In a scant two weeks, we are hitting the house of the mouse for a mini family vacation and my big race.  I’m pretty excited, and I think the kids are going to have a blast.  But I turn to you, dear internets, for tips on handling Disney World with two 2.5-year-olds.

We are staying on resort property (not on the monorail). We will be there basically 3 1/2 days.  I know that, as the kids are under 3 years old, they do not require park tickets and can even eat off of our plates at restaurants (thanks for that tip!).  I have every intention of coming back to the hotel for nap each afternoon. For this trip, I do not plan on leaving WDW to see other Orlando attractions.

Any spots or rides that we should make sure to visit? Just as importantly, any we should absolutely avoid?

While we almost never use a stroller day-to-day anymore, I’m thinking one is critical for the parks. Is it worth it to try to bring the BOB? I know the daily stroller rentals in the parks are pricey ($27/day if you pay in advance), but is it worth it to avoid the hassle of bringing our own?

I did go ahead and make reservations for a character breakfast. They may love it, they may freak out, but I’m taking the chance.

What are your favorite tips and tricks for Disney World with the under-3 set?

Is there anything more fun than holiday airline travel with two toddlers? Only when you get to do it by yourself.

That’s right, our frequent-flying family marked a new milestone over the weekend: our first flight with only one adult.  And we survived.

Of course, I suppose I wouldn’t have done it in the first place if I didn’t feel confident that I could do it.  Not only do we already have 15 or so round-trips already under our collective belt, but the kids are older now and (at least theoretically) able to comprehend and follow simple instructions.  So, when we had to plan the trip with M heading home five days before the rest of us (stupid on-call schedule), I was OK with it.

Then, I got lucky.  Turns out my mom and stepdad had a flight to Florida, on the same airline as us, leaving within half an hour of ours.  Brilliant! Two extra (adoring) adults to help us through security! The stars have aligned!

Or, not. My flight was canceled.  My options were to fly out the same day on the 9:50pm flight (arriving at 1 in the morning), or go the next morning at 8:30am.  Desperate as I was to get home, the late night flight just screamed of disaster.  So we stayed over, and I got to get the whole crew (and all of our crap) moving before sunrise.

The long and short of it is that we did fine. I psyched myself up to keep my happy cheerleader/lots-of-praise mom face on. Such good cooperating! Great listening! What big kids you are! I did my very best to remain sympathetic to tired, whiny requests to be picked up. I took advantage of the skycaps, and looked pathetic and desperate enough that someone moved me to the shorter security line and no one blinked when I said the carseats needed to be hand-inspected. The Travelmates remain one of the greatest inventions of all time, and we have gotten more than our money’s worth over the last two years. I couldn’t have made it to our gate without them.

A well-placed Starbucks with Odwalla smoothies and bananas made for a “special treat” kind of breakfast.

With two kids and one adult in the same row, there’s not enough space for both carseats.  Thankfully, we “practiced” going sans carseats for the first time on the way in, when we still had a second adult. This time, we were ready for the gate-check, and the kids carried their own backpacks.

As an aside, if you’re considering doing this for the first time, check to see what plane the airline usually flies on your chosen route.  I’m a die-hard JetBlue fan and fly them whenever possible. But the plane that does the Boston-Chicago route is only four seats across (two and two), so it simply wasn’t an option.  We switched to American simply because the plane in question had three seats together.

Anyways, the usual bag o’ snacks was a good hit, as were carefully-rationed treats. Daniel kept himself busy with two of our favorite iPhone apps (Wheels on the Bus and Itsy Bitsy Spider).  Rebecca was entertained for most of our ground delay (woo, de-icing) by the “stories” conveniently available in the pocket in front of her.

And then, of course, there is the savior of parents everywhere: the portable DVD player with two headphone jacks and Cars.  Rebecca watched the entire thing, only getting antsy and tired as we approached the end of our flight (and naptime).  Daniel was on headphone strike, but still watched most of it without audio.

A super-friendly and helpful flight attendant let them play with an empty plastic coffee pot and the flashlight on his keychain while we waited to get off, and even held their hands all the way out of the jetway while I wrangled the carseats.

And when we walked through the doors past security and the kids ran shrieking to Daddy, I almost burst into tears from joy and exhaustion. My four-hour nap that day was well-earned, and I can now check off another accomplishment.  While I wouldn’t say it was exactly easy, I now know I can do it.

Staying at your parents’ house as an adult is a weird thing, isn’t it? Some things you see with fresh eyes, and other times you revert back to an awkward preteen.  I’ve noticed some habits working both for and against me this week.

On the positive side, it would seem that 4+ months of regular exercise is actually becoming an ingrained habit.  Oh sure, part of it is that I’m only about three pounds away from my first weight-related goal, and I don’t want to get completely sidetracked while I’m here.  But really, when have I ever brought an exercise DVD with me to (either of) my parents’ house(s)?  When have I ever used the treadmill they have in their basements?  That would be a big, fat never.

