet and why a ticking fan is the the next sign of the apocalypse than I have talking about the fun of Disney.  Perhaps I'll just move to us getting up for the day.

And it started with chattering.  No, not the noise of two children so excited you couldn't stand it.  The chattering was of teeth as Elisa crawled out of bed.  It might have been a little cold in the room.  There's a 50/50 chance there was morning frost on the toilet seat (I'm back to the toilet again?  Already?).  We got the kids out of bed, and got everyone ready to go.  And we were on time!  Early, in fact.  Until my Mom texted me (she can text?!) and told me to check my phone.  Yep, we had a message too.  After the festivities of the day before, our hotel had found us adjoining rooms on the top floor.  Great, right?

No, we had to inform them immediately if we wanted them, and had to have everything packed up.  We had spent the night before unpacking (and had used space bags to save...um...space), so I was running around the room trying to put all of our earthly possessions back into random bags and luggage.  Before we knew it, we were running late and the bellhop openly wept as we piled bags upon bags onto his cart.  We were told when we returned from the parks that we'd have a new room.  This trip was so good, apparently 1 or 2 rooms wasn't nearly enough!  

To make my itinerary focused neurosis worse, today was an early day for our plans.  We needed to make it to Magic Kingdom an hour before it opened.  No, not to stand in line and try to plot our path to take out six grandmas, 4 toddlers, and a Disney character so that we could ride Space Mountain.  No, we had our first character breakfast.  In the most unlikely location you'd think for two little boys.  Cinderella's Castle.  

We arrived at Magic Kingdom and promptly parked in one of the first rows of cars.  We walked over and got on our first real ride - the Monorail.  You see, you can't get to Magic Kingdom by walking.  You have two choices.  Take the monorail, or take a ferry boat.  An hour before the park opened, it was the monorail.  I was already fretting, because I want to be on time to everything, and we were already 5 minutes late for our reservation when we walked through the gates and headed down Main Street.  I had the kids so prepared.  They had Autograph books, pens the size of Goofy's foot, and their winning smiles.  We checked in at Cinderella's Royal Table and walked in.  We were greeted by a Disney standby - a line.  This one was to get our pictures taken with Cinderella!  I had only put this restaurant on the itinerary because Lukas is secretly in love with Snow White, and it was on his Top 5 "To Dos" to give her a hug.  Plus, I thought friendly girls in lavish costumes would help Miles ease into the whole character thing.  

Reality check.  Miles is as afraid as women as I have been for my whole life.  I think I've just gotten past the whole public crying thing.  Miles saw Cinderella and started freaking out.  I tried to talk some sense into him.  Look at her smile!  Look at her wig!  Look at the lipstick on her teeth!  Nothing was doing.  We got up to pose and had our first paid picture of Miles screaming like as if he just found out he was betrothed to one of the mice from Cinderella.  We quickly headed upstairs and got our seats.  Strategically visiting the tables were Snow White, Aurora (Sleeping Beauty), Ariel (my, how she balances on her tail!), and Belle.  None were near us, but the moment I would get Miles calmed down, he'd see one of the princesses and would promptly want to end it all by jumping through the stained glass windows.  When they brought the princes their own swords (go go gadget stereotypes!), Miles wasn't interested.  When we got his food, he hid in his eggs.  There was just no doing with the princesses.  And when I say doing, I mean in the G rated Disney way.  Sickos.  Get your minds out of the gutter.  

Lukas, however, was the charmer.  I think Ariel called him a guppy, or some other marine animal.  Snow White got her hug.  Lukas stared at Princess Aurora with the look of "I don't know what character you are, but sign my damn autograph book and give me some hugs.  That's what these breakfasts are all about, woman!"  Precious.  And with that, we were off and into the park.  We strolled out of the castle and headed right into Peter Pan's Flight.  While we waited, I played with my wait line apps and found that it would time how long I was actually in line (as opposed to what was posted).  Peter Pan took 12 minutes.  It was a 20 minute posted wait.  I'm a trip planning God.  

For most of the tamer rides, Lukas wanted to go with the grandparents, so it was Elisa, Miles, and I.  Miles went into jaw-opened staring phase for the ride and ended it with a "that was fun!".  It would become a staple at nearly every ride.  Across the way was It's A Small World, which had just a 5 minute wait.  My planning acumen told me other rides would have longer waits, so we headed over to Frontierland.  And Lukas went crazy.  I'm telling you, this child has no fear.  He looked at Splash Mountain with the "where have you been all my life?" expression, and was off on his first trip with Mom and Dad.  We rode together in the front seat, and while he had an ounce of hesitation in him, the desire to seek thrills won out.  He loved Splash Mountain.  Elisa loved it until the first hill and the deluge of water right onto her seat.  Mmmmm....moist!  I loved it until we went down the final hill and we all got splattered with water.  Mmmm...moister!  I don't think my hair dried all day in the Florida humidity.  

Lukas then rode Splash Mountain with the grandparents (Disney has a great feature - child swap.  Go up to a cast member and tell them you want to do Child Swap.  They give you a Fastpass and when the first group gets back, the second group can ride without much of a wait).  We moved right next door to Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, and let Lukas and the Grandparents go first.  So what do you do for funsies when you're waiting for others to ride a ride (while watching a 2 year old)?  You put suncreen on them.  Elisa started spraying Miles all over, and gave me the job of getting his face covered.  I went into idiot mode, sprayed my hands with the suncreen, and promptly got suncreen in Miles' eyes.  I'm surprised I didn't poke him in the eye for good measure.  And shockingly, this made Miles unhappy.  I'd have never figured.  So by the time Elisa and I were off to ride on Thunder Mountain, Miles had one red eye and looked like a puffer fish.  

To make it up to him, we started heading back to It's A Small World.  On the way, we saw Woody  and Jessie, followed by Donald Duck (in a frontier get-up?  What's he going to hunt?  Himself?)  While Woody and Jessie didn't do anything to help Miles revolt against characters, he couldn't resist Donald.  He was adorable handing him his autograph book and doing his "I'm going to lean towards you and you can count that as my hug" routine.  His eye only looked like it had put up with one round with Mike Tyson now, and we escaped into It's A Small World.  10 minutes (and 42 chorus lines later), Miles was back to being happy.  

Since I had made one child happy, I figured it was high time to make the other miserable.  We headed for Haunted Mansion.  It was the one ride Lukas was afraid of, and I, being Dad of the Year, decided the best approach would be "Man up!".  We dragged both kids on the ride.  In the elevator sequence, Lukas started crying.  Miles joined in.  In one of my less proud Dad moments, I had a bit of a Freudian Slip.  I meant to ask Miles if he wanted to go on a different ride.  What slipped out was "do you want to go to time out?".  I cemented my nomination for Father of the Century by threatening my 2-year old with time out because he was crying at Haunted Mansion.  Miles got me back.  He started wailing "Yes, I want to go to time out!  Put me in time out!".  Where was the Senior Circle judgement squad when you needed them?  By the time we got into the "doom buggies", though, both kids had collected themselves.  Miles didn't get his wish of time out, and the vacation continued.  We made our way to Pirates of the Caribbean (Disneyland's is so much better) and then rode on Magic Carpets of Aladdin.  By this time, we were nearing lunch and we (this will surprise you) had a 1:00PM reservation at Plaza Inn.  We headed over, put our names in, and started to melt in the sun and humidity.  Apparently 1:00PM in Florida gets a bit toasty.  We were all dripping sweat.  And true to form, when I sweat, Elisa starts moving away from me like I have a rash.  

We finally got into the restaurant, and it was time for me to take Miles to the bathroom.  Yep, that fun continued.  I had moved from my first technique of "push the tinkle machine down while balancing Miles on the seat" to the quicker, but more disastrous idea that I could keep his shorts around his ankles, strategically position my elbows at his knees, and operate his legs like I was lifting a car with a car jack.  I can only imagine what the person in the next stall was thinking.  "Hold on Miles, don't play with the toilet paper.  Let me get my elbow there.  No, don't aim it up!  You're starting to fall in!  That wasn't enough.  Get more out!".  I'm surprised I didn't tell him I'd put him in time out if he closed his legs.

We got through a pretty standard lunch.  I had my first ice cream (a chocolate shake) that was high on the chocolate, low on the...no chocolate.  Wow, was it powerful.  I was half tempted to drop my Cheesesteak in just to take the "edge" off.  And by this point, with the heat and humidity bearing down, I adjusted the itinerary (you didn't know I had it in me, did you?) and we headed back to the car.  A short ride later, we were arriving at our hotel room.  

When we got into our new, adjoining rooms, I looked at our view, checked the toilet for another welcome present (apparently, Disney has a rule of one turd per package), and started to unpack.  By the way, unpacking isn't as fun the second time around.  And I unpack like I pack.  Pretty sloppily.  I could almost feel Elisa following me around, getting the stuff in their right places after my "creative" unpacking job went a bit off the tracks.  After blessing hotel room #3, we needed fun.  We needed something not in our hotel room, and not sweltering.  

It was swimming time.  We all needed to cool off.  So we suncreened the kids (I might have let Elisa get Miles' face taken care of this time) and headed to the pool.  My boys are water bugs.  They were in heaven, splashing and swimming all around.  We had been there a grand total of 20 minutes, when the lifeguards closed the pool due to potential thunderstorms.  As we walked back to the room, I cursed myself for changing the itinerary.  I promptly thought "that's what you get for straying from the WORLD'S MOST PERFECT VACATION ITINERARY!".  We got Miles a quick nap (none for Lukas...big mistake), and by the time we had showered, were...surprise!....late for our dinner reservation.  This meal would take us to World Showcase in Epcot at a restaurant called Le Cellier.  It's a Canadian Steakhouse, eh?  When we walked outside, already late, we realized it was downpouring.  Elisa headed back to get jackets.  My Dad went to find my Mom's umbrella.  I paced back and forth as if I was late for the birth of my child.  

