Dream Interpretation

It's become a running joke between my husband and I, that I have intensely bizarre dreams after eating a Walery's pizza. Something in that spicy pepperoni sets my imagination to whirling and I wake up in awe of myself, and usually sort of peeved that I'm missing out on the rest of the story.  I will often try to go back to sleep in exactly the same position I was in, hoping to pick up where I left off.

Bill is often put in the unenviable position of having to listen to me rattle off these crazy adventures.  Most of the time, he just mutters something like "We'd better lay off the Walery's..." or something completely unhelpful.  If he's feeling chipper, he'll sometimes try to interpret them for me.  "The barking dog signifies your irritation at bill collectors, and the blue diamond embedded in the tree symbolizes your angst about moving from our home on Blue Sapphire drive, as you felt like you had roots there..." blah blah blah.  It's usually amusing, and sometimes, when the dream is really odd, and he gets to interpreting, I decide to leave out one or more of the weirdest details, for fear that he'll realize that I'm completely bonkers, and he'll run screaming into the night.

Here's one I'll share with you dear reader...and if you feel like you want a crack at getting inside my head, you just jot your interpretations below.  Oh, and before I start, I should mention that we've introduced a new dream generator.  This whopper was brought to us by hot, buttered popcorn. Munched with real butter, whilst watching an episode of Glee.

It begins with Bill, Casadie and I driving down Lancaster drive here in Salem. We are on a publicity tour for Casadie, as she has just finished being the voice of the girl in "Bolt."  In the dream, I was describing her part as "she's the voice of Hannah Montana", so that's how I know it was the Bolt movie. Anyway....as we were driving, we turned onto Center street, and passed Roth's supermarket. Behind Roth's, I saw a HUGE grizzly bear. I pointed it out to Bill and Casadie, and then we saw the Papa grizzly, and two babies.  Bill and I discussed that Salem's animal control was so abysmally underfunded that even Grizzlies got to walk around unimpeded. We weren't particularly worried, but more fascinated by seeing them up close.  Our hotel was directly behind Roth's (whoo hoo..spectacular location, Disney..thanks! *rampant sarcasm alert*), and our room was on the 7th or 8th floor.   While Bill napped on the bed (typical), Casadie and I looked out our window to see if we could still see the grizzlies.  We noticed a huge menagerie of woodland-type animals; Moose, raccoons, skunks, etc...and a huge crowd was growing. Somehow, the random grizzly sighting had morphed into some sort of forest-themed petting zoo.  Casadie and I wandered down, and got our pictures taken with the animals.  They all appeared to be unrestrained, and when I voiced some concern to the manager, he pointed out the invisible fencing (very tron-like). This satisfied me, and we went back to the room.   Here, my dream went from a vivid but fairly normal to completely wacky.

The next thing that happened was that I was looking out the side window (we had a corner room, ) and I could hear/feel something huge approaching (think Jurassic park-type tension)  Out of the woods, came a HUGE animal/monster thing that was on two legs. It didn't walk, however, it sort of hopped. Like a kangaroo I guess.?? and it was approaching the other wing of the hotel. Everyone was in danger! I watched in horror as this huge creature made it way to eat us all.  To describe it is difficult..I have a very clear picture in my mind, and if I had any drawing ability whatsoever, I'd upload something...but alas, you'll have to settle for my descriptive skills. Start with an image in your head of the abominable snowman from Monsters Inc. That was the approximate body/head proportions and the right shape...It was roughly 40 ft tall...and dark brown.  Furry all over, but it's  head had more hair, kind of like a big, spiky mane.  It was wearing some sort of clothes, but there was no detail there. It looked awful. and mean. and hungry.

It hopped right up to the building, and glared inside at the -what I assumed to be-terrified occupants. I watched horror as he opened his mouth, teeth bared, and then proceeded to vomit all over the side of the building.  He then turned and hopped his nasty self over to our building...his height put him mouth-nose to our window, and yes, he proceeded to vomit again, all down the side of our hotel.  I was screaming for Bill and Casadie to wake up, because i was certain that once he emptied his stomach, he was going on a feeding frenzy and we were the targets.

It was at this terrifying, unfortunate moment......that I woke up.  I woke up saying WHAT....THE....HELL...WAS .....THAT????????   I just laid there for the longest time, trying to figure out what had just happened.   Here it is...over a week later, and I'm STILL trying to figure it out.  Every night, I nervously go to bed, wondering if he'll make another appearance.

I'm flummoxed on this one, friends and readers.  Help me out. Give me your wildest interpretation theories below. I'm looking forward to your input on my mental state.  I think. *be gentle..I turn 40 on Friday..I'm fragile this week!*  (that can't POSSIBLY fit into this dream, can it??)

Meeting Nowah Why-Lee *name changed to protect the innocent

As many of you know, my daughter Casadie and I got to spend 3.5 weeks in California as part of her acting camp.  During the day, I had errands and tasks galore to complete, but always kept a wary eye out for celebrities to report back to you with.  I was closing in on the last days with nothing to share but a fuzzy distant shot of John Leguizamo at Universal.  Discouragement was high, but then, a chance encounter with one of the great loves of my life salvaged the trip.  This is my account of that day. 100% factual in every detail. Honestly.  

(*editor’s note: we’ll see. *author’s note: seriously, it’s true!)

It was the first performance night for our kids. All of the parents were congregating outside, waiting for our cue to go in.  It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the chatting was pleasant. We were all eager to see our children do well.  I was standing by the door of the small café that was attached to the theater.  As I gazed toward Santa Monica Boulevard, a smartly-dressed man strode by. 

(*editors note: He was NOT smartly dressed, he looked like a bum! *author’s note: shut up! It’s my story..let me tell it!) 

I immediately recognized him as the famous doctor from that famous doctor show! My heart skipped a beat or two, even more so when our eyes met, and he winked at me seductively.  As I drew a sharp breath in surprise, he chuckled, and turned into the café. 

(*editor’s note: He did NOT wink! OR chuckle!) 

I stood, frozen for a moment, while rapidly trying to decide what the etiquette would be in Hollywood. Would it be ok for me to ask for an autograph or photo? Would he turn me down flat? I wondered if anyone else recognized him...so far no one else was kicking up a fuss, so I followed him inside the café.  He ordered his drink, a super-tall, mocha, double-light, half-fat, vege-chino, vanilla caramel strawberry frappe.  He ordered a second drink..a hot chocolate. My heart skipped a beat…that was MY favorite drink…could it be? No, of course not.

He stepped back outside, and into the melee. The other moms were on to him. Flashbulbs were popping everywhere.  Like the professional that he is, he graciously allowed a few photographs, including one with me. He chatted with me briefly while someone figured out my camera, asking us why we were there, crowding his favorite café.  He made pleasant conversation with me, took our photograph together, and then he was gone.  I very maturely and calmly 

(*editor’s note: HA!) 

walked about half a block away so that I could text my friends about this very nice moment.   

(*Editor’s note: all of the following is a complete and utter fabrication. It simply didn’t happen. *Author’s Note: You’re not fun at all, you stupid editor. Shut up and stay out of my head!!) 

All of a sudden, I heard “Hey…hey! Over here!” A loud stage whisper called my attention to a side alley.  I walked over, and was surprised to find Nowah peeking out at me.  He beckoned me to come closer and when I stepped into the alley, he relaxed and smiled.  “I noticed you right away. I could tell you’re a big fan of mine, right?”  Coquettishly, I replied “why, yes, I’ve watched you once or twice on that doctor show.” He laughed heartily..”Once or twice, yeah..that sounds right. Walk with me.”  He handed me the second cup. I looked at him with wide eyes, and he just said “Hot chocolate, right?”  We walked northbound for a block or two, through a cluster of small houses that seemed misplaced in such a dirty, industrial area.

We chatted lightly about the acting camp my daughter was a part of. He seemed interested and was very encouraging.  He spoke of his new show, a post-apocolyptic alien type thing. He said he was enjoying it very much.