And yet, here I am.  I have done the Shred. I have progressed to Week 3 of the Couch-to-5K program (yes, I’m trying to run… more on that later).  I have exercised more days than not.  And I’m glad.

I’m particularly glad, because the flipside is that old eating habits die really hard.  I’ve been reasonably good with my eating these last few months (hence the 3-pounds-from-first-goal thing). But much of my success has come from controlling what foods I have access to. I haven’t purchased a pint of ice cream since the summer. I have baked shockingly few cookies (by my standards). I don’t keep crap in the house, so I can’t eat it.  I have a pretty limited menu, but it works for me.

And then I get here. Without even thinking, I walk into my dad’s kitchen and open the doors to the pantry to peruse the junk food. Cookies. Chips. All variety of things that I don’t ever buy, but find almost impossible to resist when they’re right there in my face. No control over what is served at big family dinners. Dad buys a dozen bagels (from my favorite bagel shop) for breakfast.  Ugh.

I’ve tried to keep some of my go-to items on hand, and have tried to stick to my 8PM rule.  But, clearly, four well-behaved months have not cured me of 30 years of bad eating habits.

But still, I will try to keep fighting the good fight, and not beat myself up too much for what happens here, away from home.  Just a few more days, and I’ll be back in my own space.  In the meantime, pass the cookies…

Oh, the fun things you get to do.

Play an improvised game of ping pong ON TOP of the ping pong table.

Have smoothies for breakfast on the kitchen floor with grandma.

Dig in to extra baby shower cake with grandpa.

Visit an aquarium way cooler than our own.

Hang out with seldom-seen (or never-before-seen) family.

And wear goggles at any time of day or night.

Yesterday, I left my kids.  My husband, too.  Walked out the door, drove to the airport, got on a plane, and flew most of the way across the country. I ran away. And I’m glad I did.

It was about a month and a half ago that I was nearly crawling out of my own skin with the need for a break. Within a few days, I found out about a quilting retreat and booked the trip before I could have second thoughts. Just what the doctor ordered.

Last week, I was making small talk with a woman at my local quilting shop about the fact that I was looking forward to going on this trip, and made some comment about being just as excited to get away from my kids for a few days.

“You’re so bad!”, she said.

I know she was partly just teasing me, but I also know that there is some truth behind most jokes.  I could tell there was a part of her that was chiding me for being excited to leave my children.  And there was a part of me that was doing the same thing.

I got home from that shopping trip and vented to M. Don’t judge me, lady! Moms need a break, too! Taking care of kids full-time is stressful! M nodded at all the right times, reaffirmed my right to a weekend of my own, and mostly just let the issue drop.

But I would be lying if I said I felt no guilt as I packed for my trip. Part of it, I think, was the fact that I know this all came about as a way to run away. Escape my responsibilities. All of a sudden, I felt overwhelmed. I’m so lucky to have really wonderful, sweet, smart, healthy, happy kids. I’m so lucky that I get to be at home with them full-time. How could I act so thankless and just leave them, as though they’re nothing but a burden?

Intellectually, of course, I know that’s faulty logic. The fact that raising two kids is an enormous source of stress does not negate the fact that it’s also an enormous source of pride and joy.  Being a stay-at-home mom is an incredible opportunity. But even people who work at their dream jobs still go home for the weekend and take vacation days.  This weekend away is an indulgence, but not an undeserved one.

And so, here I sit. In my four-poster bed in a quiet room at an inn in Colorado. Downstairs, the innkeeper is making pumpkin french toast for breakfast. There’s a dozen or so of us who started chatting and sewing and geeking out about fabric from the moment we got here yesterday, and we will spend all of today doing the same.

M is at home with the kids, rocking the “dad about town” thing. He took them to the Children’s Museum, a bookstore, and out for dinner yesterday. Today they’re going swimming (after they get their H1N1 shots). M will be exhausted by the end of the weekend, but everyone is having a great time.

Tomorrow evening, I’ll fly back home. I’ll sneak into the kids’ room when I arrive and be so happy to see their sweet, sleeping faces.  And Monday morning, though I’ll be tired from my late flight, I’ll have a little more energy and patience.

Guilt or no guilt, we will all benefit.

So, yes, we were in Florida again this past weekend. I’m not even sure anymore how many trips we’ve taken with the kids. My best guess is that it’s about 13. Which works out to a round-trip plane flight every two months of their lives. It’s pretty crazy, but the upside is that they’re generally good travelers and we’ve got the process down pretty well.

Anyways, this trip was to visit M’s family, both because it was Rosh Hashanah and because his grandmother is not well and could use the pick-me-up of some great-grandchild visits.  There were some late bedtimes, some disrupted sleep, a fair amount of crankiness, and a broken air conditioner.  But there was also a lot of pool time, the kids’ first matzo ball soup and challah, and a truly impressive stint at an Italian restaurant where the kids were cooperative and well-behaved for over an hour and a half and Daniel ate a ton of ravioli.  All in all, not a bad trip.

