Pierce Vacation 2012 - Day 3 (Part 2)

I'm starting to worry that I'm becoming a bit long winded.  After all, I was able to breeze through Day 1 and 2, and couldn't shut up on Day 3.  It spent 20 paragraphs getting you to 11:00AM in the morning.  My apologies.  I'll try to be more brief.  Or at least try to limit the tangents.  Unless you like the tangents.  Then, you're my favorite blog reader on Earth.  And Elisa is rolling her eyes at you.

So where were we?  Ah yes.  When I left you, we both had tears in our eyes from the illustrious performance of Nemo on Stage.  Lukas was just getting out of his theme park time out, and the ride we had been waiting for was still annoyingly closed.  To pass the time away, we did what any upstanding Disney visitor would do - we looked at souvenirs.  Disney may be better at this than any other park, but their product placement really is fantastic (and expensive).  Outside of the Finding Nemo exit, we found a cart of Nemo paraphernalia.  While browsing, you feel an unflinching desire to purchase a Nemo pillow, bath toys, or better yet, cheap phones.  That's right.  We're talking your state of the art fake cell phone.  The one that makes the same annoying beep no matter what you push.  But this one?  Well, it has Nemo on the front of it!  And it's a steal at $6.95!  Now that I think about it, this must be my acceptable Disney souvenir price point.  I already bought a rock for that, why not two phones?  Clearly, to reinforce the tough message I had just relayed to Lukas in timeout, he now beeped happily away with his Nemo phone.

As we walked over to Expedition Everest (we heard screaming noises from the general direction, which meant either the ride was back open or Disney had started another show of Finding Nemo), Miles pretended to call Lukas.  He called Grandma, Miles was on the phone with Mommy.  It was a conference call of mythic proportions.  "Grandma?"  *beep*  "We're at Disney World!" *beep*.  You get the gist.  As we got closer to Expedition Everest, it was clear that either the ride was indeed open, or human torture was the new thrill ride.  It was now or never for Lukas.  After a brief meltdown (where more time out was indeed threatened...plus, he'd lose the Nemo phone!  So there!), we were standing in line.  Elisa had bid as adieu.  She wasn't going to touch this one.  We walked through the queue and got on.  Lukas was more nervous than he had been so far on this trip.  I held his hand and the ride began.  And yowza.  What a ride.

You go up two lift hills and then come to a section of broken track.  Yep, at the top of the mountain, the track actually ends.  You sit around for a few seconds, and then all hell breaks loose.  You go backwards.  You have no idea where you're going.  And finally, you stop again.  The infamous Yeti threatens your existence, and you are hurtled forward, down what might be the best Disney hill in all of its theme parks.  Before you know it, the ride is over and you're out of breath.  This theme park expert had a new favorite ride.  Lukas could only stammer out that he "lost his scream".  Indeed.  As we found Elisa, I discovered that she had found her own theme park in a cup.  She had an iced coffee.  Who knew pleasing her would be so easy?   If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken her to a place where every cup costs...you guessed it!  $6.95.

Unbelievably, we had only been on four rides (I'm "loosely" counting Nemo as a ride...it was an emotional one, if not physical....*sniff) and yet lunch time approached.  I got out my handy app (hey, when we don't have reservations, I can find you any counter service option under the sun!).  We sniffed out some Asian food (in...ahem, Asia) but it wasn't working for us.  So we walked through Dinoland USA and headed to the front of the park.  We found The Bengal Barbecue.  It would be a meal of chicken, ribs, and pork.  That felt "animal" enough at the Animal Kingdom.  As we stood in line waiting to order, I was struck at the lengths Disney goes to answer what is clearly a frequently asked question.  Emblazened on every sign was "our special cooking process ensures that all food is properly prepared.  Do not be alarmed by the pink color."  Mmmm.

We plowed through our food, all the while kind of wishing we had made reservations, and some new music hit our ears.  Across the way, a reggae/African/American band had come out to sing and dance.  The band itself was back away from the crowd.  In front was a woman in bright red and yellow, with a whistle.  Apparently, this was enough to get adults and children alike to spontaneously dance in front of other patrons.  While I took Miles to the bathroom (it's a Pierce family tradition!), Lukas went to take a closer look.  Of course, by the time I had gotten back (more developments on the toddler pee front next time), Lukas was fully involved.  It was "So You Think You Can Dance?", Animal Kingdom style.  I'm proud of the kid. I would have never had the guts in my youth.  Of course, I would now.  Nothing seems to bother me.  Elisa isn't a fan of the lengths I will go to be an idiot in public.  But Lukas wasn't being an idiot.  He was hitting it out of the park.  Video, photos, and other blackmail for when he brings his first girlfriend over are available for viewing.

