Should I cue up the Chicken Dance or hit publish?

So as I mentioned in my previous post, something bad did happen while we were on vacation last month.  I've been pondering whether I have the guts to post this, but now that I've actually been called out as a chicken by my friend Andy, who begged me to blog about this once she'd finished laughing her head off at me as I told her the story (really now, I share my deepest, darkest vacation horror story and she just flails about laughing.  Not a dollop of sympathy for my plight), I feel that I have no choice.

I'm warning you up front, any men who might read my blog regularly, occasionally or who accidentally stumble upon this whilst doing some creepo pervy Google search: this is NOT what you want to be reading.  Promise.  If you have never owned your own set of ovaries, do yourself a favor and move on.  Seriously.

Now that it's just us girls in here, I shall begin my Tale of Horror and Woe.

A few days before vacation, Kiddo, her grandma and I hit the outlet mall for some back to school shopping.  This was necessary because Kiddo decided to outgrow the sneakers we'd gotten for her in April, going through just one size in a year apparently not being good enough for her.  Annnnyhow, while we were there, I popped into the Jockey outlet, because I needed new undies and the outlet is my favorite (read: cheapest) place to get them.  I've worn plain, cotton, Jockey for Her undies for years now.  Decades, even.  So, we ducked into the shop, Kiddo on the verge of totally losing her shizzle, all of us low on shopping energy and motivation and hungry for lunch and I just wanted to grab what I needed and go.  I made my way back to the large display area where row after row of multipack Jockey for Hers can be found.  I paused briefly, trying to remember exactly which style it is I prefer.  (I once bought the wrong style and spent the next several months always feeling like the lower-riding-than-my-usual-kind-of-undies were falling down.  Way uncomfortable.)  My eye finally fell upon the kind I prefer, so I grabbed two boxes from the row with my size and headed to the register.  The next day, Hubby did all the pre-trip laundry (yes, I have that awesome a husband, y'all - he does the laundry all the time!) and when I went to pack, I found my new undies (including some colored ones for a change of pace - red!  Blue!  Red and blue paisley!) neatly folded and awaiting me.  I promptly packed those along with a couple other, older pairs out of my drawer and thought that was that.

Then I woke up that first morning of vacation in the hotel and grabbed a pair of my new undies out of the drawer.  "Hmmmmm," I thought to myself, "these seem a big bigger than usual."  I chalked it up to their being new and therefore not shrunken from being washed a thousand and ten times and hopped into the shower.  When it came time to get dressed, I stepped into them.  They were definitely...............roomier than I recalled.  Uh-oh.  I pulled on my shorts and discovered that once I'd fastened them, my new undies were showing above the waistband.  Well, not so much showing as billowing above the waistband of my shorts.  As in a few good inches of underwear material.  Ack.  I found myself tucking my underwear back into my shorts (because what is more comfortable in the heat of late summer Florida, not to mention more slimming, than having a few extra inches of fabric jammed about your midsection?) and trying to get on with my day.

Okay, menfolk, if you ignored me before and are still reading, seriously, you may want to check out for the rest of this.  It's not for you.  This is your last chance to bail out.

So, ladies, it turned out our trip coincided with that certain time of the month and as such, I had to utilize certain items in these voluminous drawers of mine.  Now, I prefer the external, winged variety of such items.  I had attempted to affix one of such items securely to the pertinent section of my, okay, I'm just gonna say it, my granny bloomers.  Off we went to the parks for a day of fun and excitement.  As we were walking from one thing to the next, I felt an odd sensation.  As though something had............. shifted.  Come unstuck, as it were.  And it had.  It had, I mean.  Unfortunately, it only came unstuck for the briefest of moments before resticking itself, backwards.

I'm going to give you a moment here to envision exactly to what the resticking occurred.  You with me?  Yep, I'm going to guess you are.