We loaded on jackets and walked over.  About 2 minutes into the walk, I realized my jacket was a windbreaker only.  It didn't do so well with the rain.  And a wet jacket clinging to your arms is just somehow worse than no jacket at all.  By the time we arrived, I was mad we were 10 minutes late.  I snapped at everyone, probably also accusing the hostess of being a Canadian terrorist, eh?  By the time we sat down for the meal, I think we were all kind of done.  The group fed up with me and my Nazi time keeping.  Lukas for not having a nap.  Miles for being subjected to princesses with flippers and wigs that would make Tina Turner jealous.  Elisa for having to put up with the rain and her husband.  Lukas melted down in the bathroom.  I almost thought he was going to do his famous "I'll cry until I puke", but he held his vittles in his stomach.  As we waited for the check, I sent Elisa, my Mom, and the kids off to the hotel.  My Dad and I trudged back through the rain.  We stopped to buy Disney ponchos.  I think we got a heck of a steal.  Six plastic hefty bags with Disney World on the back for a mere $60.  It felt like highway robbery.  So to show my protest, we also got the kids pin trading sets.  That'll show Disney who's boss!  

Back in the hotel room, I gave the kids their pins.  Lukas wasn't really understanding the point of pin trading, but they both felt special.  Elisa was happy with the poncho.  We were all ready for bed.  Day 2 was complete.  And as we crawled into our bed in our newest hotel room, Elisa had but one "wish upon a star".  She wanted us to not freeze out the entire family.  I was hoping for a non-ticking fan.  Neither had our wish come true.  Tick...brrr....tick...chatter...hey, at least the groan was gone!

Coming next, Day 3.  Get ready for a rollicking adventure where I rate buffet eggs, my potty training techniques have some splashtastic consequences, Nemo sings on Broadway bringing the audience to tears?!, we tackle Everest, Lukas goes African "So You Think You Can Dance?", and we are....GASP...late for dinner.

Pierce Vacation 2012 - Day 1

I'm quite embarrassed.  Had I realized that this was only my second blog post in 2012, I would have written more.  But don't worry.  I have a lot to say.  After all, we just got back from a 10 day trip to Florida.  That's 10 days of people watching, Disney experiencing, and family confinement.  Plenty of stuff to talk about.  For those that do enjoy the blog, get ready for 10 - yes, 10 - blog posts.  I'm detailing every day.  Why?  Because if you went on vacation and saw what I saw, you'd have a lot to say as well.

Before we dive into the festivities of Day 1, however, I must provide some backstory.  I'm a bit OCD.  Elisa would call it a personality flaw.  Or a serious medical condition.  I consider it cute and adorable.  Like Marilyn Monroe's beauty mark, or Lindsay Lohan's mug shot collection.  This OCD pours over into our vacation planning.  I'm sure many of you go out to Expedia, do a few searches, glance at the travel section on your Kindle, and head out for the great unknown.  I need my security blanket.  I need to know what we're doing and when.

To be fair, if you ever go to Walt Disney World, I don't recommend going without a hefty dose of OCD.  The place is huge, you will spend half your vacation waiting for a table at a restaurant, and you will only see about half of the things you really want to as you snuggle up next to stinky Disney World guests in a 80 minute line (and sadly, consider this "normal Disney").  Again, if you ask Elisa, she'd just tell you I have nothing a good psychiatrist couldn't fix.

Anyway, you must know that my planning doesn't simply include mapping out the parks we will visit or the places we will eat at.  Oh no, that would be child's play.  Still not convinced?  Still think you and I are on the same page in our trip planning excellence?  Let me illustrate.  When trying to find the best restaurants to eat at in Disney World (and there are over 100), I might have looked at a few online reviews.  Okay, 34,000 - does that count?  I also subscribed to a couple choice websites that spend their entire existence tracking the crowd patterns of the 4 Disney parks, predicting the wait times of individual rides on individual days.  Thank goodness there are apps for that!

But I didn't keep this fun and excitement to myself!  No, I brought the others into the party.  To get Lukas (and probably myself) excited about the trip, I also sent a daily email to those attending the trip (Elisa, Lukas, my Mom, and my Dad) with a countdown.  I started on day 250.  That meant 250 emails.  Early on, I shared dining menus with the crew and had them choose between them in a sort of tournament.  And with 150 days to go, I started providing clues to a daily Disney character.  The adults would try to guess and earn points.

Go ahead, be impressed.  Or slightly frightened.  I'm available for work social events and children's parties.  I can impress them with the joy of 34,000 dining reviews.  Enough of the backstory, though.  You have enough to start to understand the madness of the next 10 days.  And trust me, we get started in prime fashion.  I even find a way (well, Disney did) of squeezing some shameless toilet humor in.

The events started on Thursday, September 20th.  The night before, as I started to doze off, I found myself slightly disappointed.  I remembered the days where I was so excited about a vacation that I couldn't sleep.  Now, I was just hoping that I'd get a full 8 hours before the extravaganza had begun.  We were 99% packed (OCD, I said) and I reveled in the thought of Lukas laying in his bed, teaming with excitement.  Our plane wasn't scheduled to depart Salt Lake until 9:40AM, so we got up at normal time (well, Elisa was a usual rock star and pulled out of bed at 4:30 to exercise...I envisioned myself exercising while I lay in bed).  We got ready and finished our packing.  And then played the fun game of "stick the luggage on the scale!"  Nothing like trying to strategically position an oversized rolling suitcase on a small weight scale, hoping that you get an accurate reading!

We ran around the house, because Elisa also has a fun little quirk (something I've kind of grown to appreciate) about her when we go on vacation.  The house must be pristine.  Clean toilets, floors, with an empty dishwasher.  It's quite impressive.  Instead of just piling on a mountain of luggage, we worry about dusting as well.  If anything, though, it makes me feel like I've earned my vacation.  And there is something comforting about arriving back home and not having to go right back to "ALL" of the regular chores.

But clearly, if I don't move on, I'll start detailing the finer intricacies of the toilet wand pre-vacation, so let's move along.  We headed for the airport, only to be greeted by 8:00AM morning traffic.  I thought to myself that this would probably be the only time we were late on the trip, and there have been worse experiences for a seasoned trip planner.

In 2004 we were also headed to Florida.  I had, similarly to this trip, planned an entire extravaganza.  Every detail had been planned.  No small thought had been missed.  We arrived at the Park 'N Jet with over two hours to spare.  We got to the Sky Cap, started checking bags, and I handed the agent my driver's license.  Needless to say, it had expired a month and a half before.  I perfected the art of driving like hell, scaring Park 'N Jet shuttle drivers, nearly breaking into a safe, and procuring my birth certificate.  We got back with exactly 1 minute to spare.  So much for planning.

As we arrived at the airport, I checked my license for the 756th time, only to also know that I had my passport (gee, I wonder why I got one of those!).  I was slightly bemused when we pulled all of our bags off the Diamond Parking shuttle and the driver said "enjoy living in Florida!" . You mean we might have overpacked?  Next came security, which introduced us to another fun part (not) of a 5 year old.  Lukas wants to be an adult.  So when security told him that he didn't need to remove his shoes, it was like Christmas was cancelled.  Two shoes removed, he was pulling himself together while I was starting a tradition unlike any other.

You see, months before the trip, Miles had started showing signs of potential potty training.  I predicted to Elisa that he would be potty trained by the trip.  We were about 1 week into him being fully dry at night, with no accidents during the day.  But this invoked the 2 hour (or any semblance of a time over 15 minutes from the last toilet visit).  And apparently, trying to get a 2-year old to sit on a toilet with his pants around his ankles isn't quite the smartest tactic.  Don't worry.  For those that read the rest of vacation blog entries, I'll enlighten you on my evolving techniques.

Nearly before getting on the flight, I unveiled the parting gifts for the adults.  Remember how I had done Disney character contests?  It was time to award gifts for the points they earned.  Everyone got a favorite snack for the flight.  Everyone had also earned a $10 Starbucks gift card.  My mom and Elisa had gone a bit beyond that and earned a $20 Disney gift card (that would cover about 2 suckers, right?).  And Elisa, as the big winner, got a couple of Disney charms for her Pandora bracelet.  As I gave out the gifts, I noticed the strange looks I was getting from a collection of about 20 seniors getting ready for a flight.   Really?  You're going to judge me for giving out trinkets for a Disney character guessing game?  I'm not a part of the group wearing identical red shirts enblazened with "Senior Circle" on the front.  I won't lie.  After getting the strange looks, I secretly caught a glance of one of their plane tickets.  We were going to Orlando, they were going to DC.  Whew.

Aboard the plane, we took off without problem, and got the kids settled into iPads.  I thought getting them entertainment would be the tough part.  No, that was easy.  Apparently, it's navigating the parents through technology that's the difficult part.  My Dad thought he had downloaded The Help for my mom.  Instead, he only downloaded the "iTunes Extras".  I made the offer to my Mom that she could watch The Hunger Games on my iPhone.  After giving me lemon face, she tried it out and had a furious battle with the volume control for a good 5 minutes.  My Dad, clearly not expecting that these events would transpire, started watching The Lion King.  I don't think he got through Circle of Life.  Somewhere along the way, he paused it at bowing zebras and the game was up.  He moved onto bigger and better activities...like sleeping.

No sooner had they announced that the featured movie was "What to Expect When You're Expecting" did my Mom frisbee my iPhone back.  Apparently she's not a fan of The Hunger Games...or at least the first 5 minutes of it.  Over the course of the next 4 hours, I wish I could say we had tremendous excitement.  Sadly, the most exciting experience happened twice.  If I thought wrestling a potty training child in an airport stall was an adventure, I wasn't fully prepared for doing it in an airplane bathroom closet.  Miles kept wanting to flush the toilet.  I kept having visions of us both walking out covered in neon blue goo.  Beyond that, the only other excitement was the toddler one row ahead of us.  While the other 4 kids on the row...yep, it was that traditional Utah family...were behaved, this child cried, cried some more, wailed as if it had lost a limb, drank it's bottle with such force you'd think it was a human suction cup, and threw up all over Mom.  Once we were off the plane, I thought we were free and already needed a drink.

We stopped at a bathroom (I think this was visit #5 already), and got to see that same screaming toddler, well, scream just outside the Men's room.  Orlando airport actually has mini monorails to get you from the terminal to the main luggage and rental car location.  As we climbed into the monorail, we were greeted with the familiar screams of toddler devil.  We exited as fast as we could.  Upon getting to baggage claim, I had serious thoughts of abandoning our bags just to escape the child, as our cute little ones just stood like little angels.  Okay, Benadryl'd and Valiumed angels, but angels nonetheless (I kid).  We arrived at National's Emerald Aisle, only to be greeted with an assortment of 32 minivans.  Elisa and I aren't fans of the car, but with 2 kids, 4 adults, and half of our earthly possessions in suitcases, you swallow your pride and get the caravan.  By the time we were loaded in, I was already enjoying the humidity.  I was a sweaty mess.  Elisa took the time and care to notice.  And comment.  A few times.