I still couldn't believe we were exiting the park after just four rides, but the heat had kicked in again, and it had been a full 5 hours since I had the opportunity to wrestle with my stroller.  As we started to get on the tram, I had my chance.  I folder up the stroller (which proved to be a bit more difficult while trying to get on the tram before it left (something tells me, it's like peeing in public.  You just have a bit more struggle to perform with watching eyes).

...

Before I start to really question my analogy of putting a stroller on the tram with peeing in public, we'll just move along.  Back to the hotel, we learned some lessons from the previous day.  Lukas had melted down at dinner, so it was clear that the full day of heat and rides and Nemo phones was only going get us so far.  Both kids crashed for a nap, while I surfed on my phone and listened to the pool party.  That's right.  I was able to hear every single word of the pool party.  At Beach Club, from 2-4 each day, a very excitable woman runs the Pool Party.  They have games, competitions, and generally mundane activities clearly designed to give the parents a break and keep the children from drowning.  It wasn't that I could hear the party.  It was that I heard every single syllable.  Today, they were playing Marco Polo, but it was Disney so it had to be Donald Goofy.  Okay then.  We fell into a pattern.  She would squeal for someone to say Donald.  The others were to say Goofy.  When they clearly didn't perform to her acceptable level, she'd tell them to say it again...and again...and again.  Finally, what I can only imagine was every person at the pool, tired of the game, screamed "Goofy!".  Wash, rinse, repeat.  I was happy when the kids woke up.

Yes, it was time to go swimming.  After yesterday's failed swimming attempts and thunderstorms, we were all itching to be nice and cool.  Again the kids were water bugs.  And I went to explore the pool.  Beach Club has THE pool of Disney World.  It has a waterslide, and a lazy river.  There's a whirpool (no, not a hot tub...an actually swirling vortex of terror whirlpool).  And it is a sand bottom pool.  That's right.  It's like you're in the ocean, but you get all the chlorinated water you could hope for.  Over at the lazy river (did anyone pick up on the Nemo reference a bit earlier?  If so, bravo), I found an abandoned tube and rode around.  I told my Dad to go find a double tube for the kids, and went around again.  On the way, I saw about 5 abandoned tubes.  Here came my Dad, with one in hand.  When I asked him where he got it, he told me he rented it.  I resisted the urge to ask if it cost $6.95.

I even got Elisa in the pool for a little lazy river time, which little did I know would cause some problems later.  By the time we got the kids out of the water and back to the hotel, we had about 20 minutes to get 4 people showered and ready.  I know I should know this, considering I've been married for nine years, but apparently women take a little more time to get ready than men do.  I was ready in about 5 minutes.  Elisa, bless her soul, worked like crazy and was a bit miffed that I was toe tapping at the door.  I think the Relationship Gods got their revenge.  I got the stroller caught between two carts on the way out.  Next time, I'd give the wife more than 20 minutes to be ready for the night.

On tap for the evening was something new...shopping (yes, I was being serious).  We were going to head over to Downtown Disney for dinner and a little shopping.  Yes, we had purchased Nemo phones and rocks, but our souvenir shopping was actually quite tame by this point in the trip.  We drove over to Downtown Disney, and I was freaking a bit out.  We were 10 minutes late for our reservation when we parked.  I had missed the appropriate entrance near our restaurant, so we got to traipse through the crowds and arrived 15 minutes after.  Tonight, we were eating at Raglan Road, an Irish pub.  I had been very excited about some Guiness ribs on the appetizer menu, and a Guiness in a glass was like Heaven in a cup, so I hoped our reservations would still hold.  As I sat in line, I watched some Irish women doing a jig on stage.  It turns out that I had nothing to worry about.  We were seated in about 5 minutes (when the wait for a walk up was an hour...boo ya, non trip planners!).  It turns out, however, that my foray into Bengal Barbecue had left a not so great impression.  I wasn't itching for more ribs.  I settled for my Guiness in a glass and had Shepherd's Pie.  I felt very Irish.  I think my Dad was proud.