Suddenly, he stopped in front of a small bungalow. He said “This is my place”, and opened the small metal gate, and ushered me through.  As we entered the house, I noticed it was definitely a bachelor pad. I expressed in the most polite way that I could, that it didn’t seem like the kind of place I would think he would live in, given his celebrity status. Chuckling, (I love how he chuckles), he said “this is just the place I stay in when I’m in Hollywood. It’s close to my studio.”

He set down his super-tall, mocha, double-light, half-fat, vege-chino, vanilla caramel strawberry frappe on the end table near the door.  Taking two steps, he reached for my hot chocolate, and set it down as well. Then, he took me in his arms and kissed me passionately. Shocked..I didn’t respond for a moment, but then I stepped back and said “No, Nowah! I’m married!” Smiling, he said “But, Jennifer…you’re so beautiful. I love voluptuous women who are passionate and fiery. Be mine!”  I remained firm, and reiterated my love for Bill. I said I was flattered by his attention, but that we would have to remain friends only.  He looked sad, forlorn.  He said “I’ve never been turned down before, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met! Remember me if you ever change your mind!” I looked into his eyes, and put my finger to his lips. “No, Nowah, it can never happen. There can never be anything between us. You must forget me.”  As he wiped away the single tear that coursed down his cheek, I grabbed my hot chocolate. No sense in letting it go to waste, after all.  I looked at him again, and said my parting words. “Your new show is very good…can your post-apocolyptic band of alien fighters find a Walgreen’s to raid? Your character needs to find a razor. You’re much better looking when your cleanly shaven.”

I turned and stepped outside, closing the door behind me.  I could hear Nowah sobbing softly inside.  My heart melted for him, but my resolve didn’t waver.  I marched down the steps, and back up the block, ready to sit and watch my darling daughter in her debut performance.

When it was over, I stepped outside to wait for Casadie to appear. The crowd was thick with parents and performers all greeting each other with kisses and flowers, agents walking around with thick sheaves of headshots, chatting with those they wanted to pursue.  A few times, I noticed a tall, good-looking man with a beard peeking around trees and lightposts at me.  Oh Nowah, how I hated to break your heart.

(*Editor’s note: does anyone here realize how DELUSIONAL the author is?? I mean SERIOUSLY. DE-LU-SION-AL. With a capital D.)

(*Author’s note: You’re just jealous, you ridiculous editor. Just sitting around editing people’s blogs. What kind of life is that? Just because Nowah falls in love with a  voluptuous mother of six that he cannot be with, isn’t a good reason for you to go crazy in the editorial notes.  Get a life. Really.)

(*Editor’s note part 2: Seriously. This blog is a complete fabrication. This did not happen. She saw him at the café, got a picture with him, chatted briefly, and then he left.  She was a hot mess for 15 minutes afterwards, but the whole seduction thing did not happen. This blog takes no responsibility for this. Nowah, don’t sue. Author has nothing but her imagination.)

Our California Adventure Begins!!!

The life of a compulsive planner is fraught with danger.  If not danger, at least drama.  If not drama, at least some irritating inconveniences.  Today, Friday, we were supposed to get on the road by noon, according to my gloriously detailed timeline.  But, after some last-minute primping appointments went long, we ended up deliriously late.  I mean, when you’ve got an adorable 8 year old wannabe actress ready to hit Hollywood, you can’t skip the basics.  So we got our nails done, had a spray-tan, got a weave to make her hair thicker, tattooed some eyeliner on so she always looks perky, a little seaweed/sea salt wrap for brighter skin, a bikini wax, and a couple of botox injections, and then we were ready to go!

Ok, I’m kidding.  But do you REALLY want to read that I had to get gas, and the cheapest way for us is to go alllll the way down Lancaster to the Fred Meyer where we get three cents off a gallon, and that I had to pick up homemade chocolate chip cookies at Grandma’s, and battle the crowds at Winco to purchase 4 weeks worth of Spaghettios and Apple Jacks?  Oh, wait..you WOULD rather know that I’m human??  Ok, suit yourself.

So anyway, some things we learned in 24 hours on the road, and in our first couple of days.

1.       Two Kimballs with baby bladders can make a 15 hour drive into a 24 hour drive.

2.       Expecting Casadie to entertain me and keep me awake was an exercise in futility.  After an hour and a half of excited chatter, she was out like a light and snoring.  This continued off and on throughout the day.

3.       When you pull over to pee on the side of the road, and you painstakingly park the car at JUST the right angle so it’s less obvious that you’re illegally participating in public urination, and a trillion cars are passing you at 80mph, and next to the freeway is about 500 cows….at least 10 of those cows will stare. Uncomfortably so.  When they get their fill of the peep show, they will immediately go moo to their friends, and it spreads like wildfire throughout the herd.  200 miles later, cows were seen ripping up the “Eat mor Chiken” signs, and posting new ones that said “Got bladder?” Damn gossipy bovines.  At least I keep my udders covered, you bitches.

4.       Some idiot, somewhere, at some time, decided that it would be a good business venture to take ACTUAL Scorpions and place them in lollipops. That you put in your mouth.  They looked like the amber-covered mosquitos from Jurassic Park.  I’d sooner battle a velociraptor than lick one of them damn pops…  On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED NOTE,,..Bethanie..we got you a souvenir!

5.       One hotel’s “kitchen package” is not necessarily like another’s.  We have been temporarily bumped to another extended stay facility due to capacity, and the kitchen is stocked with exactly 2 forks, 2 knives, 1 spoon and a pan.  My other place is supposed to have wine glasses, pot holders, artisian cheese slicers from Italy, a melon baller and a 214-piece Tupperware set among the more tepid offerings.  These managers have no idea who they are dealing with.  To downgrade a former Disney Manager who brought a block of Tillamook Cheddar cheese and now has NO GRATER TO GRATE IT WITH…heads are gonna roll,  I tell you.

6.       Do NOT pack your favorite jeans on the bottom of a 700-gallon suitcase. You will experience 10 minutes of extreme panic that you have no pants for a month, and WILL be experiencing every teenage nightmare of being pantsless.  In Hollywood.

7.       While I did find my pants and do not have to subject the greater Hollywood population to me being pantsless, they do have to deal with me being off my feed from not having my hair dryer.  Yes, the hotel has a substitute...but you just don’t understand.  I’ve had my trusted hair dryer for 20 years.  Yes, 20 years.  It’s a professional model, so the buttons are on the wrong side, and I’m used to it.  Any old substitute won’t work...because if you know me, you know I have thick hair...these little crappy “squeeeeeeeeeeeeee” type motors won’t cut it.  I need a reconditioned 747 jet engine strapped to a vent and an electrical cord.  Seriously.

8.       I CANNOT sleep in the same bed as Casadie for 3.5 weeks.  I was looking forward to the snuggle time, because she’s such a good snuggler, but OMG, that girl flip flops like a trout slapped up on a beach.  I swear she was kicking me on purpose.  I have bruises that are in places I didn’t know could bruise.  Yes I do.  I lasted exactly 15 minutes after she fell asleep before I jumped to our other bed. When we are moved back to our studio apartment we’re supposed to have, that girl is relegated to an air mattress, which I very intelligently threw in the car, just in case.

9.       Casadie is very astute.  When trying to convince her to go on California Screamin’ when we were let into the parks by friends, I explained that “even Aunt Gina went on it, and she’s a chickenbutt!”  Casadie retorted, VERY OFFENDED, “Aunt Gina’s not a chickenbutt!!! She’s just short!”  As I nearly flipped my car on the freeway from laughing so hard, Casadie further mused “It’s true. She’s not as tall as real ladies, but I love her anyway.”

10.   Do not allow yourself to get hungry and dehydrated before going on the giant fun wheel at Disney’s California Adventure.  I’m not joking.  I’m doing this trip on a severe budget, so while in the parks, I bought meals for the girl and just picked a little off her plate, figuring it would hold me over until we got back to the hotel.  Casadie wanted the swinging cars, which are jaw-droppingly scary if you aren’t expecting it.  If you board with a slight hunger headache, and the beginnings of heat exhaustion…fuggedabowdit.  I learned I have a whole new capacity for “throwing up a lil’ bit in my mouth”.  Who wants to puke in a cage with 3 strangers and sit there and stare at it for 20 more minutes?  Not this chicka. “Gulp.”  The last time I got motion sickness was a whale-watching cruise 17 years ago when I was pregnant with Bethanie.  I don’t GET motion sickness.  Totally ruined the ride, and my very nice chat with my very nice friend Erick who met me there since we haven’t seen each other for several years.

