Well, that was a harrowing start to the new year

Only two days into 2011 and I almost didn't make it. I almost went down in flames - and I'm not talking figuratively, here, either - earlier this afternoon.

It all started when I decided to make a quick run to the grocery store.  While I was really quite content to stay all cozy on the couch in my comfy clothes, tucked under a blanket with the copy of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo that I'd been waiting months and months for on the hold list at the library, but it seemed that no matter how powerful my lounging magic was, it wasn't powerful enough to conjure up a bag of tortilla chips, and tortilla chips, in case you didn't know, are a key ingredient to Sunday Night Nachos.  I'm fairly certain that had I attempted to make our Sunday Night Nachos out of the other snack food we had on hand - to wit, organic Cheez Doodles or sourdough pretzel nuggets - things wouldn't have gone well.  So, despite the almost irresistible draw of stay here and read a while longer that was being exerted upon me by the general conditions of the couch in the family room, I dragged myself away from the world of sloth and out into the snow to get some more Tostitos.

Just because I was going out in public didn't mean I'd have to, you know, get dressed for it or anything though, I reasoned to myself.  I mean, I did have a bra on (first time in '11 - woot) and was fully clothed, but I saw no reason to put on a pair of jeans when I was so cozily clad in a pair of these:

(Those, by the way, are not my legs, feet or abdomen.  Have I mentioned Sunday Night Nachos?  I don't think the model above has ever eaten Any Night Nachos.  Nor would I pair microfleece pants with bare feet in kicky ballet flats.  I don't own kicky ballet flats.  Kicky ballet flats make Heather's Hobbity Hooves look particularly ginormous.)

Anyhow, I threw on a fleece jacket, some wool socks and clogs and off I went.  I pulled on a pair of fleece gloves in the car because DANG it is cold again here in western NY.  What I'm trying to say here is, I was Primed for Major Static Happenings, had I paused to think about it for just a second.

This wasn't my first time wearing these delightfully comfy, microfleece yoga pants out in public, by the way.  Nope, I wore them all the way back from NJ to NY last weekend.  They've traveled, is what I'm saying.  Traveled with nary a hint of the horror that was to come my way as I trudged through the parking lot and into the store.

I noticed it first as I was briskly striding towards the entrance.  My pant legs felt a bit... snug.  I reached down and shook them out and kept going.  After all, one of the best features to a pair of yoga pants is their roominess.  Their embodiment of the exact antonymy of skintight.

By the time I'd gotten a cart and gone into the store proper, I realized that this was not just a momentary trouble.  My legs were wrapped in what appeared to be microfleece leggings, not yoga pants.  By the time I'd worked my way through the produce aisle and over to chips, my lower half was snap, crackle and popping as though my skin were made of Rice Krispies. Egads.  I caught another shopper's gaze traveling up and down me as she approached me near the crackers.  I was almost afraid to look down at myself, so I met her gaze with a jaunty "and???" look in response and kept on going.  Once safely past her Judgy McJudgerson glare, I risked a glance downward.  What had been comfy, microfleece yoga pants when I put them on at home were now Stage Five Clingers of highwater proportions.  I'm talking microfleece capris here, y'all.  It was not flattering.  (I'm not sure if I was drawing more ireful looks for the noise of the static electricity or the sight of my shrinkwrapped-in-microfleece legs and rear.  I'm pretty sure I was generating enough sparks to have a halo-effect of glow around me, though.)

There wasn't much I could do, besides shoplift a can of Static Guard from the shelves and make a break for the bathroom, but I was a bit worried that if I moved any more quickly, I'd actually burst into flames.  By this point, my hands were getting shocked every time I moved them the slightest bit on the cart handle.  I sounded as though I was hiding a popcorn popper in my undies.  I quite probably could've powered my neighborhood, if not the whole town, with the amount of electricity I was generating with each and every step.

Finally, I made it to the checkout, through the checkout and back outside.  Hoping that the falling snow would dampen the static, I walked as slowly as I dared back to the car.  I stopped a few times to tug the bottoms of my pantlegs down somewhere closer to my ankles (in retrospect, not having shaved probably didn't help matters - the stubble on my legs was standing straight up and likely contributing to the statickyness of it all).  I was so relieved to finally reach the safety of my vehicle where I could zap myself home in peace.

Can you imagine the headlines?  Stay at home mom dies in New Year's yoga pants conflagration....  Needless to say, I'm not wearing those pants, comfy as they may be, out in public again unless I douse them liberally with Static Guard first.

And how was your opening weekend of 2011?  Equally exciting but less combustible, I hope! 

 

How to age with dignity...

