If I had an entire weekend to myself ...

I would remember what it was like to be a single woman when I could:
- Sleep in late. Really late
- Do a vigorous martial arts workout
- Lunch and gossip with the girls
- See an art flick or rent the latest in world cinema
- Take a long bubble bath and do all my favorite primping things
- Whip up some comfort food (I'm thinking roasted chicken, rice and a simple salad)
- Read the Sunday New York Times from end to end

And I would never keep close track of the clock.

In keeping up a crazy schedule of mothering and working and housework, I've given up most of these things, though I still reach for a little bit of "me time" each week.
If I'm lucky, I'll at least do the bubble bath and the aerobic workout - while I've got the laundry and the dishwasher running at full tilt.

Moral of the story: You can have it all if you multi-task.

Sharks, whales, eels, OH MY!

Maybe this post will explain my slack in recent postings.

When it comes to the theme parks, I fall squarely in the category of residents who only go when a visiting family member or friend wants to go. I guess it's that same mentality that prevents some New Yorkers from ever going to the Statue of Liberty.

Because Orlando remains one of America's top destinations, I have, by default, been to most of the parks over my decade-long span in the Sunshine State.

However, I have resisted taking my son to the parks since
A: he's been too young to fully appreciate it (and therefore for me to get my money's worth)
B: I have this weird notion that postponing a trip to see the Mouse may somehow limit his exposure to commercialism. (Yes, naive, I know, since he already has established brand loyalty to various products)

I finally backed down and took the boy to SeaWorld recently, when my college roommate came to town to do the theme-park circuit with her family.

Given my boy's thorough knowledge of animals, I figured this would be a great trip.

It didn't disappoint since there were plenty of dolphins, sharks, turtles, sea lions and penguins to keep him entertained. It was nice too that we were there with a boy his same age and they got to be friends.

The orca whale show, the park's premiere event, did NOT get good reviews. I guess killer whales aren't his thing, though my son (the budding karaoke ham) did prove that he was paying attention to the audience chant during the show and was shouting "Shamu! Shamu" during bath time the other night.

All in a day's work

In my job, I often come across oddities that will never ever be printed for general public consumption.

Example #1 - We have just passed the core weeks of Spring Break in Florida. At the peak of the season, a couple of us went to a local convenience store for a cup of coffee. But none of the coffee or soda machine stations had any cups. ZERO!
The clerk asked what size cup we needed and handed us over the cups. She explained that they had to keep them out of general public reach because the Spring Breaker visitors will take a cup, walk to the back corner of the store, open a beer, pour it into the cup, then pay for it as if it were soda.
I must be totally out of touch to comprehend that not only does one person do this, but enough people to require special storage for the cups.

Example #2 - Every now and again, we get a notice that someone in our area hit the lottery. If the jackpot is big enough, we'll do a story. The bigger the prize, the bigger the story.
Anyway, a colleague called up a lottery winner for a story. The adult son answered the phone and knew nothing about the lottery winnings. Conversation ended.
A few hours later, my colleague reaches the lottery winner who was LIVID that the newspaper had called. He and his wife had been apparently trying to keep the jackpot secret from their son.
Screaming on the phone, he explained that his son is a crackhead and would probably end up going on the worst drug binge, now knowing that his parents had hit the lottery.

You can't make this stuff up.

Lumpy blanket

One of the great things about 3-year-olds is that a simple joke can take on a new life and become a game. An obsession, even.

A couple of weeks ago, my son hid under his favorite blanket. I decided to play along, saying, “Oh, I can’t see you. But wait? What is this? It’s a lumpy blanket.”

I patted the top of the lumpy blanket, provoking a fit of giggles that would not stop.
Then I pulled the blanket off, discovering the giggler underneath.

We took turns being the lumpy blanket.
We added variations to the lumpy blanket: the rolling lumpy blanket, the kicking lumpy blanket, the lumpy blanket that tickled anyone that tried to pat the lumpy blanket.
We did lumpy blanket in his bedroom, in my bedroom, on the couch. We have used every blanket in the house at least once for this. My own bed seems to be in a constant state of being unmade because of all of this.

Today, in the span of a 10-hour day of play, we did about 5 rounds of lumpy blanket.

Funny thing is, when it’s actually bed time, my son throws off the covers.
“I don’t want my blanket now,” he whines.