11.   On a much nicer note, I learned that Casadie is a sharp and keen observer of details.  She THRILLED future imagineer Alex Williams by pointing out subtle themeing details at the parks.  She knew it was an oddity and should be considered wrong to place “Brother Bear” references on an “UP” themed area. (It had previously been a Brother Bear area, and Disney left several references to BB intact…it’s policy of late being to cater to the lowest denominator of Guest, it saves money that way.

12.   Finally, I’ll sign off saying that I learned this camp is going to be one rollicking roller coaster ride for Casadie and myself.  As a camper, she gets INTENSE preparation from working actors, and as a Mom, I get intense preparation in being the best type of parent for a working child actor.  Agents and Casting directors sometimes cast for the whole package, knowing they have to work with the parents almost as much.  I’ve learned about Coogan Savings Accounts, Work Permits…etc.  We also learned that Casadie will already be part of a commercial shoot on Wednesday…Adrian is using all of his campers in the background for a website commercial.  More details as I get them.  She also gets to attend a taping of Good Luck Charlie, including a backstage tour and photos/autographs.  I’ve got one bouncing-off-the-walls kiddo here.

See you later, so much to do!  Casadie looks a little tired…now where did I lay that botox syringe????  J

***For those readers not following me on Facebook....This post refers to my daughter Casadie who desires to be an actress, and her opportunity to attend an acting camp in Hollywood with Adrian R'Mante, from the Suite Life of Zach and Cody, as well as other celebrities.  Casadie and I are in Southern California for 3.5 weeks so she can have this adventure.

Deep Pressure

Picture yourself, laying under a sheet, in a darkened room…soft music playing, and in walks a hot Russian massage therapist.  He quietly asks “Where do you need special attention?” and for a brief moment, you want to tell him. Ha!  But then you lie, and say “Nowhere *special*, but my shoulders have been tensing up.”

No, this is not some daydream or trashy romance novel; this was my real massage experience just the other day.  My life has been stressful lately.  Wait.  I need to rephrase that...my life has been over-the-moon stressful.  Highly agitating.  Pressure-and-stress-beyond-what-the-typical-full-grown-adult-can-handle kind of stressful.  Cross country move for 7.5 people (one kid staying behind to go to college, but he’ll be travelling with us for the summer, and I’m taking his stuff) and a dog; no heater in our house through the winter, and no A/C now, so our house is hotter inside than it is outside. Car troubles, new job responsibilities, pest problems in our house, oodles of people to see and commitments to meet before we move…it all adds up to Mom being shipped off to the funny farm.

So, for Christmas, my very generous mother gave me a very generous gift certificate to my favorite massage studio.  There, I found the nirvana that is: male therapists.  I had never had a male therapist before…being a large, ample, pooh-sized woman, it’s an uncomfortable and embarrassing thing to be semi-nude in a dark room with a man other than your loving and supportive husband…but one day, I simply had no choice, so I accepted.  AND I WILL NEVER GO BACK.  I have a theory about why my male therapist experience was so life-changing.   I prefer extremely firm pressure.  Stress-filled muscles like mine, hidden under a couple of extra layers of….skin, (yeah, extra skin!) require someone with sharp elbows, steel bones, and a sadist’s outlook on life.  If I don’t get an elbow ground down deep into my shoulder blade, it just ain’t gonna cut it for me.  It’s not a true massage if I’m not near tears at least a few times during the hour.  Yes,  yes... soothing soft touch is wonderful too, and I want a balance, but my muscles need to be beaten into submission.

When you ask a woman to do this, they really have to ramp it up.  Let’s face it…political correctness aside, we ladies generally are not as strong as men.  So to apply the REALLY hard pressure that I need, a female therapist has to go beyond her normal application of pressure, and summon up all her strength. This rarely, in my limited massage experience, lasts long enough to truly work out the kinks.  After a ferocious burst of effort, I can feel the strength ebb out of her fingers and arms...and eventually, the huffing and puffing begins while she slowly winds down and tries to get her heart rate back to normal.  I end up feeling bad for them, and the next time she asks if she's doing it hard enough, I say "Oh yeah, that's perfect."  *sigh*

But for a guy…they often come equipped with near-monstrous levels of strength.  During THEIR massage training, they simply have to learn to harness their strength, and get to spend the entire time learning to perfect the art of soothing, supplicating and caressing.  So when I say “I like firm pressure…like REALLY hard,” their eyes light up, and their little boy excitement of being able to use their entire physical range is fun to watch.  They spend the entire massage asking constantly if the pressure is too much, and I purr back “No, it’s perfect…more, please.”

So Dimitri and Austin at Hand & Stone spa at the Loop, I salute you.  I thank you for spoiling me for any future female massage therapist in the world.   All inappropriate references to a hot Russian asking me if I ‘want any more special areas taken care of’ aside, my husband might thank you too…I have not asked him nearly as often lately to work out my knotty (naughty..haha, see that very appropriate word play I inserted in there??) shoulders for me, because I come home a melted puddle of happily relaxed, bruised and subjugated muscle…ready to do battle with the world.  At least until I enter that 97 degree house and do battle with that itty-bitty bug.

Love Notes

I realize that it’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this blog.  I extend my heartfelt apologies to anyone who uses the blog as their toilet reading. (Yes, I have followers that do exactly that.)  Since early February, I’ve been deeply involved in arranging our upcoming cross-country move.  I will definitely be sharing some stories and thoughts, both funny and unfunny about that whole process and the thoughts and feelings behind it.  Today though, in a slightly related-mostly unrelated topic, however, I want to talk about love notes.

Unabashedly, I am a sucker for love notes.  Somewhere in my primordial ooze, a gene established itself as a complete romantic, mushy-gushy scrapbook type of individual, and I cherish and love each note of encouragement, love, affection, holiday greeting, etc that passes through my fingers and my heart.  What this means is that as I pack and purge, I am constantly faced with an impossible choice…to save or toss this amazingly precious bit of paper?  Always. always the choice is to save it, after all, it says so much..and so the packing pile grows.

The love notes can be from anyone.  Of course, notes from my husband and beautiful children melt my heart and are always a good way for any of them to get out of trouble.  And they know this.  My quiet, introspective husband writes a damn fine love note and although you, dear reader will never know their contents, you are certainly allowed to be jealous.  He’s goooood.

But right at this moment, as I make one of the biggest changes in my life, after some of the most stressful years of my life, I find that some of the most precious love notes I have are those that came from my Cast when I was their manager.  Adventureland-Liberty Square Cast Members are people exuding with personality and vitality, and filled with creativity and with no fear of expressing it.  As the job, schedule, policies and other assorted work-related headaches are more extreme than necessary for what should be such a magical place, the Cast was often left feeling discouraged and without advocates.  When I would step in and assist my Cast with whatever they need, or at least listen with a sympathetic ear, I would often return to my office after a long shift and find little love notes written on post-its and pasted to my cubicle.  Anything from the silly: “Jennifer is the lemon in my iced tea” to the suck-up: “Your kids are the cutest kids on the planet!”  Frequently, they were veiled taunts at my other team members: “Jennifer is my favorite manager!” surrounded by swirly hearts.  Once, after loaning my jacket to a former Cast Member who was visiting from England, I put the jacket on 3 days later, reached into the pocket, and found a little slice of sweetness in the form of a hidden note from her.  That note, worn and faded, still resides in the same pocket, and always warms my heart when I wear the jacket.