I shifted about as discreetly as possible, but no amount of shifting was going to help and in fact any and all movement was further complicating the situation.  I told Hubby I had to utilize the facilities, insisted on leaving Kiddo with him (as she normally accompanies me not only into the bathroom whenever we're out someplace in public, but also into the stall with me), and made my way as gingerly and speedily as I could to the nearest ladies' room. Yes, walking was trickier than usual in this situation.  In the stall, I discovered that what I had suspected was correct.  Egads.  I proceeded to cowboy up (no need to put on my big girl panties - already had that taken care of, now didn't I?) and rectify the situation as quickly and quietly as possible.

You know how painful it is to wax your eyebrows, or perhaps your upper lip?  This?  A thousand times worse.  If ever I had contemplated waxing anything below my chin (which I haven't, for the record), I am now soundly convinced not to, ever ever ever.  

When we got home, I pulled out a pair of the same style undies and checked the tags.  Turned out the granny bloomers I'd inadvertently bought were three sizes larger than my normal size.

(The black pair actually fit me.  The paisleys?  Not so much.)

Of course now that they'd been opened, washed and some worn, I can't exactly return them.  So now I know I'll be all set if I ever want to, say, go hang gliding or parasailing or if Kiddo wants a new swing for the backyard... and thus concludes my Tale of Vacation Woe, also known as How to Achieve a Partial Brazilian While Wearing a Ginormous Pair of Drawers. 

Vacation, all I ever wanted...

So, a week ago yesterday we got home from our best family vacation yet.  It was our annual End of Summer trip to Walt Disney World.  (In case you weren't already aware, the entire Smith family *big, red, puffy hearts* Walt Disney World.)  We really had a ridiculously spectacular time.  

We had a totally awesome room with a view in Kidani Village at Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge Resort....

We were chosen, out of the blue, to be the First Family of the Day one morning at Epcot:

 

 

Then, two days later, we got up slightly before the crack of dawn, put on our homemade, matching, bright yellow Disney shirts and headed out to the Magic Kingdom in the hopes of being chosen as First Family of the Day, but knowing that lightning doesn't often strike twice.  We were the first people onto the first monorail of the day and then the first people in line at the turnstiles.  We chatted with a lovely Cast Member (as all Disney employees are called) who worked at the turnstiles.  We were chosen.  It.  Was.  Amazing!!! 

First, Kiddo was given her very own envelope of pixie dust.  Then, we were taken on a tour through the Magic Kingdom in the antique fire truck, before the park opened.  The Cast Member giving us the tour even let Kiddo get behind the wheel...

It was a good thing the park was empty at that point!

 

We were hanging out in front of Mickey's house in Toontown when all of a sudden, a whole gang of characters (and I mean characters) showed up:

 

After shmoozing with the gang for a bit, we all boarded the train together...

 

The train pulled out of Toontown and made its way to the front of the park.  Alice in Wonderland and the White Rabbit were seated in the row directly behind us, and Princess Tiana and Prince Naveen (who, btw, *hubba hubba hubba* - total hottie!) and Chip & Dale were also in our car.  Kiddo chatted with all of them, cracking up Alice, Tiana and Naveen several times, but she was mostly enthralled by her new BFF:

Before we knew it, we were approaching the train station at Main St. USA and rolling right into the middle of the morning opening show - a show we've seen countless times before (we're diehard Rope Droppers) and a show to which we know every note and word of the medley.  It was surreal pulling in to the station and being part of the show instead of just a spectator singing along from down in the crowd.  (Not that I did, you know, sing along or anything.  Okay, fine, I did.  I sang a few bars as we stepped onto the platform.  But I didn't project or anything, nor did I engage in any dance moves.)

We were introduced to the crowd and got ready to officially open the park for the day by counting down with Mickey:

 

After we opened the park, we had a little more quality time with the big Cheese and one last photo op -

and then we had to say goodbye to Mickey because he had places to be and people to see.  It was a somewhat bittersweet parting.