After dinner, we decided to do some shopping.  While we waited for the check, I again let my Mom, Elisa, and the kids head out in front of us.  My Dad and I slowly meandered over to the shops (what?  Men trying to avoid shopping?  Never!).  I started texting Elisa, trying to find out where they were.  Apparently, stop #1 was the Lego Store.  I heard a low rumbling as I got closer to the building.  When I walked in, I realized it wasn't a rumbling.  It was the sound and physical presence of people.  Lego Land had been invaded by people.  Good grief.  It was wall to wall children, adults, and lego pieces.  I started searching for Elisa and started feeling a desire to be alone.  For a long time.  I tripped on a pile of Legos.  I couldn't imagine the number of $70 sets that were being purchased at that very minute.  I knew one thing for sure - there was nothing for $6.95 in here.  By the time I had walked across and through the entire store, Elisa texted me.  She was in World of Disney.  I braced myself.

In World of Disney, the crowds seemed to be a bit less (although not by much).  I found Elisa, who had lost my Mom and Lukas.  Trying to find them proved to be difficult.  It struck me as funny.  We had already visited three theme parks and the most crowded place was a shopping district.  We escaped with some loot, to be sure, but it wasn't fun.  It was stifling.  However, the children were adorable.  Miles was already in love with stuffies.  He had a Mickey that he was inseparable with and had even tried to pack his large Thomas pillow on the day we were leaving.  He added to his collection with a Nemo and Dory.  Lukas wanted a Donald and got a "costume"for the coming "Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party".  Okay, costume might have been stretching it.  It was a sort of hat that looked like Jake's hair (from Jake and the Neverland Pirates).  After two stores, though, we were done.  We'd come back on a Wednesday or Thursday...in the afternoon.  These crowds were insufferable.  And I will say that while I had the stroller the size of a small jeep, at least I knew how to operate it.  I'll never understand how someone could be walking through a "walkway" in a store or theme park, and decide to just stop.  I started being "that guy" by making not so subtle comments under my breath.  I'm sure Elisa just rolled her eyes.  I'm used to it.

With that, we headed back to the hotel and got the kids in bed.  Lukas held Mickey and Donald.  Miles was surrounded by Mickey, Dory, and Nemo as though we were putting gifts to the Gods around a shrine.  As I walked past after the kids had drifted off, I noticed Lukas holding Miles' hand.  Precious.  What a day.  Elisa and I collapsed as well.  It was hard to believe that only Day 3 was wrapping up.  We had so much more to come.  Day 4 was staring at us in the face.

Next time...Brad gets annoyed with another club level guest, Lukas schools a Disney employee, Brad gets timeout (for real), we go skiing in Florida, my Dad educates a server, and I discover what happens when a horse craps in Disney World.  The magic continues...

Pierce Vacation 2012 - Day 3 (Part 1)

There I sat, waiting patiently (well, probably not so patiently) in the hallway of the hotel.  Another evening full of restless sleep.  Another visit to the Polar Ice Cap (although, little did I know, Elisa was starting to go secret spy on me...after I had "adjusted" the thermostat the night before, she had slunk over to turn it back to normal temperature).  At least this morning, we weren't in the position where we had to pack our bags and move to room #4.  I'll foreshadow a bit for you...we stay in the same room until the end of the trip.  For those only reading to see what our room count was going to get up to, I apologize.

Today was going to be a big day.  After all, one singular ride had captured Lukas' attention more than any other, and we were heading to the park that contained such ride today.  It was also a visit to one of Elisa's favorite parks, and we had another dose of swimming on the menu.  And yet, that's not what I was thinking about.  No, I was trying to do some quick math in my head.  Don't worry, I had finally let go trying to calculate just how much Disney charged for each square inch of hefty bag in the poncho.  This was more of a measurement math.  I was trying to calculate just how wide our stroller was, because I stood before an obstacle course, and we were already (surprisingly) late.  

Let's start with the stroller. When we had Lukas, we got one of those dual contraption things.  You had the infant carrier, which snugly fit into the base of the stroller itself.  That lasted for about 6 months.  It wasn't the greatest quality, and once you didn't use the infant seat as much, the stroller was...well, less than perfect.  We graduated to a smaller variety.  After all, trying to get a stroller in and out of a car was worse than when you go and by a couple boards at Home Depot, and then realize your Toyota Corolla will not hold them, no matter how many extra doors you attempt to open.  This little orange contraption was perfect.  It folded down to nearly nothing, and was pretty lightweight.  Let's forget the fact that Lukas was just really starting to get control over his neck.  No, it's not true that we duct taped said head to the stroller, just so we could have a more compact option.  Now that I think about it, though, we could have started using it a couple months earlier had I pulled out the reliable duct tape!  Yet another missed parental opportunity!