My cast also enjoyed my subversive ways of dealing with ridiculous management dictates.  My boss, an unnamed ass who will go down in the annals of spectacularly ineffectual and uninspired pseudo-leaders, once pulled me into the office and demanded that I “do something about all those notes.”  I asked what he wanted me to do with them.  He replied that my desk looked messy and disorganized because of all those notes and “all those pictures of your kids.”  Now, keep in mind, other managers had so much Disney/Baseball/Simpsons/Whatever memorabilia that there was no room to write or effectively use a keyboard on their desk, but MY desk was the problem desk.   Even HIS office was a mish-mash of Disney crap, Dolly Parton altar, and ugly cat pictures, but I was supposed to remove the photos of my children.  No waaaay, Mister.  I clung to his claim that it was disorganized, and promptly walked out to my desk, removed everything, and meticulously put it back, in nice neat rows.  All pink post-its were lined up vertically to the millimeter; all the smaller, white ones went horizontally across my cubby door.  My childrens' pictures in frames were lined up in a precise row across the back of my desk, in age order, and all the snapshots under my clear plastic blotter magically became arranged by size.  All the cast leaving notes in the future followed my lead, and each subsequent note continued whatever pattern suited it best, and never did the subject come up again. 

Upon my layoff, one of my greatest fears was that during the packing process, my beautiful and meaningful notes would get “lost.”  Thankfully, a friendly face was assigned to pack up my things, and very sweetly she included every single note.  They reside in a box, ready for the day when I can go through them without bawling my face off, and can put them in a scrapbook of my Disney career.  Each Cast Member who took 15 seconds on some random day to thank me, to brighten my spirits, or to leave me a reminder of some crazy inside joke has no idea how much those notes buoyed me on my difficult days, and how they remain close to my heart to this day.

I challenge you today to write a love note to someone.  Make it long and heartfelt, make it short and silly.  Make it spontaneous and meaningless, or a ridiculous declaration of your love.  Whatever.  Just make someone happy for at least the time it takes to read it, and whether or not they are a pack-ratting scrapper like me who will save and cherish it, it will make an imprint on their heart.

Saturday- Things I can't believe I'm saying February 5th

"What's your sign?"

Don't you just love the random little questions asked by curious and uninhibited minds?  They don't hold back and some can be quite odd, and you wonder what is going through their little minds as they land on the need to know that particular tidbit.

"Do Rhinoceroses have toenails?"

"Has anyone ever been on Jupiter?"

"Why did Lady Gaga's mother name her Lady?"

My girls are currently enthralled with the "Signing Time" Videos.  We check them out from the library, renew them until the end of time, and almost always end up paying late fees too.  We finally drop them back off, and head immediately to the DVD section to see what has landed on the shelf.  Old favorites, or new volumes to devour?  I know the "Signing Time with Alex and Leah" theme song by heart, and I feel as though I know the child actors who star in the shows, and I marvel at "how much they've grown." 

It's not unusual now for the girls to use sign for their requests, and often they have learned signs that I have never even seen.  Even Bethanie is getting into it, and when we played a board game, it was common for her to use the signs for "My turn" and "Your turn" while we played.  It's pretty cool to see that the girls have found a language they love to learn, and that we can all use as a family.

Except that yesterday, the girls wanted to know the sign for vagina.  This subject is not covered in the DVD series.  Evidently the host, Rachel, doesn't feel that stars Alex and Leah (cousins) need to discuss anything below the neck, and I understand that.  But now I have a houseful of little girls who apparently would all like to discuss their private parts via Sign.  So Mom and Dad can't overhear the conversation, I imagine.  Even Bethanie, pretending to be horrified, was interested in finding out if I knew the answer to this question.  For the record, I didn't.

Also, in a moment of spectacularly unenlightened and unprepared parenting, I think I said something like: "Oh, I don't think there is a sign for that.  It's a private area, so there's no need to discuss it."  I am normally nonchalant about things like body part names..and we are a potty-humor type of family...so this would typically not be an issue.  But I admit they took me by surprise, and as I could still remember my friends teaching me the signs for "Shit" and "Sex" back in high school, I suddenly had an image of my adorable little daughters running around doing inappropriate signs, and I cracked.  Couldn't do it.  So therefore, "Vagina" has no sign.  At least not right now.

But, I DO know the sign for Rhinoceros now, and could stumble my way through telling you via Sign, that I have no idea if Rhinoceroses have toenails or not.

PS.  www.signingtime.com.  Pretty great videos.  We want the whole set (hint hint for the holidays and birthdays coming up!)

Saturday- Things I can't believe I'm saying

We're going to try a new Saturday feature here at Spilt Milk.  "Things I can't believe I'm saying."  Every Saturday, I'll try to update with a quick post that will detail some item from the week that made me stop and go "hmm."

To start us off, I have a little nugget from this afternoon.  Today, we have a houseguest.  Casadie had a gymnastics workshop this morning, and when I picked her up, she and her friend Andrei pleaded for a playdate.  He's the gorgeous and charismatic son of the owner, an extremely talented young man, 9 years old.  Casadie has had a little crush on him for a while, and honestly, what red-blooded little girl wouldn't?  He's ADORABLE.  So, we get permission from his parents, and off we go!

Once home, they go upstairs to play.  The cleanest, most organized room right now is Alex's room, normally locked and off-limits since he's at college.  I decided to let them play in there while I was doing laundry.  Casadie kept trying to shut the door, and Andrei wanted it open.  I had to step in and say "Casadie, when we have boys over to play, the door should remain open."   Casadie said "Why?!",  and in an effort to avoid an uncomfortable conversation that could actually make them THINK about doing something inappropriate, I just shrugged and said "Because I said so."  Andrei looked at me for a moment, and looked at Casadie, and said "Thank goodness I'm a boy!"  I had to turn away quickly before they both caught me busting out a laugh.

Later, my policy on the open door became very prophetic..but not because Casadie got any wild ideas, but because my 5 year old, Delanie decided that Andrei WILL be her future husband, and was trying to seal the deal with a kiss!  Andrei had to ask (ever so politely..I LOVE that boy) for some assistance, and I had to go up and tell my 5 year old that kissing playmates is not acceptable.  Hopefully, there will not be a repeat with her or any of her sisters today.  I can only have this conversation once.

Kimball Traditions- The Tooth Fairy

Traditions.  Such a wonderful part of any family.  Whether big or small, traditions help unite generations, mark moments in time, and provide a connection to warm family memories for years to come.  I am particularly attached to tradition.  From the time I was a kid, traditional moments dot my reminiscing.  After being picked up from camp, we ALWAYS stopped at this little store for a snack and a potty stop.  Once I got older, started working at the camp all summer and that little store burned down, the tradition became a Saturday evening trip to Dr. Munchie's pizza every weekend.  Our Christmas tree was decorated every year on the Friday after Thanksgiving, and we burst into "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas" at the VERY first glimpse of Christmas lights as the season got started.

Once I had children of my own, I of course continued many traditions and established new ones.  As a new, young mother of two, I took my kids to each new Disney movie, on the first day of release.  Preferably the first showing.  I continued decorating the tree on Friday after Thanksgiving, until Bethanie was born, on December 7th.  For a while, I decided to respectfully wait until after her birthday to do it, but have since become a little more fluid with that date.  We buy each of the kids a Hallmark ornament at Christmas and write a little inscription on the inside lid.  My Mom sent my ornaments with me to decorate my first tree, and I will do the same for my kids.

Over the years, as we've added more children to the Kimball brood, it's easy to see how some traditions, started innocently and easily with just 1-2 kids, can get VERY out-of-hand when you have a large family.  Today's example is the Tooth Fairy.   Of course, the Tooth Fairy serves every family, whether you have 1 kid or 18, but because she knows every family is unique and special, she tailors her tooth-retrieval service to the specific needs of the family.  At least that's the story in our house.  When Alex and Bethanie were little and the only kids on the horizon for this very ambitious mother, the Tooth Fairy delivered a BEAUTIFUL bookstore-quality book complete with inscription, AND a crisp $5 bill.  Yes, over-the-top..but who cares.  The Tooth Fairy loves books, and knows my kids love books, and so she aims to please.  The baby teeth days are fleeting, so my arrangement with the Dental Queen was something to be cherished and celebrated.