I believe that the older one gets, the more dignified one must be.  I mean, clearly one should aspire to be more like this:

than this (You really need to only watch the first 24 seconds of the following clip to get what I'm talking about...):

Now as it just so happens, we are currently wrapping up Heather's Birthdayweek*.  Yes, last Tuesday, I officially entered the End of My Late Thirties by turning 39.  Clearly, I needed to muster up all the dignity I could, now that my age has inexorably advanced another year.  Fortunately, my family was ready and willing to pitch in and aid me in my quest to age with dignity.

First, I received a lovely, talking/musical birthday card specially selected for me by my darling daughter.......

(It talks - in Wookiee - and then plays the Star Wars theme. Très raffiné, non?)

Then, when opening my birthday present from Kiddo and Hubby with suitable decorum, I sliced a small chunk out of my thumb on the corner of the box.  (Us elderly folk have thinner skin, you know.  We're quite delicate.  It wasn't that I was shrieking with glee as I tore into the packaging of my present, I swear.  That would not have been dignified in the least.)  Kiddo came to my rescue by providing this first aid:

(Confession: The above photo was a Dramatic Reenactment, as I've since recovered from my injury and am no longer in need of a stylish and dignified bandage for my thumb.)

I'm fairly certain I saw a similar bandage on the Queen of England's thumb in a photo a few months back...

Oh, and the present I got for my birthday?  Rock Band 3 - with keytar.

(Hubby, while taking the above picture: "You're not really going to take a picture to post on the internet of you in your jammies, are you?"  Me: "Of course I am!"  Cinéma vérité - doesn't get any more dignified than that!  Okay, maybe I should've opted for some soft focus vaseline-on-the-lens....  Also?  That was my attempt to look both dignified and rock-n-roll! simultaneously.)

Now, I've been playing the piano since I was four years old.  Four years old.  That means that as of last Tuesday, when I hit my late thirties (okay, fine, my late-late thirties), I've been playing the piano for thirty-five years.  I can read music.  I can sightread music, even.  I was sure I'd have the keytar locked down, is what I'm saying.  Turns out? Not so much.  I was only slightly more accurate playing the keytar parts than my cat would be.  (Speaking of the cat........

.....she enjoys Cheesy Eddie's carrot birthday cake with cream cheese frosting as much as the rest of the family.  But I digress...)

So, I tried to maintain my dignity whilst playing my new Rock Band 3 keytar, but I may have slipped with a colorful phrase or twelve while failing repeatedly to play the dang notes.  That is neither here nor there, however.

For dinner, I chose to go to a local Japanese restaurant for some teppanyaki deliciousness.  

True, the restaurant now occupies a building that was formerly a Hooters, then a Cheerleaders USA establishment, but it has been completely redone and reeks of classiness and elegance.  They don't even serve any drinks inside giant Buddha statues, for Pete's sake.  Being a teppanyaki style restaurant, the chef comes out and cooks the food right in front of you.  This enables the patrons to take part in the preparation of the meal, mainly by means of catching rice balls in their mouths which are flung at them by the chef.

Now some people

may not look terribly dignified while doing this...

(see how Hubby is gloating?  He was the only one at our table to succeed in actually catching the rice ball, rather than getting plonked in the face with a rice ball.)

Whereas I?

Dignified all the way, baby.  Jackie O couldn't have done it better.

Once we got home from our dinner (we were the only diners in the teppanyaki section, what with the major snow event occurring outside ((that I preferred to think of as "Mother Nature throwing confetti in honor of my big day")) and all), Hubby and Kiddo presented me with my Cheesy Eddie's carrot birthday cake, politely lit with just 4 candles instead of ablaze with 39.  (We more senior types can be lacking in proper lung capacity to blow out such a blaze, after all.)

This is how you blow out birthday candles with dignity:

I hope that you have learned a little something about growing old with grace and aging with dignity.  You're welcome.

* I long ago decided that an event as momentous as my birthday couldn't truly be contained in just one day.  Hence, Heather's BirthWEEK.  I celebrate it as often and heartily as possible.  In the past seven days, I have had three birthday lunches, one birthday brunch, one birthday coffee and two birthday dinners (well, one was a combo birthday-Christmas dinner, but such is the lot of the mid-late December baby).  Also, my Facebook wall was flooded with birthday wishes, which I adored receiving.  Seriously, I felt all Sally Field - "You like me! Right now, you like me!"   It just added to the awesomeness of my day.  Then even more messages came in over the course of the rest of my birthweek, which I'd gladly stretch out right up until Christmas, but remaining dignified really doesn't permit me to do.  Until next year...  My sincerest, most heartfelt thanks to all my family and friends who helped me celebrate this year.  You're all fantabulous!!!

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!