My head hurts, my feet are sore, and I want to sleep. NaBloPoMo, you kicked my butt. Or maybe it was the nine hours hiking around Disneyland in the driving wind. Either way, I am zonked.

Disneyland was freezing. Just. so. very. COLD. Where we live, it’s about 70 degrees all year long. We typically get a few weeks in the 80s over the summer, maybe even a few days in the 90s. In the winter, there’s usually a little cold patch where we get down into the 60s during the day. Sure, it gets chillier at night, but that’s irrelevant. When we pulled into the parking lot at ye old magic kingdom, our car thermometer registered 58 degrees. At ten thirty in the morning. With winds that ripped the kids’ hats right off their heads. Super.

So we pretty much froze all day. I’d dressed the baby in pants and a long sleeved shirt, then added an overall dress thingy “for extra warmth” (read: “because it was cute”). She got to wear all that, plus an extra pair of pants over the first pair, a sweatshirt with hood, and a pair of socks on her too-small-for-mittens hands. Sheesh. Too bad I didn’t think of bringing snow gear. Or even owning snow gear. We bought sweatshirts, hats, and gloves for the bigger kids, then left when we couldn’t get Owen to stop shivering.

Disneyland is always entertaining for Dane and I, since our kids aren’t familiar with most of the characters or storylines. Abigail wanted to meet the princesses (they have new princess digs, and if you wait in line for hours, you get to meet three of them), but she had to keep whispering to me, “Who’s this one? What’s her name?” Neither of the kids had heard of Jasmine before; they now think her name is “Jazz Man,” and that she’s an androgynous musician. Also, she asked Abigail how we traveled to Disneyland. “I told her we rode in our car,” Abigail related later. “She said she rode on a flying carpet. I told the truth.” So apparently she’s a lying musician.

We didn’t stick around for most of the princess storytelling shows, but we’ve done them in years past. They ask kids to shout out bits of trivia from the audience, stuff like “How many fairies does Sleeping Beauty meet?” and “What color was my dress at the ball?” My kids are the ones yelling, “Depends which version you’re reading!” and “What does it matter?” And let me tell you, my kids are not shy about shouting out. The actors always appreciate us.

There’s a promotion going on right now where some cast members have secret prizes to give away to random park visitors. Toward the end of the day, Dane mentioned that he was annoyed that we hadn’t yet won a million dollars.

Me: “Yeah, me too… Is that even one of the prizes?”
Him: “I don’t think so.”
Me: “Ah, well. That might explain it.”

We did end up winning a glittery tinkerbell pin right at the end of the day, though, so I guess that’s something.

And I managed to say: “You know what’s great about Disneyland? There’s never enough time to do everything in one trip. So we’ll have something to do next time!” I got it out about ten minutes before the kids realized we hadn’t been to the peter pan thing, or the storybook boat thing, or the… or the… And then I could say, “Right! Remember, that’s what’s great about Disneyland!” And that worked somehow.

Other things that worked, though I wasn’t expecting them to:
- The rule that lollipops live at Disneyland. Goodnight, lollipops! See you next year! And there were no tears.
- Me saying that we didn’t need to be sad when we left. Goodbye Disneyland! Again, no tears.
- Telling the kids to go to sleep in the car. Well, no, we expected that to work, though we always fear it won’t. And still, no tears! Almost makes you want to go to Disneyland more often, doesn’t it? Yeah, almost.

We’re packing the kids up and heading to Disneyland today. Because what says “relax and forget about the giant tree pieces” like a six-foot-tall mouse? Nothing I can think of.

If you need something to read, though, may I suggest a trip to Mamazine.com? I have a new essay up this week—check it out if you’ve got a few minutes to spare.

Tree update: It’s been chopped into enormous chunks and piled on my lawn. The tree-trimming crew also left a hand-painted (er, spray-painted) sign reading “free wood.” Very helpful. If you need a 200-pound wedge of eucalyptus, stop by my place.

The car is also gone. The tow truck man had the kids wave and yell good-bye to the car as he hoisted it onto his truck. Dane tells me the A-pillar was cracked (nope, I don’t know either) and the whole frame was warped such that the trunk wouldn’t open. Eh, whatever. It’s gone now.

I am still having trouble eating, sleeping, or otherwise acting like a normal human being. I think it will get better when the tree remnants are finally removed and when the phone calls stop (the insurance! the collision repair center! I don’t remember who else!) and when everything’s replaced… so, you know, not in the foreseeable future. Awesome.

My sister sent me this lovely graphic:

Which is funny, though I’m not dealing well with the idea that we really could have been flattened if the tree had decided to aim north instead of west. Or if it had fallen while we were in the car. Or while the kids were playing out in the yard. Okay, I’m going to go breathe deeply and not look out my front window for a bit.

Owen, this morning: “I wish there was a man dancing a paddywhack on my backpack. He could sing about knickknacks and throw bones at the dog.”

Ah, nursery rhymes.

Sorry, it’s easier to jot this stuff down than to tell you how we haven’t slept in three days and that I’m having a hard time choking food down and how I get panicky when I think about how the tree could have fallen differently. Yay!