Being First Family of the Day at the Magic Kingdom was really a dream come true.  It was so incredibly cool and fun and we wish we had a video recording of every single second of it.  We did luck out in that a woman who belongs to a Disney-related message board that Hubby frequents happened to be in the crowd at Rope Drop that day and she sent us the video of the show portion, which was so awesome of her - a total stranger! - to do for us and we were so psyched to get.

Besides the Nothing Will Ever Top This Unless We Get to Have a Dinner with George Clooney and Hugh Jackman Instead of all the Princesses aspects of the trip, there was all the usual fun.

The traditional spin on the Flying Dumbos...

Kiddo and I also did our traditional self portrait while riding the boat across the lagoon to the World Showcase at Epcot -

We met lots of various characters, royal or otherwise:

  

 

 

 

 

We ate lots of fantabulous food -

 

Teppan Edo, one of our all-time favorite WDW restaurants

Hubby pretending he's eating all the table's bread pudding at 'Ohana

 

dessert at the 50s Prime Time Cafe

Hmmm, I seem to have mostly photographed desserts.  We ate lots of great other food, too, including steak and shrimp and lots of fruits and veggies.

Of course, there were also the rides.............

 

 

 

 

This ride is the Astro Orbiter.  Yes, it really is that high up. I refuse to ride this one anymore, and so was photographing with both feet safely on the (two stories up) platform.

Kiddo decided she was "big enough" and "brave enough" to ride some rides that in previous trips, she hasn't liked at all, namely Expedition Everest, the Tower of Terror and Dinosaur.  Now, I was quite skeptical about this, since she had most recently tried EE and ToT just last summer, but Hubby thought it was great that she wanted to try them again and so, she did.  And she hated each one.  Again.  (And yes, I might have unleashed an "I told you so!" or three, too.  Le sigh.)  One of her favorite rides at WDW, however, is Splash Mountain.  (It's actually a family favorite!)  Kiddo was clamoring to go on it the very afternoon we first arrived in Orlando, so we did.  Hubby brought along our new waterproof video camera and aimed it back over his shoulder at Kiddo and me when we reached the summit and took the first plunge on Splash Mountain for this trip.  Following, you will find a chronological series of stills taken from a maybe 5-6 second long segment of that video footage, starring Kiddo (and portions of my left boob):

 

 

Isn't that something, how Kiddo goes from giddy with joy to sheer terror back to giddy with joy again in a few second span?  In the last two frames, she is actually complaining that she didn't get wet enough and was still so dry that she wanted to go again.  So we did.  Several more times over our trip, as it turns out, and we recorded a few other splashdowns in this same manner.  Kiddo has the same gamut of emotions each time.  (Taken out of context, of course, there are a few stills there that might be alarming, but when you look at them in context or see the video footage - which Hubby has yet to edit and convert or whatever it is he needs to do to render it playable on the interwebz - it isn't so much alarming as it is just hilarious.  Even Kiddo cracks up watching it.)

As you can see from all the pictures above, for this pixie-dust sprinkled trip, there was sunshine the entire time.  The pool was delightful, all the folks we were seated with at the different restaurants were good company, the crowds were light to nonexistent.  There was nary a bad thing to be said for this particular vacation (besides the occasional blister from all that walking in sneakers while sweating profusely in the late summer, Central Florida heat).  Well, okay, there was one bad thing, and I promised my friend Andy I'd blog about it, so here goes, for those of you who are still reading all the way to this point.

Kiddo was eaten by a shark.

No, really, she was - look:

Okay, okay, fine, she wasn't.  I mean, she was, but it was just Bruce and he knows better, so he spit her back out pronto.  She's a bony little toothpick, anyhow, hardly an appetizer for a big shark like him.

There was something else that happened, but it deserves its own post - or rather, my fantabulous and lengthy vacation recap post deserves to stand on its own and not have the Vacation Tale of Feminine Woe spadged on to the end of it.  (In other words, yes, Andy, I'm chickening out.  For now - I cut and pasted the VToFW into a draft and will do a separate post soon.  I promise.)  

So, for now, I will leave you with fireworks over the castle and an end to the recap of our best vacation, ever!