As Miles approached, though, we hit a conundrum.  Lukas wasn't old enough to walk everywhere.  Miles wouldn't be doing anything, and sadly, the duct tape idea just struck me in this blog, not when Miles graced us with his presence.  So we moved to the "Sit and Stand".  In theory, this is perfect.  The stroller can do the whole infant seat snap in, but there's a spot for the older kid.  If only we lived in a world of "theories".  In actuality, it was bulky.  And quite heavy to push around.  A bigger problem, was the "stand" part.  Lukas had about an inch of space to stand, and an inch to sit.  When he did sit, it made him look like he was the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  After 15 minutes in the mall, Lukas would want to walk, which would turn into him getting tired, which would turn into "Daddy, will you pick me up?"  So in reality, we had the "Sit and Daddy Carries The Other" stroller.  

So to combat this, we invested.  No, not in another barely there double stroller.  We bought the mother of all strollers.  The biggest badass on Amazon.  We got a Bob.  The double Bob.  The jogger Bob.  We loaded both kids in, started pushing it around, and it was as if God had granted me a feather.  It was that light.  Sure, it was big but there were unforseen benefits.  It won a game of chicken with a Suburban, and could probably clear any aisle in the shopping mall as patrons would physically launch into a table of polo shirts to keep all matter of life and limb.  We had found stroller bliss.  And then vacation approached.  Sure, the big Bob is a good idea when you're at the mall.  Taking it on a plane?  Through security?  That's another story.  We almost had Lukas walk for the entire trip.  We almost brought the "Sit and Give Your Child a Kinked Neck" back out of retirement.  But I couldn't pass the feather-light weight.  We took the Bob.  

True to form, it couldn't fit through the airport scanner.  They had to separately check it to make sure it wasn't containing marijuana in the bottle holders.  Yet, that, it turned out, was the easy part.  The hotel hallways?  Now that was torture.  As I looked down the hall, the width and size of our Bob was in direct conflict with the "MouseKeeping" obstacle course.  At 7:00AM, housekeeping carts lined the walkway.  And these weren't your Momma's housekeeping carts.  No, they were stretch limos.  You didn't even move them yourself.  They were equipped with a full control panel.  No MouseKeeper (yep, that's what they call them!) would ever have to push their cart down the hallway again.  I appreciated the fact that they had the "Bob" of housekeeping equipment.  But these Mousekeepers (or would it be micekeepers?  I've just blown your English speaking mind, I know) didn't park too well.  And I can't do simple space calculations.

I tried to get past the first cart.  I ended up wedged between the wall and the cart.  I thought it would be a good idea to try to lift the back snow tires (well, they seem to be the size of snow tires) to get past.  Beyond Miles squealing "whoa!", I got nowhere.  Out came a MouseKeeper.  This wasn't your "Have a Disney day!" variety, though.  She looked as me as if I was an idiot.  Okay, maybe I was as I physically pushed on the cart (these are serious business...without control of the panel, they weren't moving a muscle), but it took a joint effort of manipulating the cart and me doing my lift and shimmy to get past.  Grateful, I thanked her.  She just started walking in front of me.  How rude, I thought.  Then I saw the next 3 carts mocking me in plain sight.  How awkward that she had to go and drive each cart out of my way.  Was it bad that I then inquired about getting some bottled waters?  Just kidding...I'm an idiot, to be sure.  But I have my limits.  

And with that, we were finally into the car (there's more fun with the stroller in later blogs...I think I've recaptured the "how many rooms did they stay in?" crowd with that little hint).  As we took the 5 minute drive, however, Elisa was hard at work.  Her "mommy" skills were being put to the test, and it all revolved around a Mickey ear hat.  It seems to be a Disney tradition that we buy some Mickey ears.  I failed to mention that during our first day's visit to Magic Kingdom, we stopped for a two pair.  Lukas went with technology.  His Mickey ears actually lit up with fireworks.  These were not your Mom and Dad's Mickey ears (you know, the ones carved from wood...har har).  Miles, however, was going through an identity crisis.  Sure, he liked Mickey but he was also a fan of Donald.  So as he went through various Mickey hats, responding each time with his cursory "nah!", I had a thought.  Surely, they must make a Donald one right?  I was half right.  They don't give up the Mickey ears, but the "cap" piece of the hat was pure Donald.  It even had his little red bow tie.