Many years later, as Casadie began to lose her teeth and the Tooth Fairy would again be visiting the Kimball household, I stopped short, and quickly counted the number of baby teeth this Enamel-Wrangler would be picking up from our home in the next several years.  4 more girls, 7-8 teeth apiece (how many baby teeth do kids lose, exactly? I've lost count!) Speaking conservatively, we're talking $150 bucks and a veritable library of top-shelf Newberry Award Winners.  The Barnes and Noble CEO should be sending flowers to our house.  Bill hopelessly suggested (he never had a chance) cutting the cash back to $1 and buying paperbacks, but I said the Lady of Floss could afford $5, 2-3 times per year.  He sighed, rolled his eyes lovingly (I swear), and drove me to the bookstore to make a few selections. (The Chomper Collector treasures and uses Mom's suggestions when she delivers the books, of course.)

Casadie has been working on her top two teeth, which have REALLY taken their time.  I was worried that an Oral Surgeon might be needed to help these along, and that given her age of 7, she might be close to abandoning her belief in the Princess of Plaque.  But, once the tooth came out yesterday, the debate as to where to put the tooth, which bed to sleep in (we really have a musical beds thing going on over here lately..with bunk beds in two different rooms and sisters who like to switch loyalties and alliances..a long story for another day), began in earnest. 

Any doubts I may have harbored, ie "will the kids REALLY remember this as a cherished tradition, or is this Queen of Gleam just wasting her money?" was absolutely dispelled this morning, when Casadie marched downstairs, grinning a toothless smile ear-to-ear, and clutching a large book under her arm, "Zen Shorts."  

"Mommy! Look what the Tooth Fairy brought me!"  She showed me the book with the beautiful water-color illustrations, and read the, may I say, very touching inscription to me.
"That looks wonderful!" I replied, "have you read it yet?"
"No, not yet.  I want to get Library Mouse, & the Marshmallow Incident first. I haven't found them yet."

Mom very confused: "Why do you need those books first?"

Casadie "Well, those were the first and second books the Tooth Fairy ever gave me.  I want to read them in order before I start Zen Shorts.  The Tooth Fairy always gives me such beautiful books."


A Mother's silly indulgences completely validated in the wise and wonderful words of a 7 year old, who is losing her baby teeth kind of late.  She still believes in the magic, and I am absolutely proud and excited to provide it to her.

Rock on, Tooth Fairy.

For the birds....(I mean, KIDS)

Confession time.

I hate birds.  Also, I am not bright.  Impulsive and child-like, but not necessarily bright.  One might wonder why on earth these two things are related, and one might also note that probably only ONE of those two facts is news to anybody.

A little background on my bird-hating-ness.  I haven't always hated birds.  They are pretty.  They have a beautiful, melodious sound.  They eat bugs and such.  I once even owned a bird.  A co-worker of my ex-husband talked him into taking on an orphaned cockatiel.  I believe the cockatiel was orphaned because it was the devil, and no one could stand it, but I digress.  I happily thought that a cockatiel was just the most adorable pet to add to our brand-new little family.  Because every newlywed couple needs a squawking, obnoxious bird that wants out of it's cage at all hours of the day and night, right? That kind of stress is perfect on a budding new marriage when you're all of 18 and 19 years old.  So anyway, to make a long story short...the bird didn't work out (neither did the marriage, but it would be a few more years before we'd admit to that), and we ended up giving him away.  At least I *think* we did..I'm pretty sure I didn't agree to one of Jay's wilder plans to let it go free in the Oregon wilderness.

Cut to several years later, not really on *loving* terms anymore with birds in general, I was pecked, rather ferociously in an aviary at the Portland Zoo.  We had our adorable son Alex with us, baby Bethanie in the stroller, and some horrible little green and red beast nearly pecked me to death while my husband (now EX-husband) laughed riotously at my predicament.  Not long after that, he rented Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" for us to enjoy in the privacy of our own home.  Evil bastard.  

Ever since then, I avoid aviaries, even if it requires back-tracking half a mile through the zoo or park path to find an alternate route.  I don't need to see any more birds.  They have feathers, two feet, and occasionally one will have a very interesting-looking beak.  Whoopee.  Somehow, the big kids caught on that I wasn't just disdainful and bored..but that there was a real fear involved.  Like my unreasonable fear of popping Pillsbury biscuit cans, this has now become a source of gleeful amusement for them.  They pat me condescendingly on the head or shoulders, offer to hold a map or jacket over my head and escort me quickly through the aviary so I don't have to backtrack.  They say witty things like "Oh..that's RIGHT...you're as scared of birds as you are of loudly popping biscuit cans, AREN'T YOU??" and I just give them my best "I will KILL you when we get home" grin..and run through the aviary at top speed to prove my bravery, flinging other people's small children aside like they are bread crumbs.  Which I hope the birds think they are, at least long enough to distract them from me.

So, when one irrational woman is afraid of birds, and is ridiculously annoyed when the chirping outside wakes her up at the unholy hour of 7am, what is the best course of action?.....

.....buying a bird feeder for homeschool of course.  The girls saw the project in a book, and clamored endlessly and adorably for it, until I gave in.  The project actually involved BUILDING a bird feeder..but since I'm handier with a debit card than a hammer...a beautiful black bird feeder came home, along with a bag of "Songbird mix."  (Is it made of real songbirds?  I hope so!  *maniacal hand-wringing and 'muahahaha-ing'*) So now, the girls can gleefully watch for birds in the backyard, and I can lay in bed at 7 in the morning with a pillow over my head.


.....I'm thinking of buying a BB gun.

PS.  As I wrote this..I realize then, what an oddity it is that I enjoy playing "Angry Birds".  I realized that I'd rather be the pigs.  But I'm still mildly obsessed.  Just an odd coincidence.

I broke my funny...

Sorry folks, my funny got broken.  I have always intended for my blog to be a humorous and light-hearted look at the craziness that is our life..but I suppose it wouldn’t be real and honest if it didn’t occasionally explore the darker, crazed side of my “crazed life as a homeschooling mother of 6”.    The end quarter of the year, all the way through February is what Bill and I lovingly and laughingly call “Kimball Crazy Quarter”..and it’s a time filled with the normal stressful holidays, our anniversary, and not one, not two, but 4 birthdays for our family.  So understandably, my stress level rises during this period anyway.  Add to it the exceptional hardships we’ve been facing financially through our layoffs, the new added stress of a job that doesn’t fit my personality and a few tragic and horrific situations for family and friends, and it’s a recipe for a personal fitting of a white coat for me.

I’ve struggled lately with severe feelings of self-doubt, plummeting self-confidence, worry about the future , and even confusion about what I WANT from our future.  I had dreams…they were to have a beautiful family, wonderful husband, and a job at Walt Disney World.  Have, Have and Had.  Now what?  It’s definitely time to re-evaluate and set some new goals, but that’s where the self-doubt is coming in.  Our financial hole is so deep, I can’t see the top, let alone the beautiful horizon.

Homeschooling fills part of that horizon.  I see my children enjoying each other’s company, I see Bill and I really reconnecting with them and learning much more of their personalities that I ever would have known if they were in daycare and school for 8+ hours per day.  For this, I am grateful.  It gives me small, meaningful goals for the day, the week, and even a year’s worth, but still, I feel lost.  I worry that my depressive episodes will cause me to lose focus on this particular goal, and that wouldn’t just hurt me, it would absolutely be damaging to the girls and their future.  So the self doubt creeps in, and makes me wonder if they wouldn’t be better off back in school.  I know every homeschooling parent experiences some measure of this worry, but mine are just exacerbated now with my overall hot mess.

I could spend an entire blog complaining about my job, but I’ll just say that I do love Hilton.  I love most of the people I work with.  I could easily see myself leading this team, supporting them in this very difficult job of telemarketing, but the actual job of being on the phone, suffering the abuse of a nation of people that feel it’s ok to demean, demoralize and otherwise rudely treat me simply because I’m a telemarketer is so hard to endure.  Each sale equals success, and refills my bucket a little bit, and the rare no-sale with a wonderful person and a great conversation does as well. 