As we were getting ready to pull out of the garage, I asked my Dad where the GPS was.  He quickly informed me that it was at in the suitcase in the back, covered by 7 other bags and the stroller from hell (well, it's a Bob.  Best stroller on earth, but describing it as bulky would be an understatement).  Again, I was reminded that parents and technology don't mix.  I also wondered if my Mom should start offering to pack my Dad's bags for vacation.  With the GPS out of the question, Elisa and I went old school.  We found directions online and she read them to me.  That was fun.  Can I have the GPS back?

But then we were off.  The anticipation of looking for and then going under the Walt Disney World sign was worth it.  The kids were thrilled.  I was home.  Vacation had begun.  We pulled up to the gate of our hotel (Disney's Beach Club Resort), and I proudly told them we were staying on Club level (concierge).  We parked in valet, and I shook my head sadly at the bellhop that was unprepared for the waterfall of luggage that was soon to greet him.  I should have told him to be careful with the bag on the bottom - word had it, there was a GPS device in there!  A Cast Member (they aren't employees at Disney) greeted us, and walked us over to the check-in desk.  Now, I know the benefits of Club Level.  You are on the top floor, with access to their lounge (drinks, snacks, etc.).  I should have known that something was off when he didn't direct us upstairs.

Once I told him we were on Club level, he U-Turned, and got us upstairs.  And I was met by the nerdiest and snortiest cast member of them all.  His teeth glistened in all different colors, and he kept sniffing.  This wasn't the dry sniff.  No, it was moist.  I had immediate fear of catching Bubonic Plague on Day 1 of the trip.  After a prolonged check in, he gave us our room keys and told us to go two floors down.  I was puzzled.  This isn't what I signed up for.  But he added merrily "we've arranged a nice little upgrade for you!"

All the way down, I was stupidly envisoning that we had won the secret Disney lottery and would find ourselves in a Suite (courtesy of Disney and Mickey).  When we arrived at a standard room overlooking the volleyball court (can you say upgrade!?), I beelined it back to Club Level to inquire about our special upgrade.  Wet Sniffles got on the horn to figure out what the problem was.  Apparently, they thought our access to Concierge was the upgrade that we hadn't paid for.

Little did I know that Elisa got the real upgrade.  Upon visiting the bathroom, she found that the last resident had left an upgrade in the toilet.  Yum.  Nothing says Beach Club Resort like a dukie in the can!  You can only imagine how her text (thankfully, no picture was included) improved my mood.  Wet Sniffles sat on the phone listening to someone else talk.  I found that he would remain silent unless I looked at him.  He would immediately say "uh huh" to the caller on the other end.  I was slightly entertained that a simple glance could illicit an "uh huh".  I might have made him do it 23 times.  Give or take.

The end result was that Disney had screwed up.  When we made a small adjustment to our reservation in May, they changed the whole thing.  So Wet Sniffles went into fix it mode.  The only problem was we didn't have rooms next to each other, which is kind of a must with two little kids.  Grandma and Grandpa are excellent lifeboats when the kids get too much.  So they got us back to the Club level but would have to continue to work on getting us rooms next to each other.  Honestly, it felt like they were just saying that and wanted to appease my growing temper (the OCD planner in me had started looking for an open bar).  So we collected the crew, and headed to room #2.  Two rooms in the span of an hour.  I felt the power of an upgrade.  As a side benefit, though, we ended up getting Club level for free.  Screw up again next time, Disney!  Just don't include the toilet present.

After settling down, we were off to our first dinner.  Yachtsman Steakhouse is a premier dining establishment.  One of the highest rated and the cause of great memories from 2004.  On that trip, we also had our first meal at the restaurant, and Elisa ordered a Porterhouse steak that actually hung off the side of the plate.  Yes, it was that large.  The look on her face was priceless.  So when we sat down and started perusing the menu, I started pushing her to do it again.  She gave into peer pressure, and got the Porterhouse again.  And then she ate about 2.3% of it.  Atta girl!  I, on the other hand, made it look like my plate had just come out of the dishwasher.  Perhaps I was still in Elisa's house prep mode?

We headed to our first park at 8:45PM.  I had wanted to introduce the kids to Disney, but didn't want them riding rides until our first full day.  So we went over to Epcot to see their nighttime fireworks show (Illuminations).  We found a nice spot, and started to wait.  Entertainment consisted of a cockroach the size of Goofy, and showing my prowess at killing it twice.  Apparently, they are quite strong critters.  One 10.5 shoe stomp killed it for approximately 3.4 minutes.  It started moving again like normal.  Eww.  The second time, I made sure it wasn't going to get up again.  I was in the Disney mood already.

We were able to see the show with a great view, and my shoulders nearly broke off as my 5-year old wanted to view the fireworks from way up high.  15 minutes is a long time for a shoulders ride.  And with that, we headed back to the hotel.  The kids got snuggled into bed, I sneaked over to the thermostat and programmed it for subzero temperatures, and we were down to dream about Mickey and Snow White.

Coming next...Day 2:  Where Miles explores the same fear of women I had between the ages of 16-32, Lukas becomes the thrill seeker, we start to melt, start to swim, start to hear thunder, and then swim without the pool.  Oh, and did I mention Room #3?

Attack of the Movie

This felt better. Everything was right with the world for a few minutes, at least. As I sat and looked around the half-filled theatre, I felt like we had finally gotten it right. I glanced over at the empty chair next to me, which was soon to be filled by my wife. I had my soda, popcorn, and good seats...well, they were acceptable seats at least. When Elisa sat down, she commented how great the seats were. I smiled. Ah the joys...and differences of Elisa and I and the movies.

I'm convinced that there are two types of people when it comes to the movies. There are the movie fanatics - they love the entire experience, and live for a couple free hours to watch a good flick. If you're channel surfing and come across your favorite, you watch it from beginning to end (and secretly hope that it's on a constant loop so you can watch it again).

On the other side of the "aisle" is the apathetic moviegoer. This is the one that secretly thinks watching a movie is a waste of two hours. Sleep is potentially more attractive, and can be experienced even during a movie. Do they hate movies? No, they tolerate them. No one really hates movies. Right?

I can almost hear the skepticism as you read this. Don't believe that the movies, of all things, live in such a black and white world? Allow me to illustrate the polar opposites, courtesy of a night at the movies with Elisa and Brad. Don't worry. I have proof.

Exhibit #1 - Choosing A Movie

It starts when the idea of a movie is raised. Not surprisingly, I always mention it. Does it matter that there aren't any really good movies out? Of course not. It's always time for a movie. I'd probably go and watch reruns of Razzie winners if it got me to a theatre. My wife, on the other hand, adds her dose of apathy. In what can only be described as a clever game of 20 questions, she breaks down the available options. Action movies are out. Horror films are out. Historical dramas set during times that don't involve a chick flick themed relationship are out. We arrive on comedies, romantic comedies, romantic dramas, G-rated cartoons, and dramas that so entice her apathy that she begrudgingly agrees.

The fanatic in me even puts away the man card for an evening to venture out for a chick flick. Hey, it's the movies! Which leads us to...

Exhibit #2 - Choosing a movie time

My first stop is the website. I start looking at times and come up with convoluted ways to fit a movie into our hectic schedules (2 jobs, 2 kids, 2 pugs, a house, etc.). Usually the plans involve fantastic ideas like air dropping our kids to Grandma's house and buying a Little Caeser's Pizza and slyly concealing it in a special insulated purse that I'll have to invent in the 45 minutes before showtime. Elisa, on the other hand, doesn't want to be burdened. If we're going to do it, a babysitter is booked, we've mapped out enough time to have a wonderful pre-movie dinner, and it is conveniently placed in a theatre that allows us to get home in 5 minutes. Otherwise, not even a comedy (romantic or otherwise) is worth it. A night out turns into "anything on TV?"

Exhibit #3 - Getting tickets

Elisa doesn't like going to movies on opening weekends, even if she's interested in the movie. If we are going to a movie and it's not overly popular (or has been out long enough to move from "must see" to "I think we're the only ones in here...let's make out!" (which consistently is met with a well timed eye roll)), Elisa is content to get tickets at the theatre. What's the point in paying the extra dollar if we know we can get good seats? Oh ho ho! says the fanatic in me. I could bring up a seating chart that has every possible seat available and I can't help myself. I must book online and reserve my seats. What if a tour bus stops by right before we get there, and the only available seats are on the front row? Why take the chance that a Groupon for that movie and that showtime is released, leading to a calvacade of excitement? Book em, Danno!

Exhibit #4 - Choosing seats

That's only half the battle. I spend an inordinate amount of time examining the seating chart for the perfect selection. You'd think I secretly pulled out my trusty protractor to measure specific angle...no, I wouldn't get that far...no, it's not possible. And to the surprise of no one, the ONLY acceptable seat is right in the middle. I wake up in cold sweats worried about the angle of my viewing if I had to be two away from center. Don't worry, I'm seeking professional help.

Elisa is an aisle watcher. Why be right in the middle? You have to actually be next to other, disgusting, vile, and germ infested human beings! The aisle is the only way to go. That way, only Brad has to deal with the stranger on the other side. She gets a free side, and a possible escape route if the movie is too bad. I'm convinced she plots our escape when we sit for a movie. I mean, you need to be prepared if the movie is that bad.

Exhibit #5 - Arriving "On Time"

When the tickets have been purchased, the babysitter arranged, and the pre-movie dinner has been eaten, Elisa and I fall into our "black and white" world. As the clock nears "show time", Elisa isn't fazed. The movie doesn't actually start at the given time. You get 10 minutes of stupid movie trailers before the actually movie starts, and we already have our tickets. She's content meandering to our seats, getting snacks, and taking advantage of the restroom facilities.

