Our weekend excursion

Lauren got a gift certificate to Build-A-Bear for her birthday, so last week we told the kids that we would go to Buffalo (the nearest honest-to-goodness mega-mall) on Saturday (today) to let her use it.

What we didn't tell them was that we were actually going up on Friday afternoon to spend the night in a hotel with an indoor pool first. When the boys got home from school yesterday, I had the suitcases sitting in the kitchen ready to go. It was so much fun to surprise them.

I told Lauren about it yesterday morning, and she said, "When Joshandethan get home, I'm going to say, 'Guess where we're going! It starts with h-o-t-e-l!'" (She made the sound for each letter, basically saying the word very slowly.) "They'll never guess!"

So it was that we headed out of town around 3:30 yesterday afternoon - after jumpstarting my van because it seems to have a fear of travel and dies every time I'm pulling out on a trip.

I'd love for you to have the full experience of being there with us, so imagine as you're reading this post that you are interrupted every 70 seconds or so by, "Are we almost there?" "How much farther?" "She's getting a longer turn with the Leapster than I had!" "I'm hungry." "I don't like this song." "I'm thirsty." "I need to go to the bathroom."

Make sure you imagine it the loudest, whiniest voice possible and that you imagine your husband asleep in the passenger seat as you drive. (Though he has an uncanny ability to tell me, while sleeping, what the speed limit is every ten minutes.)

Arrived at hotel, ate some takeout from Applebee's. Next stop: the indoor pool.

Wouldn't you assume if a hotel - in Buffalo, NY - advertised that it had an indoor pool, that said pool would be heated? Yeah, me too. Sadly, we would both be mistaken. Ohmygod, it was cold. Send shivers down your spine cold. The kids and David managed to acclimate to it, but it never ceased to feel like sheer torture to me.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I decided to try the hot tub. David and the kids joined me as I dipped my legs into the scaldingly hot water that felt like a million needles piercing my frozen skin. Again, David acclimated and climbed in all the way. I sat on the side with my legs in. I admitted that it was feeling less painful over time, but I was pretty sure that was just because I'd lost all feeling. Ethan and Lauren did the same thing, but Joshua insisted it was fine and got in all the way.

While this was going on, another lady who was using the hot tub decided to go see if there was a way to turn on the jets. She came back and told us that there was a hot water alarm going off and a sign saying, "If alarm is sounding, do not under any circumstances use whirlpool."

Oops. Pround Parenting Moment #5872.

The rest of the weekend went well, and we all had a great time. Here are the high's and low's.

Lows:

• Five people sharing two beds. (Three of those people appear to have approximately 48 elbows and knees.)
• Keeping track of three kids in an enormous mall three weeks before Christmas. While carrying three giant Build-A-Bear boxes. While also toting my purse that weighs 15 lbs, I kid you not, because it contained my digital SLR camera, my camcorder, my wallet containing every receipt or coupon I've possessed in the past seventeen years, my makeup, and six orphans.
  
• Twenty thousand people in one Build-A-Bear store. One checkout line.
• Lots . . . and lots . . . and lots of trips to public restrooms.
• Five people. One minivan. Lots of whining.
  

Highs:

• Seeing the kids' excitement as they chose their stuffed animal skins. (I had not given the boys a definite answer as to whether I would let them "build" one as well, since this was for Lauren's birthday. Tonight as I was putting Josh to bed with his newly stuffed snow leopard, he said in the most grateful voice ever, "Mom, thank you for letting us do these.")
  
• Snuggling with the kids as we watched tv in bed until 11 pm.
• The massive continental breakfast. (I'm pretty sure buffets are a bad idea for Joshua, who has no "stop" button when it comes to eating. "I'm just gonna go see what else there is," he must have said a dozen times. All told, he had a large belgian waffle, a bowl of fruit loops, a cup of yogurt, some bacon, a danish, and about a quarter of an apple.)
• Adding another suprise to the end of the day . . . we met the kids and youth from our church at a roller skating rink about 45 minutes from home for Family Skating. Our kids have not been skating since we moved and were THRILLED.
• Eating at restaurants, none of which starts with Mc.
• Target.
  
• Playing games in the car with the kids. When they weren't whining.
• Seeing Ethan's face light up when he realized that he had not forgotten how to swim. "Mom, I can still swim!!"
• Josh's enthusiasm for the ice machine in the hotel. I think we could have just skipped everything else and let him fill the ice bucket all weekend.
• The milkshake at Fudrucker's.
  
• Lauren's delight as she roller skated - on the actual rink, not just the carpet - for the first time.
• Making memories with my four favorite people on the planet.
  

Clearly, the high's significantly outweigh the low's. Thank you, God.

Mortification Monday

Yes, it's that time again.  I know you're holding your breath wondering if it's you who's up today.  So, you can relax and let it out now . . . unless you're Yella. :)

One of the best parts of law school was having the opportunity to live with two of my best friends, Hilary and Daniella (Yella).   Yella is one of the most fun people you will ever meet . . . and one of the clumsiest.  (Yes, I know, I'm not one to talk in this area, but as I said last week, start your own blog.)  