  But when in a 6.5 hour shift, and well over 400 calls results in no sales, my bucket is empty, overturned, stomped on, and has a hole drilled in it.  Filling it with a success just becomes that much harder.  I’m told I’m very good at this job.  My superiors say that my style on the phone is awesome, and I’m the best of the best.   This is so hard to believe after someone has just cursed at me, and told me I’m worthless because I happened to call them during their 7:47pm dinner.  I can see a future with this company as a leader, and I’m making inroads toward that end, but the emotions that threaten to bubble over and become on display are endangering the professional demeanor I struggle to present.  For those who say “why wait until you can be promoted? If it’s that hard on you emotionally, find something else!”….I’m trapped.  Utterly and absolutely without options.  The money I make when the going is good is absolutely enough to make it impossible to leave.  There are zero comparable options out there for someone like me, with no degree and with my need for reasonable hours and legal work.  I mean, I suppose I could be a prostitute, but then we’d spend so much on bail money, lawyers, etc.   *sigh*  And face it, there’s only so much of a niche market for gals like me.  (ok..so my funny is bruised, not necessarily broken.) 

I struggle with exhaustion.  A job that requires so much mental Olympics and verbal sparring until 10:30 or later each night, means that I am too keyed up to sleep until well into the wee hours of the morning.  In turn, this results in me having to sleep later, cutting into exercise time, homeschooling time, errands, housework, etc..something has to give, and often, it’s ALL of the above, rather than just one or two things.  All of this feeds back into the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness  that are becoming harder and harder to rise above.  On numerous occasions, I’ve called one friend or another only to burst into tears and blubber my way through a rant on how awful my life is.  To those friends who have endured those calls, I can only apologize and thank you for listening.

At the risk of making this the longest post ever, I’ll wind down by saying that I DO remember the positive things in my life.    I do see the value in my beautiful family and my wonderful, generous husband.  I recognize the luck I have in that regard and I count the little things among those things I value the most. 

A husband that continues to get my car door for me, 13 years into our relationship.  He is the best of the best in so many ways, and he supports me  99.5% through all of this, even while dealing with his own feelings of stress and struggle with our situation.  I say 99.5% because no one can truly support 100% the sour moods I get into.  It’s impossible to ask of someone, and he occasionally is just done with them, has his say, and then he slips back into the wonderfully supportive man I know.  I would love to just have him welded to my side.

A talented, intelligent son who has risen above his own personal challenges of autism, and is successfully navigating college life in pursuit of a physics degree.

A beautiful, creative teenage daughter, who while exhibiting normal teenage attitude, continues to provide invaluable assistance to me and her father while we get through this difficult period in our life.

Little girls who love unconditionally, and who always are a source of laughter and fun. 

Our health..recent events with friends and children of friends make me so grateful that my children are healthy and that they continue to thrive. 

Homeschooling.  I am so grateful to have found this outlet for my energy and my need to plan and set goals.  With no other goals in my personal life to strive for at the moment, this becomes a good focus for me, and I get to be closer to my girls.

Friends who listen.  My circle of friends is wide and varied.  I am continually entertained on Facebook, so when I’m at my darkest, reading their observations and anecdotes of their lives truly help me get back on track, at least for that moment, and I gain a lot of positive energy from that.

This blog.  I am grateful that I started this, and I’m grateful for the wonderful feedback I’ve gotten.  My family is special to me, and I’m glad that at least a few of you enjoy their antics.  I’m sorry to post something that is seemingly so out of character, but truly, this is just another side of Jennifer, one that not as many people see.  I am fairly good at faking it most of the time, but lately, I’m just so tired.  I do promise to find my funny again soon, and I am taking notes of the little things that happen.  Maybe another thankful list will be forthcoming soon.

Much love and sincere thanks for popping in and spending time with me.  I promise to follow doctor’s orders regarding my broken or bruised funny, and will be on the mend.

Merry Christmas!!!

Merry Christmas!  As you can imagine, in the Kimball house, like any other, it can get crazy!  But considering we live in Florida, away from our extended family, we are grateful for the large number of children we have, to give our holiday the chaos and bustle that Bill and I remember from our childhoods.  Our kids may not have cousins to run and frolic with, but they will always have each other, and the shared memories of the season will last them for decades to come.

So, Merry Christmas! From Bill and Jenn, as we drive around at 2am from 7-11 to 7-11 to Wal-mart, looking for one more blister-pack of Harry Potter Silly Bandz, because Santa would NEVER forget one child when filling the stockings!

From Jenn, fighting the crowds at Best Buy, because the gift I had finally decided to buy for my impossible-to-shop-for husband suddenly appeared in a pile of last-minute bargains he HAD to get while he was shopping yesterday.  Time for a new plan!

From Bill, working hard at CVS to help fill last-minute prescriptions for people who will be unable to get it done tomorrow while they are closed.  Seniors and Tourists are cranky people when they can't get their meds immediately, so he will be working hard to maintain holiday cheer, as well.  Hopefully, he will be home soon.

From Alex, on his 6th lap around the neighborhood with Fynnlie.  We've put out some of the gifts already, and she's having a hard time keeping out of them.  Walks in the stroller provide a good 45 minutes of freedom from constant monitoring of the tree and baby at the same time.

From Bethanie, working hard to beat her 7 year old sister at making the longest paper chain.  Recreating moments from your childhood in order to give those experiences to your younger siblings is refreshing!

From Casadie, utterly thrilled to find that she's superior at making paper chains, besting her 16 year old sister.  Constant calls to come "hold it up and see how tall it is" reveal that it would take about two Moms, laying head to toe to match the length.  Much more to do, though!

From Delanie, 6 links in the paper chains and over it.  Just. Done.  Specifically moved the project table in front of the couch for her, so that she could sit and relax, and fool the siblings and subsequent photographs into thinking she was actively participating.

From Emmalie, obsessed with eggnog.  Endless clamoring for more.  Repeatedly.  We feel indulgent, since this is the only time we ever have it, but also don't want her on the cover of the tabloids as the "Preschooler who gained 85 pounds from drinking eggnog!!  Photos inside!"

From Fynnlie, so very fascinated with the lights, the bows, the wrapping, the strange activities...but bewildered at all the times she gets strapped into the stroller and taken for a walk.  Highly unusual.  Also battling a small bug, but we're hopeful her eyes won't be glassy and feverish in the photos.

From Sadie, our dog.  Nothing special to say..it's a pretty normal day for her, she just wanted to say hi.

From all of us, up to our elbows and eyebrows with sugar cookie baking and decorating...this activity will be the messiest and most delicious project we'll take on all year.  This is what will cause us to be up too late, find that Santa has already passed Florida on the Norad Tracker and make me have to scramble for a story. "Umm..well, Santa realizes that not everyone puts their kids to bed at 7, so he just checks to see, and if we're still awake, he puts on the list to come back after he does other states.  It's no problem, he's so magical!"  It's still working, but I have no  idea how many more years I can pull this off.  Thank goodness I can think fast.  I make up all sorts of nonsense that they remind me of the next year.

From all of us, as the kids open one gift from Grandma tonight, and put on new, semi-matching pajamas before crawling into their beds.

From all of us, as Bill and I wake the to shrieking joy that is little girls discovering their stockings and their one, bigger un-wrapped gift from Santa.  Us grown-ups will groan and stretch, wishing that just for once, children slept until noon on Christmas Day, but also loving the sound of their laughter, and look in their eyes as they show us all the treasures.  For us, we are grateful for our children's health, their intelligence, and their exuberant personalities as we go through this life together, and Christmas morning is a time to just revel in the luck we have experienced in having them.

Merry Christmas from the Kimballs, our Spilt Milk and our Sticky Kisses!

Blinking while driving

Here’s how I imagine the conversation went.

Governor Charlie Christ: “We really need to remove Governmental influence from people’s lives.  Let’s cut them a break.  What can we do to show them we really care?”

Underling: “We could tell them they don’t have to use turn signals anymore! That’s very annoying, and I know I’D be thrilled!”

Gov. Charlie: “I’ll go one better.  Let’s leave the law on the books, but just have all car manufacturers make cars WITHOUT turn signals.  That way, if we need funds, the police can still write tickets for not using them.  Until that day, though, the Floridian people will just have one less pesky little rule to follow, whether they want to follow it or not.”