I, however, view the world differently. The movie trailers are part of the experience! It doesn't matter that I won't see 3/4 of the movies in those trailers (mostly due to Elisa putting the brakes on that WAY back on exhibit #1). If I miss a trailer, it's like I've lost my favorite puppy. And the desire to see silly 30 second previews takes on...unique...behaviors. First, we arrive at the ticket kiosk. Why won't it take my credit card? Could it be that I used someone else's card and the tickets won't come out in time? I resist the urge to man-hug the machine and shake it until the tickets come out. When they do print, I vociferously search the ticket to ensure that it's the right ticket for the right time and the right seats. Woe is me if I made a mistake. Elisa would think it was a get out of jail free card.

Exhibit #6 - The snacks

If there is anything that makes the movies appetizing to Elisa, it's the snacks. Sometimes, it's the popcorn (although we both agree that the oil on the popcorn is not of nature and shouldn't grace the tub), but usually it's the candy. And again, I'm on a mission. I'd rather skip the snacks and get comfortably into my seat so that I can be entranced by the Garbett Homes commercials! Elisa starts filling the candy bag. Is it because it's part of the movie experience? Something that enhances the evening? I'm convinced that it's a well timed shot of sugar to keep her from falling asleep. She fills a small bag, and $17 later, we're off to find our seats.

Common Ground

If you're not convinced of the fanatic vs. the apathetic when it comes to movies, there's no hope for you. Something tells me, however, that you're sitting there and identifying either with me or Elisa. Someone out there is sharing their frustration that entering a 32 digit confirmation number to get tickets is a bit egregious. Someone else is shaking their heads that anyone could want to watch a movie preview...they spend the time strategically checking Facebook one last time before the lights go out and people start to judge.

So it was at this point that Elisa and I found common ground. As I stated at the beginning, I was comfortably in my chair before the previews had begun. We escaped from the snack counter with just drinks and a popcorn (no candy...we saved $32.50). It wasn't perfect execution. We were on the aisle, and I was frantically searching for a protractor app on my iPhone so I could silently cry at the poor angle. But it was the movies. I was happy. Elisa was putting up with me.

And then we found common ground. A joint alliance against the third type of moviegoer. The "I must be the only one in the theatre" moviegoer. This one took the cake, though. We were in a PG-13 movie at 7:00 PM. And the couple in front of us had brought their newborn. We were actually watching The Hunger Games, and to say that the newborn "added" to the experience would be stretching the truth. Nothing like watching teens commit murder on the silver screen with a "goo goo ga ga!" softly speaking in the background. The Hunger Games took a different meaning halfway through when baby needed dinner. But nothing could have prepared me for the strategic diaper change on the lap.

Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I swore I heard the following exchange:

Baby Moviegoer #1: "Honey, thanks for the Butterfinger! It's a shame it was melting, but it was a nice surprise anyway. I didn't know you brought snacks!"

Baby Moviegoer #2: "Dear? I didn't bring any snacks..."

...

...

...

Hey sweetie? Tell me about that escape route you had mapped out.

The Toilet Seat & The Puppy Picture

For those of you that don't know, I grew up with three brothers. So in our household, my Mom had to suffer through my Dad and four messy, unmannered boys. Okay, we probably weren't that unruly, but we were boys. For boys, mess is comfortable. We're encouraged to play in the dirt, not wash our hands, and show off the day's activities on our pant legs or shirts. That's part of the fun of being male. You get to act like you're 5 most of the time and the result (whether it be oil, dirt, grease, or sweat) is further proof of the testosterone flowing through your body.

To make matters worse for me (and for a certain someone that would inherit the behaviors of an all-boy house when we got married), my first foray into being out of the house was to live with one of my brothers. We had a 2-bedroom apartment that worked incredibly well as a bachelor pad. And wouldn't you know it, boys were still boys. Bless my mom. I think she always knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she always seemed to make the workman like effort. I remember her looking into my brother's bathtub in our apartment and actually being so repulsed that she pulled out the Comet and returned the tub to a sparkly....bland tan color. You can best believe we got her a really nice Mother's Day card that year.

So when I got married, I brought with me a host of bad behaviors - well, bad to Elisa. Because the opposite end of the spectrum was the Kaczka household. My poor father-in-law. While my mom was stuck with the boy parade, he was stuck with 4 women in a house - his wife and three daughters. To say that Elisa and I grew up differently would be the understatement of the year. Elisa learned to be clean, tidy, organized. It's no wonder that her career turned to the structure and organization of numbers. Elisa was groomed to be a girl. A girly girl. Yes, the "I'm going to stand on a chair because a Daddy Long Leg spider has just entered the mile radius around my house" girly girl. You can already imagine the collision on the way. Elisa, with 2 sisters. Brad, with 3 brothers. I think it's fair to say that Elisa probably measured me up one day and promptly started a spreadsheet of all of the little behaviors that would need fixing.

But the issue that really started my "education" was much more basic than the great change that relationships deal with. My eyes were opened up to marriage and relationships, not through thorough discussions and arguments over raising children, religion, or how to deal with finances. No, I now introduce you to the story of the Toilet Seat & The Puppy Picture.

Elisa and I moved into our house about 6 months into marriage. Maybe it was just the fact that being a newlywed was a blur, but the first 6 months of apartment living don't really leave a lot of memories for me. Then again, Elisa and I were both in school full-time, and both had jobs. I was traveling 2 weeks out of the month, and Elisa was trying to figure out what to do with our little Pug Maggie. So the story unfolds on a cold, blustery day in November 2003. Up to this point, marriage had been an adjustment, but I felt that I was holding my own in the push/pull of the relationship. And then I made the mistake of using the bathroom.

After flushing (I was raised in a house of 4 boys, not in the wilderness), I walked out of the bathroom and headed downstairs. 2 minutes later, it began. Elisa called down to me and asked me to come back upstairs. I was already well trained in the "wife tone". You know, the tone they use when they want to teach you something about being a better husband. So I walked up the stairs, and noticed she was in the bathroom. I probably spoke to soon a few sentences ago - I admit my first thought was that I potentially hadn't flushed. Maybe I was raised in the wilderness after all. I walked into the bathroom to see Elisa staring at the toilet. "I flushed!" was my first comment. You know, as I relive this story, I realize that I probably was a bit too defensive about flushing. In fact, even in the retelling of the story I find myself trying to prove to you, the reader, that I actually do flush the toilet. Somewhere, a therapist is praying I come for a few "sessions". For the sake of our story, let's just establish that I'm a flusher. That's not the point of the story anyway. Okay, now I'm flustered.

Back to November 2003. Back to the bathroom. Elisa moved into "trainer mode" very quickly. She educated me on proper etiquette of the toilet seat. Apparently, in normal households across the great USA, you are supposed to put the toilet seat down. I was told in no uncertain terms that the seat belonged in the down position at all times. I think I mumbled "yes, dear", and moved onto other things. I firmly believed that Elisa was going to just have to get over it. It was a toilet seat after all.

The next time I failed to place the seat in the downward position (suddenly, I envision a flight attendant providing proper instructions on this), my reaction went sarcastic. Upon asking Elisa why it was so important, she proceeded to let me know that if I didn't put the seat down, she could fall in when it was the middle of the night and she needed to use the John. See, this is what you do in marriage...you have heated conversations about how to prevent the butt cheek from submersing in the toilet. It makes you crave the fights about what to eat for dinner, doesn't it? I asked her why she didn't just turn on the light. I had a difficult time envisioning Elisa backing up to the toilet like a truck to a loading dock, without "using her rearview mirror", if you will. Again, the conversation ended with a "yes, dear", and I started to realize that Toilet Seat-gate wasn't going to be going away anytime soon.

Now I'll admit that after being scolded multiple times, I started to at least try. My OCD mind first thought it would be good to just try to make it a routine thing. Do it right after you flush. Or after you wash your hands. Or maybe don't even lift the seat at all (Elisa and all women are probably pulling the Comet out as a reaction to the last suggestion...it was a joke, put the rubber gloves down ladies). But it became clear to me that 20+ years of a toilet seat free zone were working against me. I think it would be fair to say that I developed a sort of block to this learning process. Part of me still didn't get why it was a big deal. Part of me just couldn't remember to put the seat down.

But my eyes were finally opened when I was at my in-laws for a Sunday dinner. I had used the restroom, and was still in the stage where I wanted to make sure my in-laws approved of me. For those that know me, it just means the sarcasm was only at a level 4, rather than the typical 10. I don't think anyone knew that I had been the last to use the restroom, but when Elisa's sister went to use the John, I heard it shouted through the house. "Who left the toilet seat up?" My first thought was to act offended like the rest of the household. "Yeah, who would do such a thing!". But I knew Elisa would see through that. Secondly, I thought of bouncing up and down like a 4-year old - I'd try to convince them that I really needed to go to the bathroom, and so they would never know I had been the last one to use it! It was genius - except, bouncing up and down with crossed legs is probably not the best way to endear yourself to the in-laws. In the end, I think Elisa actually squeezed my leg under the table in a "oh dear, will you ever learn"? sort of way.

And surprisingly, it was this quintessential moment that I realized the reality of relationships. One that I hope to explore in further writing. We may like to pretend that our personalities can change. After all, there are self-help books lining the shelves of Barnes & Noble that tell you change is possible. But what I realized in that moment is that I wouldn't suddenly wake up and realize that the toilet seat needed to be down. It wasn't about the toilet seat at all. It was the fact that I was fighting the natural inclination to fall into a "role" in my relationship. Because my theory on relationships is as follows - relationships are not about how to fit 2 different personalities into 1 life. Instead, it's about understanding that in all matters of relationships, the two individuals involved need to fall into roles that generally challenge and are at tension with the other. The OCD cleaner vs. the "can't I just dust around the furniture" cleaner. The disciplinarian vs. the melting marshmallow. The spender vs. the saver. And that so long as the intent of the two individuals is aligned (they're doing it for the same reason), these roles are crucial to a healthy relationship.

How does this relate to a toilet seat? I realized in the in-law moment that Elisa was already knee deep (or should I say toilet water deep) into the role of teacher. It was time for me to become the learner. Our intent was the same - that neither of us wanted me to be the urban equivalent of Tarzan. My mental block had come from the fact that I was trying to "change" myself when that just wasn't possible. I am who I am. I will always be a "does it REALLY matter what position the toilet seat is in?" kind of guy. But when I accepted that I needed to learn what was being taught for the good of my marriage, things got generally easier and my marriage did too.