If I had a dollar for every time she came dragging her computer bag into the library having had some terrible accident while walking to it, I'd, um, have several dollars.  (Yella, I will willingly admit the time I came dragging in with holes in my jeans and bloody knees because of my own mishap while walking and peering enviously at a van with an unjustly good parking space.)  

Surprisingly, however, this post is not about being coordinationally-challenged.

Yella, Hil, and I lived in a downstairs apartment with a sliding glass door that opened to the front of the building.  One night we apparently decided the lock on said door was not secure enough, so we set about making our home a safer place.

One of us had the bright idea of putting a broomstick in the door track to prevent anyone from being able to open the door.  Good idea, no?  Well, we didn't have a broomstick, just a broom.  After determining that an entire broom would not serve the same purpose, I said, "I guess we need a saw."

You see what my point was, right?  Not Yella.

I'm not sure where we got the saw  - seems like an odd thing for us to have owned - but the next thing Hil and I know, we look over at the door, and there's Yella with a saw.  Only, she's not using it to cut the broomstick as we had expected.

She's laying the saw in the door track and saying, perplexedly, "I don't think this is going to work."

Just for the record, she went on to graduate near the top of our class, pass the bar exam, and become a successful attorney.  I do not foresee a future in home security or engineering, however.

Another funny thing about this night was once Hilary and I stopped laughing and told Yella that the saw was to cut the broomstick, we set about doing so.  (This was around midnight, by the way.)  Our upstairs neighbor, Josh, walked past our sliding door toward his apartment and would tell us later that if he had seen any other group of girls trying desperately to saw a broom in half on their loveseat at midnight, he would have had questions . . . or at least been surprised.  But, given that he was a veteran at walking past our door at midnight, he knew better than even to ask.

Mortification Monday

I got the idea for this feature from Marinka, whose blog I read regularly.  (She does use profanity on a fairly regular basis, so I linked to a post I think is pretty un-profane, but I make no guarantees.  If you encounter words that offend you, I'm sorry, but I will not give your money back.  She's hilarious at any rate.)  From what I've gathered, the whole "stealing ideas" thing is perfectly fine in Blogland so long as you give credit and a link.  So, I have henceforth stolen this feature idea.

For now, I thought I'd change it up a little, though.  While Marinka tells weekly stories of her own embarrassing experiences, I thought it would be even more fun to tell embarrassing stories about my family and friends instead.  I know.  Brilliant.  

*Note to all family and friends who may  hereafter appear in this feature:  Sorry if you're offended or embarrassed, but that's sort of the whole idea.  If you'd like to tell your side of the story or write about something stupid that I've done, feel free to start your own blog.

Today I'm going to tell you about learning to drive with my mom.

My mom is a terrible passenger.  She has improved in recent years, but historically, I would rather take a few days and walk to my destination than drive with my mom in the car. 

In all fairness, I should tell you that my mom was in a really terrible car accident many, many years ago.  This, according to her, is the reason she feels the need to tell the person driving about every upcoming red light, yellow light, brake light, and turn signal within five miles.  (Yes, she can see that far . . . it's her superpower.)

She was so bad that I remember my dad running a red light once when he knew there was nothing coming (and no cop around, I suppose) just so he could say to my mom, "What? How was I supposed to know it was red you didn't tell me?"  

Yes, I'm a lot like my dad.

So, one Saturday afternoon when I was fifteen and had a learner's permit, I was where you find most fifteen year olds on a Saturday . . . at the bowling alley with my grandpa. 

(Yes, I bowled a lot as a kid.  It was what Grandpa liked to do with us, so much so that he gave all of us grandkids our own personalized bowling balls when we were old enough to handle it.  I'm not sure what age constituted the official coming-of-age bowling ball (and bag) ceremony, but it was apparently before I was fifteen.)

When we left  the bowling alley,  I, like most fifteen year-olds begged my mom to let me drive.  Because  I didn't know better back then, and really, what choice did I have?  

(I know . . . drive only with my dad, right?  Trust me, that carried its own issues.  On the day he took me downtown (where the DMV used to be) to get my permit, he let me drive from the DMV to his office  on a very busy part of Macon Rd .  My first time driving on real roads with other cars, and when I politely asked him which lane I should be in, this is the conversation that followed:

Me:  Do I need to change lanes?

Daddy: Why would you need to change lanes?

Me: I'm not sure if this is the right lane.

Daddy: Well, where are you going?

Me: To your office.

Daddy: Does this lane go to my office?

Me: I DON'T KNOW.  There are four lanes of traffic on this side of the road, and I've NEVER DRIVEN BEFORE.  Is this lane going to be turning-only?!

Daddy: Does it say it's going to be turning only?

You see my conundrum.)

So, Mom relented and let me drive.  From the moment we pulled out of the parking lot, she started telling me I was driving too close to the car  in front of me.  "You're not stopping soon enough.  Becky, don't get so close; what if  they slam on their brakes?Slow down, Becky, you're going to hit that car!"

This  was making me more and more irritated by the minute, and finally, I had all of it I could take, and I pulled off to the side of the road and traded places with her.  "Fine," I said in a huff, "You drive."  We both angrily got  out of our respective seats and traded places.

My mom then proceeded to pull back onto the road and immediately rear-end the car in front of us.