M-I-C, See ya real soon!

Every once in a while the stars align and a little bit of luck is thrown your way. I don't know who was luckier, my mom or Taylor, but they both won park-hopper tickets to Disneyland from a local radio station and tickets to see "Toy Story 3" at Downtown Disney. But I left out the best part. Not only did we go to Disneyland and CA Disney, we got in before the park even opened! We had three hours in Fantasy Land and Tomorrow Land without the crowds, or those annoying people who walk like snails and then stop in the middle of the path without warning. It was awesome! It was Disneyland, but without everything you hate about Disneyland. We just walked on up to the rides with our VIP passes and enjoyed the Disney Magic. In fact, even when the parks opened to the public, the longest wait was 5 minutes. The girls had the time of their lives and they got to experience the park in a way that not many people get the chance to. After 14 hours though, it was time to bid Mickey farewell. It was a great way to kick off the summer.

Tay and her Nana.

Corinne loved the water area at CA Adventure.

Taylor and the real bride-to-be, Auntie JJ. Taylor with Uncle Jimmy, who she adores.

Taylor got to watch a stage show at CA Adventure and meet the characters after the show. I sware she was bit by the theater bug. I've never seen her so enthralled with anything before. It was awesome to watch.
So stinkin' cute, I could eat this kid up. Love her. She was a trooper.

My girls

Nana and Tay on Main St at 6:30 am. Notice that they're the only ones there. =) Corinne saw Minnie Mouse and yelled, "Minnie! Minnie!" So I stood in line to meet her. Corinne was all smiles....until Minne tried to reach out and touch Corinne. It was all down hill after that. I think she's permanently traumatized.

Finally! We've been wanting to go on the "Finding Nemo" ride, but I'm never willing to wait 2 hours in line. This time, we walked right up.

Random family shenanigans:

Yes, that's Taylor 50 ft up in the air.
I came in the room and found Corinne with Wes' hats on her head and this thug look on her face. This was Taylor's influence. Corinne's gangsta!

So we're just plain lucky these days. Went shopping at Albertsons and outside was a fire truck. We went over to take a look, and the fire fighter inside comes out and asks Taylor, "You want to sit in the driver seat?" Um.....heck yea!!! He opened up the cabinets and showed us all the gear after Taylor sat in the driver's seat and looked like....well she looked like a kid who was just given permission to drive a fire truck. I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for the Santa Clarita Fire Department.

At the beach with her pal, Alex. Such a great day.

Holland

Yesterday I said, "No!" I said this a lot to the kids. Sometimes I'd whisper it, for dramatic effect. Sometimes I'd raise my voice. Sometimes I'd use ASL and sign it. Sometimes I'd sign it and say it, or sign it and yell it. Sometimes I'd simply mouth it out of pure exhaustion, unable to muster up the energy to get any sound out. On occasion I said, "We don't do that," which is just another way of saying "no," but I've read it won't emotionally damage your children as much as saying "no" can. And then when I was really fed up, I'd just lie on the ground face down and listen to the whining on surround sound. Each child in one ear screaming, "MOMMMYYYYYY!!!" ....This is what happens when you're stuck in the house all day waiting for the a/c to be installed. And who am I kidding? Sometimes, this happens for absolutely no feasible reason.

My point is, parenting aint easy some days. And lately I'm a magnet for those parents out there who just need to vent. The journalist in me loves this. Having the opportunity to pry into one's emotions and life without coming across as rude is pretty fantastic. It seems like every parent, no matter how different, has the same doubts and worries about raising kids. A lovely mother at Taylor's gymnastics class is a prime example of this. She corners me almost every week to share her concerns about her kids. She asks me about mine, just to double check that what's happening in her house is normal, as if that's some sort of terrific gage! Pah! She's reminded me several times that the first 5 years of life are the most imperative. She said, "My oldest is 4, so I only have one more year to get it right!" She wasn't joking either. She was totally serious about squeezing as much love and learning as possible into one year. As if once her son is five, his character will have been permanently cemented into his being. That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself as a parent. And I don't know about you, but I don't remember the first five years of my life. I doubt her kids will remember that they were in gymnastics, music and Latin before they went to Kindergarten (exaggerating on the Latin, but she's looking into teaching them a second language. I suggested ASL since it's SILENT, and we all need a little more of that in our homes).

At the same gymnastics class is another mother with twins, a four year old girl and a boy. The boy is autistic. I watch this mother with total awe every Thursday. Yesterday her son was having a tough day because he didn't like his new shoes. Mind you, he had already taken them off but he was still pretty upset. With as much patience as Mother Theresa, this mom did all she could to soothe him and comfort him. I'm sure she has her moments too, but I've never seen her look even the slightest bit agitated. So every Thursday I watch and learn from her. Hoping a little of her patience will rub off on me, and hoping I'll remember her example on the days when I'm feeling like, "This is NOT what I signed up for!" Because we ALL have those days, which is what I've been telling those lovely mothers who ask me for advice. It's the only advice I feel qualified to give.
I found this on another blog (mommyconfessions.com) regarding the same topic. I love it! It applies to both parents of children with and without disabilities. Enjoy!:

"Welcome to Holland"
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared the unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel.It's like this....When you're going to have a baby it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, " Welcome to Holland.""Holland?!", you say, "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around ... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills ... and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy ... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away ... because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss. But ... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.-Emily Pearl Kingsley--

Yup! Take that, punks! (Read post from 1 day ago before clicking on link)

http://www.the-signal.com/section/114/article/29658/


http://incident.scvsheriff.com/
(second story down)

Taking A Bite Out Of Crime

When we moved to our new house, we were elated that our neighbors were such wonderful people. Older people, who've lived here most of their adult lives and who welcomed us with open arms. The girls have inadvertently gained 3 new sets of grandparents. But there was one house that they pointed out as being the "suspicious" house, on the street adjacent to ours. Apparently the owner gave this house to her scum bag son, who's gotten himself arrested twice and has reportedly been selling drugs out of the garage, (So says Art, our 75 year old neighborhood watch leader who spends his days voluntarily keeping watch on our street).

So Saturday morning started like any old weekend. I left the kids with Wes to go to the gym, only when I walk out of the house, I noticed a Honda Civic sitting in front of our yard and three shady looking people hanging out on the curb. Mind you, it's 7 am. Nobody without kids gets up at 7 am voluntarily. Nobody in their late teens/early 20's, anyway. So I smile, get into the car, drive away and call Wes to let him know about the suspicious activity out front. He responds in typical male fashion, and basically ignores his obviously neurotic and bored, desperate housewife. Fine. No biggie, I'll just call the authorities. I let the operator know that they weren't actually doing anything, but that I didn't like them in front of my house. Being that it was a slow Saturday morning in Santa Clarita, she said they'd send someone right over.

(Wow, this story is getting long. It's almost over, I promise. It'll get really exciting right about now.)

So after the gym I drive home. No car in front. No sheriff in front. Nothin'. So I figure it was a false alarm. But an hour later when I walk out on to my porch, there are 6 squad cars, a guy in the back of a squad car, and the "drug house" is being swarmed by police while the residents are sitting on the porch looking like guilty, low-life, scum. Turns out, the car parked in front of my house was stolen, along with two other cars in the neighborhood. Who knows what was found in the house. I didn't want to ask and let on that I had called the police.

There's no reward, in case you were wondering. At least, I haven't been contacted about one. I was sort of expecting a pat on the back, maybe a certificate of sorts, or being named an honorary deputy for the day, but I guess they don't do that type of thing. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that someone out there is driving around town again in their previously stolen vehicle, all because of me. Hmph.

Bad boys, bad boys. What cha ganna do?......