After countless ways of trying to determine how to finally put the toilet seat down, I settled on a simple approach. I needed a reminder - not of toilet seat etiquette, but of my required role. An off the wall reminder that I needed to be the learner. In essence, I was like a little puppy. So I found an address sticker of Elisa's that had a picture of puppy on it and I put it on the underside of the toilet seat. Every time I used the toilet, Mr. Puppy would be staring at me. And whether it was my new devotion to actually accept something that I needed to learn, or my shame at the puppy mocking me about a toilet seat, the toilet seat started coming down faster than the Berlin Wall.

I remember they used to have posters in classrooms saying "Everything I needed to know, I learned in Kindergarten". Apparently, everything I needed to know about relationships I learned with a toilet seat. Now I just need to copyright that and make a poster.

And nearly 8 years later (as shown below for the non-believers), Mr. Puppy is still affixed to the underside of the toilet seat. Something tells me that when we move, that seat is coming with me...in the downward position, of course.

Of iPhones & 90 X's

Apparently, I have been slacking off yet again. I hit a good patch where I'm blogging quite a bit, and then I hit a dead end. Not because I don't have anything to say. As Elisa would say, when do I not have something to say? But if I'm going to blog, it has to be worthwhile. I have to be able to spit something out that is mildly coherent, and timely to what's going on in our lives. So while I had little snippets of sarcasm pouring through my veins over the last month, nothing really spoke to me.

And in the span of about 2 hours, two topics came to me. One involving the new addiction in my life. The other...well, let's just say its become an addiction of the lesser enjoyment.

Apparently, there's an app for that

Quick history lesson. After Elisa and I got married, we decided to leave Verizon Wireless. Verizon was just too expensive and we could get a great deal with AT&T. It was much cheaper. So we made the switch. What we didn't know, was that "cheaper" apparently meant that our cell phones would only work using the old "two soup cans connected with a string" technique. It was so bad that the typical 15-20 minute commute home would have anywhere from 10-12 call drops. Imagine a conversation while Elisa was in the middle of her pregnancy. I spent half of our two year contract wondering if she had experienced smoething catastrophic at work, and the other half thinking that she didn't understand my sarcasm and was suddenly angry with me and providing the "silent treatment" as a punishment.

So two years later, we learned our lesson and trudged back to Verizon. Sure, we were paying more but we also talked more too. And we no longer had to talk like the Micro Machines guy, trying to get every possible word into a conversation before the inevitable call drop. And what happens when we move to Verizon? A little slice of heaven called the iPhone is released. I'm pretty boring - I've never done drugs. But I get a sense of what an addict would feel like if their dealer held their stache right over their head and told them it would only be there's once their two year contract was up, and the quality of the stuff wouldn't be that good anyway. Wait...did I just wrap an addiction to drugs into an analogy with a 2-year cell phone agreement? And equate AT&T's network to less than ideal drug quality? Maybe the blog should end before my brain explodes.

So Elisa and I waited patiently. I scoured Google News for a hint of a "Verizon iPhone". I felt comforted by the fact that people tweeted about the Verizon iPhone as much as Just Bieber, and every time our 2-year contract came up, we considered the trek back to AT&T but always realized that a phone that can't actually make calls longer than...well, I'll leave that analogy to you. But I know where your mind went. You should be ashamed.

And then it happened. The news. Verizon was getting an iPhone. In fact, I think the clouds actually parted and the iPhone itself descended from the heavens. Okay, actually the price tag fell down first with a credit card swiper. But that's not the point. Our perseverence had paid off. We could get an iPhone with actual service that allowed us to....gulp...talk! So we counted down the days, and watched our Blackberry phones start to fall apart. Luke did his part by bending my charging cord to the point of oblivion, and Elisa's battery had multiple personalities. One day, she would use the phone a lot and have a full charge by nightfall. The next day, she would barely touch her phone and the charge would be gone by mid-morning. I still think her time of Facebook was somehow directly related, but I wouldn't tell her that. Oh wait.

A couple weeks ago, we went and got iPhones. Elisa was amazing. She had been putting money away for months to be able to pay for them. Love you sweetie. And since then, the iPhone has made me an addict. I'm not so ashamed to admit that I have downloaded just under 60 applications on my phone so far. I have apps for my news, sports, games, video games, food, shopping, and weather. I even have apps that tell me when there are new or free apps. I can't wait for the app that selects my next apps without me even deciding that I need them. I've found myself addicted to Angry Birds. I've found myself hopelessly enjoying how quick and clear Facebook is. But, shockingly, this entire post isn't about the iPhone (which I disclose 4.5 pages later). It's about awa. And bort. And toilets. And aired.

Confused? You shouldn't be. Because I had the great idea of Elisa and I downloading the same application. A game we could play together. We tried Words With Friends (the free version), which was enjoyable, but Scrabble ended up being $.99. Now some quick backstory here. Elisa pretends to not be smart. She says she doesn't know or remember as much as me. I know she's lying. She's like a ninja. She lulls you into a false sense of security, and then wallops you while you sleep. Elisa = Ninja. Trust me. So we start Scrabble, and I win the first game. Elisa is visible frustrated. She starts putting herself down, so I suggest we play one more game. This one was so close...and Elisa won. By one point. I think the final score was 233 to 232. So we play again. I like the sport of it. I think it's a fun time, and it's feeding my addiction...after all, it is one more app I get to download!

But it's the third game that she pulls out the Ninja. The game starts out simple enough. The game is close. We trade words like VIBE, CONE, GUIDE, SAD, WIFE. And then the ninja begins. GORES. TOILETS (yes she used all 7 letters in one word). I try to keep up. I'm about 30 points behind. And she hits me with BORT. Are you kidding me? BORT!? Is that even a word? WHIM. AIRED (she claims that she got lucky). And my personal favorite, AWA. By this point, I could have gotten a triple word score on ZQUVX and I would have lost. And what does she do? She giggles. Every time she hits submit, she says "Don't hate me" or "Forgive me". She is now the queen of Scrabble. Beware if you play with her. You will fall to BORT AWA. Mark my words.

Not 1, not 2...we have 90 Xs

For those of you wondering, we haven't given up on 30 day challenges. We actually decided to try something more - three 30-day challenges in a row. In the form of P90X. Elisa has wanted me to blog about this for quite awhile, and I'm not exactly sure why I haven't. Maybe it's because by the time I'm done with P90X each night, I can barely function. It's hard enough to complete the act of sleeping, let alone trying to write something that is entertaining. but we sit at Day 37 of 90. And Elisa and I haven't missed a day. I'm very proud of us for that, because P90X gives you about 60 reasons every night to quit. This is brutal. You don't think it will be that bad. You think you can handle it. And then you realize you are doing a mix of push ups and pull ups for an hour, without a break. You jump so many times in Plyo that you're afraid you'll squat yourself into the fetal position for life. And don't get me started on Yoga. I'm thankful that I actually exercise alone these days, because I'm sure the adjectives that would describe a lanky 6'2" skinny man doing balance postures would make the finest YouTube video sensation since Star Wars Kid or the "My Yah Hee" Nerd.

And then there's Ab Ripper X. He's not lying when he says you do 349 moves. Okay, he's lying when he tells you that you just did them, because I don't think it's humanly possible. But a funny thing has started to happen. I feel addicted to the results. Not the workouts. I still struggle to find the desire or motivation with every workout. But the results are compelling and exciting. And as much as Elisa says she doesn't see the results, I see them in her. She's always been in good shape, so maybe the results are just not as extreme as they feel on me. It's because I've been the skinny (well, except for the sympathy 15 I put on with our pregnancies), lanky, uncoordinated, and undefined geek. It's okay. I admit it. Now, I find myself proud of the results I'm getting, and more confident in my appearance. Yes, I'm still lanky. I'm still a geek (I'm 32 and still play video games, for God's Sake), but now I'm addicted. I'll see myself in the mirror and think that a moquito got hungry. That the term six pack doesn't just apply to beer. That I have arms that may be more fitting to use as arms, rather than convenient toothpicks after dinner to get food out of my teeth.

The point? If my theory on 30-day challenges is correct, we, as human beings need to experience something for 30 days before we realize the impact that it has on us. At that point, we can either slip back into our old ways, or we can embrace the fact that our bodies and minds want us to change and we now have proven that we can do it. With over 30 of our 90 little Xs already out of the way, I think the biggest lesson I've learned is that the challenges are what you make of them. And beyond the one-arm push ups, the corn cob pull ups, the downward dogs, and the Star Blocks, there is someone in me and in Elisa that want to be healthier and better people. We still stay away from most fast food. I still haven't touched an Oreo for 60 days. And now I have confidence in the most difficult workout set I've ever tried.

Of course, maybe the best thing for me now would be a 30-day challenge to not download a new app for my iPhone. Hey, maybe there's an app for that...

30 Days Down, 30 Days To Go

Officially, our first 30-day challenge wrapped up last Wednesday. For those of you new to the concept, Elisa and I are trading in the tried and true New Year's Resolutions in favor of something more lasting. If we can accomplish something for 30 days, perhaps our habits will change and we can make it more of a long-term commitment.

So on this side of our first 30 days, the world of fast food lies before us. If I wanted to, I could go get a Double-Double, Animal Style, with a Neopolitan shake. Of course, while my tastebuds would squeal like a spring pig at the fair, the rest of my body would truly understand what it would feel like to digest said pig, while it was squealing. You're probably having the same epiphany I am - animal style, while a good idea while ordering, is really a hall pass to the Pepto World Series of Pink Nightmares. But I have to admit that I'm a bit proud of us. To go from having fast food 1-2-3-4 times a week to none at all was a success. One that surprised our moods, food choices, and pocket book.

I've been primarily asked 2 questions over the last 30 days. 1) Has it been difficult? 2) How much have you saved? So I thought it would be fun, at the end of our first 30 days, to answer those questions now that I can actually answer them.

Has it been difficult?