I say this is how I imagine it, because I imagine LOTS of strange things as I drive.  Mostly, I imagine that 99% of the drivers in Florida today opened a can of Pringles and were thrilled to fine a gen-yoo-ine Florida Driver’s license inside! “Yahoo! I done got one of them permits to drive!  Now I don’t have to black out my windows as much!”

I also imagine that waves of tourists and immigrants decide, en mass, that THEIR way of driving in their country is just as good as or better than ours, so why read the damn manual anyway?  A friend, who is originally from India, once showed me a video on YouTube that showed a typical Indian intersection.  It looked like crazy, drunken ants racing to cross each other, stop, rub noses or scents and scurry on, right after you shove a large stick into their anthill and stir it up.  It was insanity! It very much resembles trying to merge onto the 408 from I-4, and I know you know what I mean.

So, among this imagining I do while in the car, I had to come up with some hypothesis to explain the utter lack of people using blinkers in this state.  I mean, honestly…why WOULD seemingly law-abiding citizens deliberately flout this very simple procedure?  These are the same kind people that wave at me if I let them cut in front of me and my safe distance cushion.  I realize they were waving with one finger, but surely, if they are that polite, AND they have full range of motion in their arms, shoulders, elbows, wrists, hands and especially that middle finger, they MUST have the ability to simply reach 1 inch to the left of the steering wheel and flip that turn signal up or down.  Wouldn’t they?

So I came to the obvious conclusion that cars sold in Florida must no longer have turn signals installed.  That of course, led to how that might have happened, and in the middle of the recent political climate, it was an easy leap to come up with that scenario.  Governor tries to help the people, a suggestion is whispered, and something crazy becomes the norm.    I do hope someone whispers to Rick Scott that millions of jobs can be created if we simply put the unemployed to work re-installing the turn signals and teaching drivers how to use them.

Governor Rick Scott: “I need something to deflect concern that I might be a crook.”

Underling: “Well, you know all those tickets we wrote for not using turn signals?  Seems that is pretty much unenforceable since Charlie had blinkers removed in 2006.  We’re going to lose $2 billion in funding for schools.

Gov Rick “Our citation money is funding schools? That’s gotta stop.”

Underling: “Since lawsuits are going to suck up that money anyway, why don’t we just close the schools, have the teachers reinstall the blinkers in all cars, and send stimulus checks to everyone who owns a BMW or better?”

Gov Scott. “Genius! Make it so, number one!”

*much could be inferred from my use of a Republican governor and underling.  Much could also be inferred from the fact that the last three governors in Florida just happen to be Republican, and I’m convinced SOMEONE had a hand in this.  Carry on.

A Theme Park Day in our Lives

Here’s another chapter in the “How on earth do you DO it, with so many kids?” book o’ questions.  On Sunday, we decided to visit Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure to take part in their holiday festivities.  We’ve been living in Central Florida for 11 years, and had not yet visited Grinchmas and the Macy’s parade at the two parks.  We were doubly excited because some new friends from homeschooling were going to meet us and hang with us, so it was going to be a fun day!  Now, readers of my blog know that we are not early risers here in the Kimball household, so you really ought to start off being impressed that our plans included arriving at the park by 9-9:15am.

7am-the first alarms go off.  Snooze.

7:09-the alarm goes off again.  Snooze.  (WHY again, are they only 9 minutes long??”

7:18-Again with the alarm.  Hear the big kids are up and helping the little girls get up. SCORE-reset the alarm for 8am.

8am-get up, mumble unintelligibly about having to get out of bed when it’s so dang cold!

8:15-finish shower, get dressed, change clothes twice.  It’s a toss-up between looking somewhat fashionable for my new friends, and trying to figure out exactly how cold it will be today.  There’s not a cloud in the sky, so it’ll warm up decently, so a fashionable t-shirt it is!

8:45  We all run around like chickens finishing up getting ready.  I’m in charge of the camera, and USUALLY I’m the one combing little girls’ hair.  Bill has grabbed the brush, so I am left adrift.  I realize that the camera is nearly full, so I begin deleting bad shots in earnest.  The big kids help the girls find shoes and one of them gets the diaper bag ready.  I won’t name this person (Alex) because we find later that he didn’t add any wipes to the wipes container.

9:15-We are outside.  This is a win, even though we’re about 30 minutes behind schedule.  20 minutes later, after arguments about who gets to sit next to Alex, and removing car seats just so the seats can be flipped down to access the 3^rd row and then the car seats get replaced, everyone is strapped in.  This is when Bill and I make 3-4 trips back into the house to retrieve forgotten items.  Jackets, phone chargers, diaper bags, the extra stroller, etc.  The big kids carry important items to the car, such as Fynnlie’s cup, Fynnlie..etc.

10:00-Parking at Universal.  As usual, we are the car selected to begin a new row, waaaaaaaay at the end.  Seriously tempted to show them my large belly and claim third trimester pregnancy to get them to let us park at the closer end.  It doesn’t always work.

10:05- The family abandons me at the bag check line.  All the bags/coats, wraps, cameras, water bottles etc. are stuffed into the bottom of the stroller, so they are free to go through the no-bag line while I stand there with “Raymond” the security guard as he pokes through my things and barks at me to keep the stroller off the moving sidewalks.

10:10 In through the front gates!  I collect all the tickets and put them in alphabetical order.  Much easier to tell whose is missing.

10:15 Pass Suess land to the chorus of “We wanna ride Cat in the Hat! We wanna ride One Fish Two Fish!”  These clamors come from girls who only said all the way in the car that they wanted to ride the Hippogriff coaster.  Harry Potter land is our priority, and we want to do it early before it gets busy.  However, we do stop to meet the Grinch, because there appears to be ZERO line.  The girls attack-hug him in the middle of a rant, and his heart grows two sizes.  The resulting photo is irresistible, so we spend 20 minutes negotiating the ridiculously complicated photo-buying process.

11:00-Arrive in Hogsmeade. Whoops, it’s already busy.  Bugger.  Let the big kids head to Dragon Challenge coaster since the line is not long.  Casadie and I walk through the line just to check out the props like the Weasley’s Car and the Triwizard Tent.  Casadie constantly fact-checks me to make sure I’m not actually trying to compel her to get ON the ride.

11:20-Fynnlie is grumpy and hard to manage at the moment.  Reaching into the “Raymond-the-Security-Guard-disturbed-pile-o-stuff” in the bottom of the stroller, we can’t find her cup.  It was carried securely and safely to the car, and then NOT placed securely or safely in the diaper bag.  *sigh*

11:45-The family, minus Bill and Fynnlie have successfully ridden the Flight of the Hippogriff coaster.  We go to park the stroller by the castle so we can all enter Hogwarts to ride the signature ride.  It’s warmer now, and most of us have shed our coats and placed them in the stroller.  Before going into the giant concrete castle, I check the phone to see if our friends have arrived in the park.  No messages, so in we go!

  At some point in the queue you go from inside back to the outside, and through rafters and bars, you can get a glimpse of the sky. It appears to have changed.  “Honey..those look like rain clouds.  It’s not supposed to rain right?”

12:00-Ride the best ride in the Universe. Ever.  Alex and Beth ride first, while Bill and I wait with the girls in the baby swap room. Fynnlie keeps trying to grab/disconnect some poor disabled child’s oxygen bottle.  This room is far too small for the amount of people that must stuff themselves in it.  Bonus though, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone is playing.  Bill and I get to go next, after giving the big kids dire warnings about letting Fynnlie switch off that kid’s lifeline.

12:20-Exit 8 people into a gift shop that is wall-to-wall people. Seriously.  There are as many people entering the store via the exit as there are people exiting the ride and into the store.  It’s a madhouse.  Strangely, most of these people are wearing ponchos.  And they’re wet.  Oh Snap.  It rained.