It took Miles about 1 monorail ride to remove said bow tie from the hat.  Hence, Elisa becoming Mrs. Homemaker.  With needle and thread, she was attempting to get the bow tie back on.  We were to have breakfast with Donald today...he would have been personally offended had his fan shown up without the full outfit.  As we arrived at the park, Elisa had finished.  She threw the hat on Miles' head and I proceeded to reconstruct the stroller of doom.

Today's schedule called for Animal Kingdom.  And for the second straight day, we started with a character breakfast.  We arrived late.  This was becoming a common theme, which wouldn't matter if not for my PowerPoint chart that was clearly showing a decline of timeliness perfectly coinciding with a loss of 3.2 minutes of valuable ride time!  I beelined it for the breakfast.  I was met with a line.  By the time we got through, I was a bit frazzled.  Disney then reminded me that I shouldn't have been.  We arrived near the restaurant.  No, not at it.  Near it.  Everyone else and their uncle had reservations at the same time.  We met a lovely line.  As we waited at the entrance to Africa (Animal Kingdom has sections for Africa, Asia, and Dinoland USA (can you say mixed themes?)), a very nice woman was playing drums...from Africa.  Lukas walked right up, and she started teaching him some beats.  She commented about how he followed instructions well.  Little did I know that this was simply like Luke's audition in front of the American Idol judges.  The rhythm was gonna get him...

As we waited in line, Elisa glanced down at Miles.  He was already after the bow tie on the Donald hat. And as we both stared at it, we noticed that something was a little...off.  About an inch and a half, off to be exact.  In her rush (it couldn't be the sewing skill), she had sewn the bow tie on.  It was not at center.  In essence, it gave the look that plainly suggested that Donald had a few beers, and was sloppily stumbling in to get yelled at by Daisy Duck.  It was rough.  Needle and thread were back out, and Elisa was back to work at first removing the bow tie, and then sewing it back on.  The people next to us in line were staring.  Apparently, we do bizarre things in line.  I wanted to comment that at least we weren't wearing matching shirts (they were).  One day, I'll have to write a blog about my top 10 Disney Park people watching pet peeves.  The whole "family reunion is here, so we made our own tie died shirts to celebrate all 20 of us going to Disney World" thing isn't one of my favorites.

After a long wait, we arrived at the podium to get our table.  Lukas was pure behaved.  He took the instructions from the Cast Member and started leading us back.  The woman stated that he was the first child all morning that had followed instructions and was good enough to lead.  I suddenly imagined the children before us screaming like hoodlums as she tried to wrestle them into a more appropriate line.  And our fearless guide took us to another Disney line.  We got to wait for Donald.  It was his breakfast Safari, after all.  Miles showed no signs of fear today.  Thank God this wasn't the Sleeping Beauty Bacon and Eggs Extravaganza, or we would have been in trouble.  Once seated, we worked on getting the kids plates of food (this was an actual buffet).  By the time I got my food, everyone else was close to being finished.  As Mickey, Goofy, and Daisy came by to visit, I started licking my plate again.  This buffet might have had the best mass-serving scrambled eggs on Earth.  Typically, the eggs at these things are like an egg shake.  Milky, runny, and not quite eggs.  At some buffets, you wonder if these eggs are the leftovers of hot dogs. And you know that hot dogs are already supposed to be the leftovers of other things.  

These were wonderful.  I was tempted to compliment Goofy, who would look at me strangely and then probably write in Lukas' autograph book "have your Dad seek professional help".  I also didn't stop myself from enjoying three apple danishes.  I wonder if anyone noticed that I was attempting to suck the apple filling right out of the center.  All you women are jealous at the fine specimen that Elisa gets to deal with in public, aren't you?  Anyway, I was finally able to pull myself from the best worst scrambled eggs on Earth (or was it just in Africa?) and we were off to ride some rides.  

We first hit Kilimanjaro Safaris.  This is a jeep ride where you see a variety of animals.  It was awesome.  I was proud that Miles was growing up so fast.  Last summer, we took him on the Lagoon train and everything was a "doggie".  This year, zebras were striped horsies.  Close enough, child.  Once we got off that ride and I found the stroller (again, more fun about that later on!), we headed for THE ride.  Lukas had been wanting to go on Expedition Everest since he found out about Disney World.  This is quite the roller coaster.  For those unaware, the ride is built in a mini replication of Mount Everest.  You ride a train up until you hit broken tracks, and then the ride takes you backwards, only to be propelled forward.  How do I know?  Lukas might have contributed about 1,236,825 views on a certain Expedition Everest YouTube video.  I had even memorized the rider reactions.  "Uh oh" on the lift hill.  "Where'd the tracks go" before going backwards.  "Ahhhhhhh!" on the hill.  Good times.  