This is the question that kind of cracks me up the most. Because people don't ask the question in a conversational way. They ask it as if you sold your own child for a really nice steak. You know...part disbelieving that you are actually following through, because deep down we distrust everyone. Part secretly wondering what truly happens to your body without fast food - like they're expecting Grimace to pop right out of your foot and pull you back into the closest McDonalds. And part really sympathetic. Because they equate the sacrifice you are making to solving world hunger, sticking it to "the man", and pulling a Joan of Arc all in one.

In short, the answer is that it's only difficult at the first. Because you still crave it, and still look at the coming 30 days as your equivalent to wandering the desert for 40 days without water. In fact, I almost found us getting more and more energized as our 30 days turned into 20. The term "challenge" takes on a new meaning...like you're beating down a past demon.

To put it in perspective, though, is the first surprise of the first challenge. It's harder to go back to fast food than it is to stop. It's true. Lukas acted like he was a human timer. The minute our 30-day challenge was over, Luke wanted fast food. Luckily (or so we thought), Lukas picked something mild and healthy. He wanted Rumbi. So our first (and so far only) foray into the fast food world was Rumbi Island Grill. The first thing that caught my attention was that I didn't really want it. Nothing sounded good - actually, homemade food sounded great. But eating out wasn't really calling my name. I settled on some kalua pork (Elisa went with a salad). I battled my way through half of it. And I was done. I'm not sure what it was - too sweet. Too much. Too rich. Something. But it wasn't paradise. It was work. Since when did fast food become work? Oh yeah - since, my body realized what it was like to not have 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, onion, pickle on a sesame seed bun in my iron clad stomach.

How much did you save?

This was the question I was most eager to answer myself. But I wanted a fair assessment. So first, I had to decide how I would compare spending. At first, it was going to just be comparing the amount of money we spent on fast food from one month to another. But I realized that wouldn't be accurate. In fact, if the 30-day challenge was effective, it was a mathematical certainty that we would spend more money at the grocery store. So the more fair comparison would be to add up all of the food expenses of the month (groceries, fast food, restaurants, etc.) and compare them to the 30-day challenge month.

Are you ready to find out? Did we save anything? Did we spend more money? Besides putting the seismic dent the size of a peanut in the Mcdonald's freight train, was it worth it? The answer surprised even me.

We saved.....$320.62.

I know - your first inclination is that either it isn't possible, or we were actually fast food addicts that ate out 5 times a week, but put on the fake face of "we don't have a problem!" when we started the challenge. I, in fact, was suspicious. Until I realized that eating fast food isn't the whole story. In fact, it's only part of it. In a previous blog, I mentioned that I would purposefully not plan a couple meals a week, knowing we would go get something. What I didn't realize is that even when I was planning meals, I was a poor planner. I'd guess at what we had at home already. Which meant that I would make emergency store trips 2-3 times a week just to get something to finish dinner. And when you go in at 5pm after a long day of work, you're not just going to purchase the Ragu. No, you find cookies, chocolate, soda, bread, milk, chocolate milk, strawberry milk, really cool swirly straws that the kids will love, a Netflix movie, a mocha latte, flowers for the wife, and ice cream. And then you realize that you forgot the Ragu and head on back.

During the 30-day challenge, I was a maniac. I planned every meal - main dish, side dish, vegetable, bread (if applicable). I ensured that we were having well rounded meals. I made sure that we bought enough at the store. We joined Sam's Club and started buying more meats and groceries in bulk. We became freezer bag fanatics, buying an all too big portion of chicken and turning it into 5 future meals. And we didn't eat out. We didn't spend $15-20 a pop for a meal out. And yes, the money kept adding up.

Want to know what's more impressive? In this month, we went to Costco twice, Sam's Club 3 times, bought a Sam's Club membership, were tearing through 2 gallons of milk a week, were eating good healthy (and fully planned) dinners 7 days a week, and we still saved $320. So yes, I'd say the challenge worked. I have $320 reasons (and a recurring stomach ache of kalua pork) to prove it.

The Next Great Challenge

Elisa and I went back and forth, then, on what our next challenge should be. I'm convinced we are on the right track to actually tackling the aims of those resolutions with better results. But I didn't want to lose the momentum. We considered exercise, spending time as a family, no TV, going to sleep at a normal time, family activities, etc. But nothing felt right. So I threw down the ultimate gauntlet for Elisa....no sweets.

And I'm so proud of her - she agreed. So our second 30-day challenge is underway. It officially started today. Sweets are now a thing of our recent past. No soda, donuts, chocolate, candy, cookies, cakes, etc. And after 1 day, I already feel like it's a greater challenge than the first one. Because if you think you have a fast food habit, it's nothing compared to popping an M&M, Oreo, or Coca Cola. They actually call out to you, like little Devils trying to pull you into the underworld. While we won't save $320 on sweets (that WOULD be a problem in which advice and counseling would be required), hopefully we will teach ourselves that you don't need a handful of candy, or a couple cookies to round out the day. And who knows...maybe we won't jump back into sweets either.

All I can say is that if you want to make a change, give yourself 30 days to try that change on for size. You may be surprised that what you thought was impossible to do or to stop is only as difficult as turning the page of a calendar.

Now, who wants a Double Double Animal Style? The pig is already squealing away...

20 Days into the 30 Day Challenge

We are now officially 20 days into our first 30 Day Challenge. Fast food franchises across Utah have felt the pinch of losing such valuable customers that they have resorted to sending hundreds of fliers to our mailbox to try to lure us back. Okay, maybe not. We're one little family that ate out occasionally, and we would get the fliers in our mailbox even if we owned a fast food chain for ourselves. But the fact is, we're 2/3 through with our first challenge and its a certifiable fact that we probably haven't gone this long without fast food since we were both living under our parent's roofs. Not that it's been easy every single day. But we'll take the mini victory and share our progress so far.

Visions of sugar plums...well, maybe not
I think the most difficult part of the first 20 days was just the fact that once you have had your addiction (I believe it is) taken from you, all you do is have a slow calvacade of pictures running through your head - all the things you no longer get to have. A few of the family's favorites (which is guaranteed to make those fast food lovers salivate and the chosen few who don't eat the stuff cringe):

• Neopolitan shake (In-N-Out) - pure evil in a cup. Strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate ice cream split in a cup. And in pure In-N-Out style, it's not on the menu. It calls to you like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.
• McDonald's Fries (McDonald's) - don't deny it. You wish that the world was like Willy Wonka's factory - except that everything was made from McDonald's french fries. That rare combination of having more grease than your arteries can handle, but being so smooth that you try to rationalize that potatoes are, in the end, a natural food from the good Earth.
• Fazoli's breadsticks (Fazoli's) - The classic food that takes you through three stages. First, the initial breadstick tastes like the Gods of Olympus were bored and said "if we were to make a breadstick, what would it taste like?". Second stage - "this breadstick is quite rich. Is there really bread in this, or is it a stick of butter with a splash of garlic? I better have one more." And the third stage - "I sure am glad I got an extra dozen with my meal. How does one person survive with the 2 measly breadsticks they give you with your meal?!?! That's not even enough to make it home!"
• Fry Sauce (Arctic Circle) - The beauty of this stuff is that it goes on anything. Sure, its good on fries. Burgers? Dip away. Chicken fingers would work. The basics, right? You know the stuff is bad for you when you start wondering what a turkey sandwich would taste like with the stuff dripping from the bread. Or a chicken drumstick. Or enchiladas. Coffee cake. Blueberry pies. Okay, maybe not to that extreme but open a packet of the fry sauce and watch where your mind takes you.
• Pizza (Dominos, Pizza Hut, Little Caesars, etc.) - this is the dangerous stuff. The food that makes even the tiniest eater find ways to expand their stomachs. We've all experienced it - you sit down for a slice, and when you look up to realize you haven't used a napkin for the last 45 minutes, all you see is a cardboard box with a perfect grease stain that represents the original size of the pie, with beautiful grease lines indicating where they cut it into 8 delicious pieces.

See what I mean? Try telling yourself that you can't have a whiff of things like that. I know, I know. Your first thought is that it's only 20 days. It's not that hard. But when you step back and realize how often we all east fast food, that 20 days starts to feel like a really long time. It's nearly three weeks of NOT ordering a pizza because you don't want to cook. Of NOT stopping at McDonald's for a quick lunch. Of NOT dipping your burger, fries, and macaroni salad into fry sauce. Of NOT having a meal that we are made to think is "happy".

The Point of the challenge
But this post isn't about how hard it is. It's about how changing it is. A few fast and fun facts about what we've learned in the first 20 days.

1. When you eat at home, you go through A LOT of food. As you know, our family consists of myself, Elisa (4'11", remember?), Lukas (4 years old), and Miles (the only fast food for him is if Mom and Dad are in a hurry changing his diaper at his first feeding of the day). In the past 20 days, we have averaged drinking 2 gallons of milk a week, 1 1/2-2 loaves of bread, 2 packs of lunch meat, enough chicken to make a local KFC proud, a package of Oreos (hey, no fast food and you find new ways to punish your body), 1/2 of our curiously large backstock of spaghetti (it appears if we were hit with an earthquake, we could have lived off of spaghetti for 2 and a half years), and more.
2. Related to #1, we still haven't cleared $100 in a week at the grocery store. Take that, fast food chains!
3. Your food cooking creativity certainly is heightened. First week, I fully admit that my food choices were lazy at best. I think the realization hit me when I had forgotten to defrost something for the second day in a row, and Elisa's reaction to another round of "eggs?" was more along the lines of "if you feed me eggs one more night, I will actually attempt to reverse the egg laying process, using you as the chicken in my scientific test."
4. You experience tantrums. If you think you're addicted to the fast food experience, it's nothing compared to your kids. Lukas found everything you could want in a fast food joint - greasy food, toys with your meal, wild children showing initial signs of a "Lord of the Flies" stage adaptation, playlands that simply scream "your child is going to take more than a happy meal with him".
5. Most of all, though, you feel better. You feel healthier. You feel happier. It's weird. You don't expect to. You think it will be depressing. But, in fact, its a happier place. A fresher experience. And even the worst foods at home just don't feel as heavy or bad for you as what you ate "out there".

So 20 days in, we're making great progress. And I feel us already gearing up for our second 30-day challenge. We haven't decided what exactly it will be, and its probably good that we have 10 more days to figure it out. I did suggest to Elisa that we give up sweets, and I think I saw a flash of evil behind those beautiful brown eyes. Literally, she was smiling but her eyes said "I can hurt you in ways that you haven't even thought of." Any ideas from the crowd?