12:25.  Correction, it’s raining.  Now.  Drizzling.  It’s gotten much colder, and the little girls are pathetically shivering and rubbing their arms, and we are drawing attention as those horrible parents who didn’t put coats on their kids.  We rush to the stroller, slipping every five steps.  (Wizarding World needs non-skid, says former theme park manager)  Start stuffing kids in coats.  “My coat is all wet!” “Yuck!”  “I fell down again!”  I’m annoyed with one of my kids who darts in front of me and acts as though they’re going to go off with another family, so I hook the back of their shirt and begin dragging them back to us.  That’s when I realize, with horror, that it’s NOT MY KID.  I let him go and he throws me this half annoyed, half terrified look over his shoulder.  I jokingly tell his Mom “Oh, hey..I just almost took your kid with me..so sorry for the attempted kidnapping!”  She pretends to think it’s funny, but then quickly gets her family away from us.

At the risk of making this the longest post ever, I could continue to detail my day.  Suffice it to say, the rest of the day was cold, wet and miserable, weather-wise.  Our friends messaged us that they were extremely intelligent and decided to go home.  We will reschedule.  We, the Kimballs, decided to tough it out since we were already there and spent the rest of the day and evening having a fairly marvelous time despite the weather.  Overall, although each move from place to place was fairly chaotic and filled with headcounts, we had a wonderful time.  We left the two parks at 8pm, and drove home, wondering how Bill and I managed to work for 10 years in theme parks, and how after only a year and a half away, our bodies can’t even manage 9 hours.  Every joint hurts and will hurt worse in the morning. Can’t wait.  We grabbed some inexpensive take-out and headed home.  15 trips from the car to the house with pizza, breadsticks, sleeping children, diaper bags, Nintendo DS’s, cameras, and bags of purchases and we declared the day a success!

Casadie's Adventure

Take one girl who has loved to perform for adoring audiences since day one, add one mother who continues to search high and low for fun things for the kids to do, regardless of how busy the family is, toss in one very enticing radio ad, and stir.   Once things are good and mixed, put them in the oven for an hour, and there you have it! One custom-made, super-fun, adventurous journey for the Kimball Family!

Casadie has been charming acquaintances from the day she was born.  So much personality and love packed into one blond-haired, blue-eyed girl.  She adores meeting new people, and pulling them tightly into her circle of friends and family.  Meet her once, and within the 15 minute window of time that you talk to her, she'll be so adoring of you, that goodbyes are met with a pouty lip, a demanded hug and a promise that we will see each other again soon.  At home, she is a singer, a dancer, a miniature Lucille Ball, Carole Burnette and Lady Gaga all wrapped up in one package.  She belts out "Big girls don't cry", "Pokerface" and "Girls just wanna have fun" anytime you ask.  And mostly, during the times you don't ask.

She's been taking gymnastics now for a year.  Not regular, run-of-the-mill gymnastics, but Cirque-style gymnastics.  She's learning Rola Bola, Aerial Silks, Trapeze, Tightwire, etc, in addition to the standard trampoline and tumbling.  Orlando Circus School is one of her favorite places to be.  During the rehearsals for her Summer Camp performance, I watched her be one of the most mature, prepared performers.  She wasn't necessarily the best at any one particular art, but she knew everyone else's cues, and where everyone was supposed to be.  I watched her perfect her stage-whisper, helping the smaller children stay focused and on task without being overtly bossy.  She became a real leader.  I was proud.

So when the radio ad aired, inviting kids with an interest in acting to come audition for Adrian R'Mante's Celebrity Actor's Camp, I thought, "Why not?."  She didn't know why I got her out of bed at 7am one morning, or why I thrust a Shel Silverstein poem in front of her and told her to try and remember some of it.  It was several paragraphs, and she memorized it in less than an hour.  We arrived at the hotel, and saw dozens of other children, most dressed up so fancy with their make-up and hair all fixed.  We arrived in jeans and t-shirt.  We (I) felt a little conspicuous, maybe I didn't have a clue how to do this, and how to help my daughter succeed.  I sighed, and resigned myself to the idea that nothing would come of it, and we would just enjoy our morning together.

After a rousing introduction to the camp by a very energetic Adrian R'Mante, Casadie met briefly with a talent scout.  She said she loved gymnastics and that she was learning Russian.  Some notes were scribbled onto her form, and she was sent to the audition line.  I wasn't allowed to follow my baby into the curtained area where she would audition for Adrian, and waited nervously on a nearby chair.  In what seemed like nanoseconds, she was out, smiling and full of energy.  "He liked me! He said I was cute!"  I pestered her for more details, but she said she did her poem reading for him and he asked her some questions, and she couldn't remember them..  We were given some information about the camp, and told that if she was selected, she would get a call the next morning.

Casadie at the first day audition for the camp

The next day, I overslept, but didn't see any missed calls on my phone.  I jumped into the shower, and of course, that's when the talent scout called.  She left no message, and I spent the next couple of hours dialing her number every 15 minutes or so.  I worried that it was a one-call per household thing...you snooze, you lose kind of deal, and I had blown it with my desire for shampooed hair.  Stupid hygiene!  When finally I received a callback, they let me know that Casadie was invited to the camp, and that Adrian had really enjoyed her audition.  We were told to return to the hotel later that day for paperwork.  Bill and I sat and had a long talk about the cost, and did some preliminary research online.  Scams for children's acting gigs are rampant, and though we were confident this was not a scam, we wanted to be sure.  For every successful venture, you are bound to find naysayers online, and of course we did.  But we overwhelmingly found more positive comments than negative.  Adrian's camp is up-front about fees, and what they are covering.  He makes no promises about the children finding work, just promises that with hard work, and the chance to prove themselves, his camp will help them get a foot in the door.  He teaches both the children and the parents how to play the game, how to treat acting like a business, and what steps to take to get into this world. 

Casadie and Adrian R'Mante

Casadie and Adrian R'Mante

Although we could afford only the basic-level camp, we enrolled Casadie with enthusiasm.  Our philosophy is that a little learning is better than none, and any education you get, is exactly what you make of it.  My goal was for her to have fun, and for me to learn how to negotiate the world of agents and opportunities for her.  We got exactly what we paid for.  Casadie had an absolute BLAST at all of her camp sessions, and Adrian gave Bill and I tons of tips and solid information about how to go about getting headshots, how to have them printed, and how to distribute them.  Casadie also got to spent entire days working alongside and learning from her favorite celebrities, such as Adrian himself, Cameron Goodman, David DeLuise, Chester See and more.  We were sad to see the camp come to an end, but really, it was only a beginning.  She auditioned in front of an LA Casting Director, and some local agents.  She's already received a callback from a local agent, and we will be meeting with them this week to discuss representation.

Casadie getting last-minute tips from Adrian before her audition in front of several key people!

Moments after her audition.  She LOVES the feeling of performing and she came out dancing and running into our arms!

Just this week, she also received a call she was highly anticipating.  At the end of each regional camp across the country, Adrian selects a handful of campers to potentially attend an "Invitation-only" camp in Hollywood.  In July and August 2011, Casadie will spend 3 weeks learning the business from the inside out, and it will culminate in a performance in front of more LA-based agents and casting directors.  She will work with a number of working actors and celebrities, increasing her acting network.  Actors like to work with children they've worked with before, so these kids get offers routinely.  This thing could truly take off for her.  If it doesn't, she have an absolutely priceless memory for the rest of her life.  Figuring out the money and logistics is the next step.  In addition to a very reasonable fee for a 3 week camp in Los Angeles, there are flights, lodging and incidental expenses to consider.  In a period of time where we're still trying to make ends meet while recovering from our layoffs, this might seem like a frivolous expense, but in reality, we know there's a short window here of opportunity, her interest and desire and her age level.  When this is easily affordable for us in a few years, they may not be casting blond-haired, blue eyed 13 year olds.  This might very well be the window that God opened when he closed the door on our careers.  Maybe I found homeschooling as a way of being more flexible and open to opportunities.  Maybe Bill and I are meant to manage our lives in a way that puts the children first, rather than our financial security.  Who knows? 

I'm very dedicated to making sure that if it does take off, Casadie knows normalcy in her life.  I will not raise the next Lindsey Lohan, I will not let acting usurp family.  Homeschooling and layoffs have brought our family closer and more connected, I will not allow anything to undo that.  But as I sit here, I can't help but hope that one day, I'll get to go sit in a theater, buy a tub of popcorn and a large soda, and sit down and watch my very talented, very lovable daughter act out her dream.