We had a late flight last night, which meant the kids didn’t get to bed until 10:45PM, three hours later than normal.  So how late did they sleep in today?  7:03. Earlier than usual.  Awesome.  But man, were they full of energy!

They’ve been a bit on edge today, what with the sleep deficit, the new space, the lots-of-people-up-in-their-business, and the heat.  Plus, the air conditioning may have broken.  But their presence makes an awful lot of people happy, so there you have it.

L’Shana Tovah to the members of the tribe out there.  Happy 5770!

I’m here, I’m home.

Been home for days, actually.  And yet, have written nothing.

I’m in that slightly crazed, disorganized post-vacation mode. Getting back into the swing of things, shopping for groceries, doing laundry. You know, boring stuff that needs to be done before you can feel settled again.

Except, I’m feeling very un-settled.  For one thing, my house is making me crazy.  Maybe it was two weeks with my parents, who not only have larger houses than I do, but also keep them a hell of a lot cleaner. Happy as I was to be home, I walked in my door and felt claustrophobic.  Smaller space, yes, but oh my god the clutter! So much crap! You know how you live with something long enough that you just stop seeing it?  Well, I was away for long enough that I see it again.  With a big, glaring spotlight on it.

The trouble is this: when do I deal with it?  Most of my waking hours are with the kids, who are not exactly helpful when it comes to purging a house of all of its excess crap. Indeed, they seem to be magnets for the stuff.  That leaves me with the 2-ish hours that they nap, and the 3-ish hours between when they go to bed and when I do.

That should be plenty of time, of course, but I end up doing other things. Eating lunch, taking a shower, lots of sewing, blog reading, and hiding in my bedroom with it’s blessed air conditioning window unit (holy crap, summer has finally arrived).  Alas.  Sometimes I wish I could either send the kids away for a day or two in order to get things done, or pay one of those people who make it their profession to throw out other people’s shit.

This all feels even more pressing to me than before, I think because in my own head I would like to imagine that we’ll be trying to sell our house sometime in the next year or so.  I have no practical reason to believe that’s true, but it’s in my head, so there you have it.  And it most certainly could not go on the market in its current state.

More tomorrow on other stuff that’s bugging me (I know, aren’t you excited!), but in the meantime, a few of my favorite pictures from our trip.

We’re back from the lake, with a few more days in my hometown before we fly home to Boston.  The lake was great in a lot of ways. Until yesterday.

Becca is a dog lover, and was in dog heaven up at the lake.  There were three or four dogs there at all times, and she hugged them all.  My mom’s dog, in particular, is a long-time favorite whom she always asks to see when we call Grandma on Skype.  They were back to being BFFs.

Then, I’m not sure what happened. Maybe she wiggled the wrong way, but this 120+ pound dog barked like he was in a dog fight and bit my daughter on the face.

To jump to the “end” of the story, she’s OK.

But, not surprisingly, she was hysterical. I was hysterical. My child was bit by a dog, how could I not be beside myself?

My mom said almost nothing.

A minute or so later, she did bring the dog into another room. But there was no consequence. No reaction to the dog’s behavior.  Yes, I know that dogs are animals and you always have to be careful. And yes, I know my mom is really into her positive training methods.  But are you kidding me? Nothing?  As you might imagine, I’m livid. I barely spoke to my mom the rest of the day, and not much at all today before we left.

She did make a concerted effort to keep the dog away from the kids for the rest of our time there. And I know she was upset and felt badly. And I know she’s under a lot of other stress at the moment. But I’m pretty darn furious.  And I get even more mad every time I look at my sweet girl and the red cut on her ear.

Or when I looked over at the carseat on the drive home today and saw that deceptively deep bruise in the middle of her cheek.

Thankfully, she’s just fine. It could have been much, much worse. It doesn’t seem to be bothering her in terms of pain. And much to my relief, she did not display any fear around any of the dogs after it happened, even wanting to give more hugs to the offender himself.  The last thing I want is for my little animal-lover to be afraid of dogs.

But, yeah. This mama bear is pretty damn pissed right now.

Today, my kids are two years old.

I don’t have the time to properly reflect. We’re back for a moment at my dad’s house, but I’m frantically re-packing for this afternoon’s 6+ hour drive up to northern Wisconsin. We aren’t leaving until after their nap. Pray for me.

We took the kids to one of my favorite breakfast places this morning for a special birthday treat. We ordered things they love: oatmeal for Rebecca, pancakes for Daniel. They elected to eat some of the raisins that came with Rebecca’s oatmeal, all of the whole blueberries out of Daniel’s blueberry syrup, and a wedge of lemon, each.

Seems about right, don’t you think?

Anyways, we’re off to the north woods, so posting will be sparse if at all this next week. I’ll probably use Twitter from my phone, but that’s about it.  Have a great week, everyone!