What should our next 30-day challenge be?

The Year of "30 Day" Challenges

It's rather pathetic that it's been nearly five months since our last blog post. I had started my "management" of the blog with such promise and then just fell out of the habit as quickly as I had fallen into it. Oh well, maybe I should make a "New Year's Resolution" to blog more.

Not.

That seems to be a nice intro to the point of this blog post, actually...resolutions. I've always struggled with the idea of the resolution. We live our lives each day, with choices all around us. We typically make the most unhealthy, unhelpful, and unwise decisions (which also tend to fall around the holidays - perhaps its the mix of festivities, family, friends, alcohol, and unmet expectations) and then don party hats, sing some songs, bang some pans, and decide that the next year will be different. Sadly, as quickly as we made the decision to wear the tacky 2011 glasses on New Year's, our resolutions fall to the wayside and we spend another 11 months re-establishing the habits that we wanted to avoid in the first place on that fateful New Year's Eve.

That's not to say that the purpose of a resolution isn't a good thing. Elisa and I just decided to take a different approach. And I thought it would be fun to make it an entire year's experience. Then we'll have at least made a valiant effort of "change" prior to giving in and building resolutions for 2012.

That's where the "30-Day Challenge" comes in. I figure that we, as human beings, can do anything for 30 days. It's the basis of made (and failed) resolutions, after all. But rather than trying something for 30 days and then giving up, why not do it for 30 days, re-evaluate, try something slightly different, etc., etc., etc.? Perhaps, by the end of 12 months, you really have made a change. With that idea in the books, it turned to a more difficult decision - what to do for 30 days?

Well, it was difficult until we rented a movie from Netflix. There was a documentary that I had wanted to watch, staring me in the face as I linked our Apple TV to a new Netflix account. 'Super Size Me.' For those of you unaware, the documentary follows one man's decision to eat nothing but McDonald's for 30 days (see the connection of our own challenge?). The effects were startling - liver problems (blood tests showed it was the same reaction to binge drinking alcoholic), depression when not eating the food, vomitting when trying to eat it all (at least early on), and about 30 lbs. of weight. Granted, documentaries are created with a certain point of view. I understand that. But once the closing credits were rolling, I didn't want to see another "Golden Arches" for awhile. So Elisa and I talked about trying to not eat fast food for 30 days. Start easy. See where it takes us.

Of course, giving up fast food isn't easy. It's designed to be addictive. And boy, is it addictive. And amazingly, it had just become part of our lives. I remember planning out meals for the week and always leaving one or two days empty - we'd figure something out on those days, which almost always turned into fast food choices. Lukas is probably the poster child for fast food companies targetting kids. His meals are made all the better if made by Ronald, Wendy, or Arctic - okay the last one didn't fit. But the playlands, the happy meals, the toys...they make Lukas beg to "eat out for dinner". So it seemed like a pretty good idea to have our first 30-day challenge be to stop fast food altogether. And look at 3 things:

1. How do we feel?
2. How much money did we save?
3. Are we establishing a more real "change" in habit?

As it stands right now, we are 13 days into our test. And I thought it would be fun to live through our year of "30-Day Challenges" on our blog. After all, it's one thing to have a private challenge. It's another to share it with the world, so that they hold you accountable to it as well.

So enjoy the first of many challenges. Officially, we are not eating fast food for 30 days. No McDonald's. No Wendy's. No Subway. Nothing. Well, except coffee. Elisa might hurt someone if she's deprived of her weekly Starbucks. And 7+ years of marriage has taught me to not do something crazy like that. With that, I better run to the store now, since I find us emptying our cupboards at a rapid pace. I guess that's what happens when you actually eat at home every meal. Who knew?

Next time - a trip down Fast Food Memory Lane.

Why I Didn't Go To My High School Reunion

High School. Alone, those two words seem harmless enough. When someone says "school", you think of standing in a row, being herded like little lambs, as you walk into 1st Grade. Things like recess, hot lunch, Air Jordans, and Girbauds buzz around your head like happy little friends. Because almost all of us tend to have fond memories of the days where boogers belonged under desks, being a crossing guard carried real power, and it was cool to eat crayons...okay, maybe we made fun of that guy even back then, but you get the idea.

"High" on the other hand puts you into one of two groups. In Utah, it probably means that you are afraid of, or embrace heights. Anywhere else, it probably means something else...something that put a smile on every 7-11 cashier as a parade of munchie searchers cascaded through the doors. Only then would a slurpee, beef jerky, and some cigarette shaped candy seem to meet food pyramid guidelines so precisely.

But when you put the words together, something altogether frightening or wonderful happens. You harken back to the 3 or 4 years of pure, unadulterated fear or euphoria. Because High School never tends to fall somewhere in the middle. It's like Utah vs. BYU - everyone has a side, and the people that profess to want or own a "BYUtah" shirt are made fun of, regardless of age, maturity level, or socioeconomic standing. I, for one, don't look fondly at the High School days. Sure, there were moments - Debate team standing out more than anything else, but at a young age, I found myself brilliant in the realm of horrible timing. I thought the ripe time to remove myself from my established group of friends would be 9th grade. Yeah, that one worked out awfully well. Shun yourself from the people you have interacted with since the happy days of dodge ball and four square, and send yourself on a quest for new friends in the most backwards, clique-ish, stereotype creating environment on earth. Elisa, if you're listening...you married a slight idiot. Thanks for loving me anyway.

But this post isn't about my high school experience, or the opportunity to revisit those days for myself. This is about our experience last night. You see, I robbed the cradle by marrying a woman 3.5 years my younger, so Elisa's 10-year high school reunion reared its ugly head just this summer. Elisa wanted to go from the start - and I decided to be the dutiful husband and immediately instigating two tactics. 1) Profess complete commitment to support her in the desire to go 10 years back in time, realizing that this could pay dividends during football season, or for my birthday in October. 2) Start dropping little comments laced with sarcasm about how the reunion would be the second coming of the circus (including large mammal abuse and ridicule) so that Elisa MIGHT reconsider this desire. I apparently excel at neither...Elisa was sure I didn't want to go right up to the drive there and I don't think I'm getting a better present on my birthday.

Elisa did do me right in one way - she accepted an invitation to attend a pre-party at Bohemian Brewery to at least make the night a "buzzed" one. And with that, we were off to High School. Again.

Nearly 24 hours removed from the festivities, I see that I missed and slyly avoided the best and worst of high school by not heading to my own reunion. We'll start with what I missed. Because what I avoided still makes me giggle. I found myself a bit jealous of my wife, primarly during the pre-party (@Bohemian) and after-party (@SkyBox). I'm not sure even she knew that after 10 years, some friendships would appear stronger or actually possible when old strangers came together. Some of the highlights (and tips for your next reunion opportunity):

• If you're going to a pre-party, plan your entrance to coincide with an already arrived group that is just polishing off their first bottle of champagne. It conveniently moves you past the awkward conversations of "what looks good on the menu" and plops you right into conversation starters like "Once, I had diarrhea in a corn field."
• Order an appetizer and the largest pitcher of beer on the menu. It makes everything more funny, takes any residual "awkwardness" from your own mood, and allows you to freely observe a group of old friends revisit memories pure and long lasting like being shown a tattoo in a college class, the joys of a Senior Trip that involved a alcohol virgin hitting on an 80-year old, and the sisterhood created by the two "controlled" drinkers, bonded by their commitment to the fabled "pump and dump" principle.
• Even 10 years later, don't underestimate the power of peer pressure. Even individuals with the right state of mind to NOT go to the reunion can be persuaded to go anyway with the promise of sneaking in mini bottles to the actual event.
• Post-reunion, post emptied mini bottles, post regret at actually thinking attending the reunion was a smart idea, realize that buzzed, drunk, or sober people will still be hungry. Encourage them to go "all in" by ordering the world's largest plate of nachos, followed 5 minutes later by a burger the size of a small ham, with a standing order for a sundae waiting in the wings. That'll absorb the liquor!
• If offered said nachos from the over-achieving orderer, just take them. Otherwise, they are comfortable enough with you by now to start pointing at you and demanding consumption immediately...and you're slightly frightened that it may come to physical harm if you don't.
• Finally, when you're ready to wrap the night in a nice little bow, be sure to enjoy the fantastic combination of alcohol, food, friendship, and a server there just to enjoy watching the train wreck with a finale conversation starter involving a receipt and a female body part.
• In short, my sincere thanks to the group of pre & post party goers. You made the entire night worthwhile.

Of course, that's the highlights. The good parts. We haven't touched the reunion itself. And it was a good one...and by that, I mean a really, really bad one.

• Granted, this is Utah, but could it really be a good idea to have a survey at the party, immediately making those unmarried, unemployed, without children, or fond of the occassional "tat" feel like outcasts? This is what was accomplished by the Class of 2000. And it gets better.
• I would recommend against using said survey responses to give prizes. To the person that doesn't really understand what a "stinger pollenating a flower" really results in, $50 to LaCaille! I'm sure with the gaggle waiting in the car, you and the wife will have a lovely time.
• Let's have a gift card for the person that played the field for an entire three months after high school before tying the knot. She didn't even need to enroll at BYU! Another Cougar's dreams were created without that enrollment.
• For the person brave enough to get married most recently, let's provide them with outfits for the babies surely on their way. I mean, if they start now, they could be in the running for the $50 gift card at the 20-year reunion.
• I did appreciate the touch of having someone's children (or scout troop) man the payment desk and the name tag area. Nothing like writing your name on a piece of duct tape that says "the last 10 years have been good to us and to our reunion budget!"
• Moreover, kudos to teach the kids that the right and true thing to do is hunt down potential "non-payers" so that the experience can be a positive and fair one for all involved.
• On the subject of food, realize that $25 a pop can only go so far when we have Country Cleaner gift cards to give out. Make sure to have Cafe Rio cater the event with a serious lack of napkins, forks, rice, salad, or taste. This is what we call "stretching your money".
• Back to the awards - keep this in mind. If you're lucky enough to win, you could be taking home fabulous prizes as chewing gum, skittles, or the aforementioned Country Cleaner gift card. Man, those local businesses don't seem nearly as giving when its not for a football fundraiser!
• As the table of "outcasts" grows, be sure, as the hosts, to find subtle ways to keep the "good times a rolling!" Call numbers to win a prize, but then when an outcast wins, find another winner and send the outcast back to the table empty handed...and then proceed to award 25 more packs of gum to other winners.
• Look with disdain as desparate outcasts find creative ways to ration a small bottle of alcohol to "enhance" the strawberry banana punch!
• And more than anything, remind everyone of some inconvenient truths. The jerk 10 years ago still can handle that moniker. And everything that made High School "Hell School" 10 years ago, seems to travel through time to remind all involved that when everything changes, nothing really changes at all.

