Me so boring!

The boys finished their bmx races in great form, but in last place, so we are high tailing it home a little early. There were a few accidents today, and the ambulance came twice. Never a dull moment.
I had a go of bmxing once, a few years ago. I came off flying and landed on my left knee, and it still occasionally hurts me. Now I just watch, and hope, fingers crossed, that the boys a) never get seriously hurt, and b) never lose their nerve like I have.
I don’t like heights. I was never really bothered by being high until fairly recently, i.e. the latter 8 years of my just-about-36. That is dead on to the birth of the firstborn, and is probably not a coincidence. I assume it’s an evolutionary tactic of some sort. So I hate being up high, which includes rock climbing at the local community centre (I nearly started crying when I got to the top and had to gracefully decamp on one of those windy straps), being in a car on a narrow, windy and HIGH road (did cry and may or may not have been almost acreaming), and also swinging. Yes, that’s right, swinging. As in, on a garden swing, child’s yard swing, tyre swing, etc. In short, almost anything that gets me off the ground. Oh, puh-lease! Of course, roller coasters are out of the question, and ferris wheels are just balls of death in tandem.
This year at Disneyland, the Cars ride was a big hit – because it’s awesome! – but it was a bit scary this time, whereas when we went on it 2+ years ago, I don’t think that it was. Also the Pirates of The Carribean, Star Wars and whatever other rides I went on were also questionable for me in parts. Good grief, I’m an old lady! But that means a veritable cache of handbags, so I’m ok with that.
But the boys, the boys! They are fearless, and I encourage them to do the jumps, and go faster, and build scary shit around the backyard. And they are always disappointed when I decline a turn, but I can’t tell them that I’m scared because I don’t want them to be as well. For now I will spin white lies about organising my handbags.

LA Traffic

Hauling ass to Disneyland and there have been a few of the obligatory traffic jams, but we left as early as my showering and hair-washing allowed, so we are doing ok. But Husband got me a big tea and now I need to go. It is inevitable that the kids will need to go, or that 4yo will need to change his clothes because he refuses to admit that he also needs to go. It’s also inevitable that Husband doesn’t want to stop driving, since the traffic is light and moving freely, so it’s a good thing I brought the travel potty.
I love the travel potty. We have had it for a few years and the boys have used it semi-regularly and consequently, it has saved us (and the upholstery) many times. But how to use it in a moving bus? Would it be better to set it up on the floor behind the seats? Or on a seat so kids could remain seat-belted? It has an absorbent piece inside the baggies, but what if sitting down makes little tummies more likely to knock one out? Bad news. Of course, there are wipes and what-have-you, but a bouncing bus is not an ideal locale to have to deal with such.
Crisis averted! Husband admits he also needs to pee so we stop and take care of business plus almost a baker’s dozen of hash browns and other assorted menu items, and then scream back onto I5. It was a short break but well needed. It may or may not mean the difference between fast passes for the Cars ride or waiting in line until the park closes before we can get a ride, but at least the bus doesn’t need hosing out just yet.

Happy Crappy Birthday

After being super busy at work all week, Husband’s team has a rugby tournament interstate, so we hauled along with him. We decided it would be worth the drive to hang out a little, and trade rain at home for rain somewhere else, and try our hands at other bmx races.
Sleeping in hotels is supposed to be fun, but when we are booking these crazy adventures, we forget that sleeping in hotels with our kids is sort of a chore. Pillow fights aside, bad pillows and poor mattresses, loudly random a/c units and wine in plastic or styrofoam cup-type chores.
Anyhoo, after braving the roads and the “how much longer ” s, the “he won’t give me” whatevers and the “he’s looking at me”s, we made it to our destination and had a fun time at the local track. Husband was busy with the team so we kept ourself busy at the park and at dinner.  But today is Husband’s birthday, and it’s been a good day for him but a crappy birthday. He won’t have a confortable night sleep all weekend; he doesn’t get to sleep in the same bed as his lovely wife – though he does get a bed to himself; he doesn’t get any presents (at least until we get home); he has his celebratory drink in a clear plastic cup while his lovely wife doodles online for christmas cards and bmx tracks, and he will wake up to a mediocre pancake breakfast downstairs in the lobby. Boo friggity hoo.
Husband actually forgot my birthday when we got married, and last year I had a particularly lame non-celebration of my birthday. This year it appears to be his turn. But it’s not all bad. Tomorrow he can wake up somewhat refreshed after not being kicked in the junk all night after sharing a bed with his 6yo (tonight that’s my job, sans junk), rejoice in yet more rugby; drive 5 hours home to a bunch of thoughtful gifts,  sing ‘the hills are alive’ in the green green backyard after opening his presents; enjoy his beverage of choice in glassware of his choice and repair to his chamber with his lovely wife.
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Happy Birthday Husband, luv ya guts. And ya beard.

Feeding time at the zoo

Heading to the zoo with kids is always an adventure. Usually it involves driving long distance with complaints about the lack of movie options (3yo put coins in the DVD slot) and arguments about reading material and markers. But visiting friends interstate has merits beyond the obvious; there are more people to spread the wealth of childish behaviours among, whereby rendering said behaviour less destructive to a mother’s sanity and more cute and anecdote-worthy. Driving through the city on the way to the zoo, we pointed out various attractions and pretended they were listening to the answers they demanded for oft nonsensical questions. Of course, I had to wonder which enclosure would my children be most enthralled by, and which could I surreptitiously leave them in, Harry Potter style? And where would I fit in?
It wasn’t hard to identify with my animal self at all, he/she/it had the right idea.
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I also identified my animal bestie.

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It's a face mask!

We could do makeovers and each other’s hair.
The kids were a little harder to categorize because their behaviours can be so erratic, and personalities changeable depending on naps and snacks.
Obvious candidates includes:
Lions:
Let’s the women/woman/Mother do all the food prep and eats when they feel like it, doing little else except laying around and complaining.
Giraffes:
Getting into things up high and licking everything.
Meerkat:
Nominating a lookout so peeps can get up to shennigans.
I wouldn’t compare my kids to snakes, so the score board says… Piranhas. Among other things, wiki says “They are known for their sharp teeth, powerful jaws and a voracious appetite”. Totes true for my kids. Eat everything, sharp little teeth, travel in packs, occasionally attack each other, can be found in places they aren’t meant to be, movies are often made about their terrorising behaviour, some people think they may be a misunderstood species (yeah, right), and have a legendary reputation. The list goes on. Of course, I could not, in good conscience, put the peeps that I personally made, inside a piranha tank, but the zoo thought about that for me.
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