We trekked over to Asia (it was a long walk!) and met up with Everest.  Which was closed.  You're kidding me.  That many YouTube videos, and the ride is down for maintenance?  Just our luck.  We promised to Lukas that we would return, and walked right over to Finding Nemo.  This was a stage show.  Miles would love it.  It wasn't going to start for awhile, though, so we headed past and moved onto country #3...Dinoland USA.  Don't ask.  This was the home of Dinosaur, a rollicking ride back in time.  Again, for those unfamiliar with WDW, but knowledgable of Disneyland, this is like Indiana Jones.  Just with dinosaurs.  Lukas performed his usual scared and then ecstatic routine.  I marveled at the fact that when this ride was built, Phylicia Rashad was still young looking and a household name (she was in the intro video).  We let my parents take Lukas on the ride while we tried to entertain Miles.  And we discovered a way to provide him with his most treasured souvenir to date.  

Back home, Miles loves something more than anything.  I know what you're thinking.  It must be a stuffed animal, a blanket, or a toy.  I wish.  Miles loves rocks.  Not to throw them.  Just to hold them.  We'll go into the front yard to take out some garbage, and Miles comes back in with a rock.  We jump on the trampoline, and Miles finds two rocks on the way.  Wherever you go, a rock is sure to follow.  Just enjoy the click clack as one of Miles' rocks gets slinged around in the washing machine because he left it in his pocket "for later".  So as we were trying to pass time in the Dinosaur gift shop, Miles wanted rocks.  And apparently, rocks are a souvenir in the Dinosaur gift shop!  You can get your very own rock for $6.95!  That's not the sad and pathetic part.  No, that belongs to me.  Because I bought one.  Yeah, rocks!  Goodbye $7!  

With rock in hand, we headed back over to Finding Nemo.  As we walked past the sign, I noticed a strange addition to the sign...Finding Nemo: The Musical.  Musical?  Nemo?  Instead of anticipation, I was filled with dread.  Good grief, what could they sing about from Finding Nemo?  I was about to find out.  Because the lights dimmed.  And the singing began immediately.  Do you remember one of the early scenes in Finding Nemo, where Marlin is afraid for his son, so he and Nemo float out, and then go back into the anemone?  Yep, apparently that is the start of a Broadway style musical.  They sang about everything.  Bruce sang when he wanted to eat the fish.  Crush sang about the EAC.  Dory sang about not remembering anything.  Pretty soon, I was singing for it to end.  Just kidding.  It was creative.  Heck, only could Disney find a way to perform a show that was supposed to be under water. But this is when things got bizarre.  The grand finale involved bubbles coming from the ceiling.  I looked over at Luke and said "Bubbles!", as if he couldn't see the thousands reigning down from the ceiling.  After watching Miles sit entranced, I glanced back and Lukas was in full on meltdown mode.  Crying?  After Nemo?  I know the singing wasn't great, but it wasn't THAT bad.

We removed ourselves from the bubbles falling from the heavens, and I tried to find out what was wrong.  Lukas struggles, during tantrums, to express his feelings.  He says a lot of "well", without a lot of substance.  His lack of calming down put him in time out near the restrooms.  I'm that parent.  I don't care if he graduating from college.  If he has a tantrum, I'll sit him down in cap and gown for his 18 minutes (one minute for each year of life).  Disney World is no exception.  At the end of timeout, Lukas told me that he had a tantrum because he was "so happy about the bubbles".  That, my son, is called a reach.  If he would have said he didn't think it was proper for them to bastardize Finding Nemo with song, I would have totally bought it, though.

Either I still have a ton of things to talk about from this trip, or I'm just getting longwinded.  By my calculations, this blog took us only up to 11:00AM.  Yowza.  So for the first time, I'm being forced to split a day.  The conclusion to Day 3 must come tomorrow.

Next time, we finish Day 3.  Lukas finally heads back to Everest, hoping that it isn't still broken.  He still dances the day away, we swim (in sand?), we nap, we're late for dinner.  And legos and Disney stuffies make me want to cry like bubbles made Lukas.  Yep, it was close to a tantrum.  See you next time!

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...