Was it all a bad experience? Of course not. The pre and post parties were fantastic, and the actual chance for an adult night out was immensely appreciated. But, in the end, I must admit to feel slightly vindicated that I didn't attend my own reunion. Because, let's be honest - one was enough for both of us, and the adage "what's yours becomes ours" in marriage has never been more helpful in my life. One is enough, dear.

Now, who's with me on starting a paper chain countdown to the 20-year reunion?!

The TRUE effect of children

When did I get old? I know, I know. I'm only 31 (although that's something that the 3 1/2 year younger Elisa likes to tease me about). And when you're growing up, you have this idea about aging - that things are all good until you hit about 40, the downhill slope commences, and you say the big "sayonara" around 80. Living it is a slightly different experience. Now, granted, I don't say I'm getting old as a negative. And to be fair, while there are some physical signs that I'm not an 18 year old anymore, its the mental and lifestyle changes that have been entertaining me lately. Because well...my kids made me old. It's their fault...or blessing.

The whole point of this was an analysis of our weekend thus far. For those of you not single, do you remember your youthful weekends? Should I paint the picture to remind us all? Stay up on Friday night watching something meaningless like a Real World marathon, crash at 3 in the morning, sleep in until 11AM, scoot around the house looking for something good to eat while you surf the TV trying to find some interesting movie to watch. Follow that up with a late lunch involving fast food, french fries, and grease, which miraculously never finds its way to your "love handles" or "thighs". No, food just disappears into the great oblivion known as a hormone ravaged metabolism that only knows full speed. Then it's time to start calling your friends to find something to do, hopefully involving more fast food, mindless entertainment like heading to the "sev" for a slurpee and then wandering around looking for trouble. You get home just in time to realize that the Road Rules marathon started 45 minutes ago, and you can't look away. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

You get married and your life changes - sure, you still go out, still stay out late, and still eat more processed food than is humanly possible, but you find yourself heading to bed at midnight instead of 3. You wake up at 9 instead of 11. Subtle differences, but surely not enough change to make you think you're turning into your parents - after all, it's still easy and natural to look at their lifestyle and choice of activities and say "I'll never do that!"

So here I sit, one 7-year marriage, 2 dogs, a 3-year old, and a 3 1/2 month old later, and I realize that I'm starting to like some of those things I used to scoff at as I watched my parents go about their business. For the new parents of my generation, raise your hand if you've experienced any of the following (lets cover the weekend routine again):

• Friday nights are pure bliss because you might be able to sleep in until 7 instead of 5:30. That is, if one of the kids doesn't decide that it will be fun to wake up 3-4 times that night in hopes of hanging out in mom and dad's bed.
• The nightly news provides the lovable bookend to your day - you tend to turn the TV off right after the weather (if you're female) or just after sports (for the males)
• You wake up sometime in the middle of the night, wondering when you last slept through the night.
• You realize you actually have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night (this only happened in youth when you polished off a 6-pack before collapsing for sleep)
• You're woken up by a child staring you right in the face whispering "Daddy" or "Mommy". It's like a nightmare when it happens, because the kid likes to get REALLY close to your face when he/she wakes you.
• You throw the kid into bed, hoping that he/she will go back to sleep. You still convince yourself that it's possible. You end up disappointed.
• The first thing on TV is Mickey Mouse, or a Little Einstein. Sadly, you find yourself thinking "oh I know this episode!"
• You're out of bed at 7:00, thinking its a waste of a day to stay in bed any later.
• Breakfast in bed is for those who are physically unable to face the world due to sickness - instead, you make your meal and wolf it down, staring at the house that experienced a twister called child #1.
• The highlight of your day is when the newspaper arrives. Pure bliss, as you find a way to drink your coffee, read an article, put a pacifier in your child's mouth, stop the other from crashing their tricycle into the couch, and read another article.
• You actually get excited about errands - especially when the word "Costco" is involved.
• You find yourself interested in activities listed in the newspaper, but by the time you finish the paragraph stating times/dates, you have already built a checklist in your mind of what you'd need to finish before being able to do the fun activity, and decide it's probably not worth it.

This is all before 10:00am. And the sickest part of all? You love every minute of it. And then spend the rest of your day, finding ways to convince yourself that you're completely different from your parents.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

What not to do at a Botanical Garden..

I feel so accomplished. Two blog posts in a 1/2 of a week. Maybe the writing of the blog is becoming therapy - or at least a way to unwind each night. I had one thought kind of eating at me today, which necessitates the obvious blog post in progress. So here we go.

I personally think that Elisa has one of the sweetest jobs in the world. She has flexibility of schedule, a challenging position, super benefits, and the chance to work for a non-profit, and a cool one at that. Elisa's work at Red Butte Garden also has another perk - concert tickets. For those of you that don't know, Red Butte has a summer concert series, which usually includes bands and artists looking for (or needing) a more intimate environment. We have been able to go to 1 or 2 concerts a year for quite awhile now, but hadn't ventured out this year. Until Tuesday. Barenaked Ladies came to town, so Elisa, Lukas, Miles, and myself grabbed some food and headed up to the Garden.

The point of the story is not to say that the concert was fabulous. That would make a boring post, no? In fact, the concert was very good. But to say that the Barenaked Ladies had poor comedic timing would be an understatement. About 1/3 of the way into the show, the band had the crowd into it. Good songs, funny banter (the band is like a group of comedians that happen to sing). Suddenly, after singing a song from their kids CD (ummm...Barenaked Ladies has a kids CD?), the lead singer went into a diatribe about Ozzy Ozbourne biting the head off of a bat. To be "as extreme", he threatened to do worse at Red Butte - and to take a life. He proceeded to rip out a plant and bite a leaf off.

In any other venue, you'd probably laugh and move on. But let's think this one through. A concert. At a botanical garden. Killing plants/flowers. Impressively, Barenaked Ladies pulled off the equivalent of someone wearing a full fur coat to a PETA event. Probably not a good idea. A word of advice to the band...the patrons of the gardens probably like plants and flowers. Some to the extreme. Some to fulfill the "green" desires of their soul. Don't pull the flowers. Don't eat them.

Wait a minute - didn't we learn that in Kindergarten too? Hmmm...I might have to Google to see if they teach that lesson in Canada.

Lagoon & Other Musings

It's funny - I created this blog long ago, thinking it would be a convenient way to share pictures and stories with family and friends, and then never posted. Elisa took over on the posting duties, and did a fantastic job. But she's busier than ever now and I figure I can go back to posting on our blog. Maybe we can have joint duties. Elisa can make sure we get 100 pictures on here. I can just write about - well, anything and hope that it entertains. So let's catch up.

Two days ago, Elisa informed me that the yearly tradition of Catholic Lagoon Day was on Sunday. I hadn't been to Lagoon (besides a quick jaunt for Frightmares, which better described the Saturday crowd than the festive atmosphere) for about 7 years. And my memories of the place had turned the amusement park into the Ghetto Booty Park of the Western United States. Granted, it still is to some degree, but taking the family up for the day ended up being spectacular. Good enough that we're seriously considering making it a yearly tradition.

There are quintessential moments in life, where decisions you have made in the past tend to manifest themselves in a "I was SO right on that one" or "What was I thinking?" realization. Who'd have thought that one of those moments would have happened at Ghetto Booty Park?! In all seriousness, the pure joy of watching Luke experience his first real amusement park made me so thankful that he is on our lives. All told, he went on 15 rides and could have done 15 more. My favorite part was going on the new Jumping Dragons, which for all intensive purposes is an adult ride (for those Ghetto Booty aficionados, think of the Musik Express on steroids). Luke wanted it to go faster and faster, and now proclaims "Dragons" as his favorite ride of Lagoon.

For his part, Miles was our typical 3 month old - eating, sleeping, and blowing out of every outfit we put him in. Seriously, I think the kid propels 2 feet off the ground every time he needs to go #2. Elisa had two of the grand experiences, which resulted in what we'll call "mustard" on her arms, nursing cover, 2 infant outfits, and burp cloths. That's what she gets for not getting a ride pass, apparently.

Needless to say, it was so much better than we thought it would be. Lagoon has shockingly made its way back into our yearly fold. The question is - how to implement it? It's the reason for the poll. I think Elisa's in the corner of using Catholic Lagoon Day as the organizing force for our yearly jaunt to Farmington. I, on the other hand, might prefer making our own tradition. Perhaps taking 1/2 a week off in the summer, and going on a Wednesday, mostly to avoid crowds. We'd love your thoughts. We do have an entire year to over-think it, too.

Thus ends my first real post on the blog. My goal is to update this at least weekly. We'll see how I do. But I did think it would be fun to also add a section of quick hit thoughts to summarize the week (or events since our last post). Enjoy. Leave comments. See you next week.

Quick Thoughts

• Draper decided the prudent 4th of July ordinance would be banning all fireworks in the city. Hooray for feeling like a Fireworks Prohibitionist, lighting sparklers in the backyard.
• Yes, Lagoon was a hit. But every time I get near a water park, I ask myself "Why?". Not about the water, or the park, or the activities. But "why" to the choice of outfits that men and women decide to wear. Cover up ladies and gents. It's for the kids.
• I'm not a Jazz fan (at the hardcore level). But dude...could the summer be going any worse for that franchise? Yikes. Next thing you know, Deron Williams will become surly. Oh wait...
• I love Luke - love him to death. But his incessant desire to watch Little Einsteins has me dreaming of rocket. And not good dreams. Nightmares.
• Speaking of TV, one of my friends got me hooked on Wipeout this season. Easily one of the most hilarious shows on the tube. If you haven't watched it, try it out. The commentary makes the show.