And now for the crazy stuff.

Once upon a time last Thursday, I had a normal house, with a normal front yard and a normal car in the driveway. Then on Friday, the tree in our front yard decided it was bored with standing upright.

Well hello there, tree. Welcome to the ground.

It stood 50-60 feet tall; now it lays (mostly) quietly across my driveway. And my neighbor’s driveway. And the street.

Nice roots.

There was no rain, no wind. No car drove past to frighten it, no neighborhood pets were scampering nearby. Nothing. It just… fell.

And what do you think is under that tree now?

Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good sign.

The front and rear windshields are smashed, as are some of the other windows. And, you know, there are tree limbs in the roof, and that’s never good. We’ll see what it looks like when the tree comes off. Which it hasn’t yet, as tree trimming crews don’t so much like to do emergency tree removal on holiday weekends.

So that’s been my weekend. There’s more to tell, but it will have to wait. I’m exhausted. And those pictures make me a little queasy. Hope you’re all well and without any sort of arboreal interference in your households!

“How was your Thanksgiving?” a friend just asked me via email.

“Thanksgiving was, you know, a lot of people and a meal with a turkey. Then we did it again at Dane’s parents’ house today. Except we skipped the meal part,” I replied, and that pretty much sums it up.

Though by now “today” is actually “yesterday,” and I didn’t really cover the part where one of the cousins brought a scooter, which the kids took turns zooming around INSIDE the house, or the part where the kids collectively talked Grandma into just ONE MORE piece of cake each, followed by a teensy bit more pie, then maybe just a spoonful of frosting scooped off the cake platter, then, then… then Dane had to step in because the little sugar loons might have stormed the kitchen and accidentally taken out Grandma in pursuit of whipped cream. Though probably not, since she wasn’t holding it hostage or anything.

In other news: I am no longer being critiqued over my sneeze style, and Dane raised mild objections to the insinuation that he might be dopey. He’s right, he’s not at all dopey. He’s really more of a doc, unless he’s sleepy. (Honestly, I haven’t watched that movie in twenty years, I don’t remember any of them.)

Also Owen’s fighting some kinda germy thing, and some other crazy stuff is going on around here that I will tell you all about… soon. But not tonight, because I have to go deal with the crazy stuff some more. Hope you’re all enjoying the weekend!

ME: Aaah-CHOOOOOO!
DANE: Well, that was unnecessarily noisy.
ME: What do you mean by “unnecessarily”?
DANE: You could have made your point at half that volume.
ME: (Expression of bewilderment, possibly followed by the evil eye.)
DANE: Ha… ha ha ha?
ME: (More of the same.)

later…

ME: Aaah-CHOOOOOO!
DANE: Bless you.
ME: Uh-huh, sure.

Thanksgiving. Had dinner at my parents’ house. Dinner was supposed to be at three. We got there at four. I think we ate at five. We got home around eight, and the kids could not fall asleep (or even hold still long enough to have pajamas pulled on over their heads) for at least half an hour after that. It’s 9:30 now. Two out of three kids asleep.

Dane just headed back to my parents’ to pick up leftovers. At least that’s what I think he’s doing. We didn’t finish our traditional 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle this year, so it’s possible he’s actually gone to work on that rather than to surreptitiously pillage their fridge. We’ll see. Can I go to bed yet? My brain has turned to mush.

We get to do the whole thing again tomorrow. In our family we celebrate Thanksgiving twice. Not joking. Thursday with my parents and everyone they know, Friday with Dane’s parents and assorted relatives. I’ll try to be more entertaining in relating the next round; I don’t think anything funny happened at all today.

We brought a pumpkin cake. (When I announced to my brother over the phone that I planned to bake a pumpkin cake, he said, “Well, to start with, it’s supposed to be pumpkin pie, not pumpkin cake. That’s your first problem.” I didn’t ask what my other problems were.) Owen walked in the door today, immediately got himself picked up by an uncle, and proclaimed, “We brought a pumpkin cake!”

“Tell him who made it,” I urged.
“Dad bought it at the store.”
“Yeah? The store?” asked my brother, who already knew I spent an hour mixing up cake ingredients with two under-four-foot-tall helpers.
“Yeah, he bought it with dollars.”
“No, where did we get it?” I asked again.
“The STORE,” he repeated, clearly tired of explaining.
“Okay, but who mixed it?” I asked. Maybe a new angle would get him to change his story! I should totally have been a police detective.
“Me!” he cried, pointing proudly to his chest with his skinny little index finger.
“You mixed it yourself, then sold it to the store, then your daddy bought it back?” my brother asked.
“Yes.” Owen smiled, apparently glad someone understood him.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Thoughts to ponder. Also known as “random magnetic poetry sentence fragments left on my fridge by small children.” No, they don’t go together. Mostly. (Whaddya want from me, it’s day 22 AND almost a holiday!)

I have the eternity ship & a garden

summer stars nod

you will live bare. I? No.

Abigail is a winter woman
Audrey is good
Owen is a begger for sweets (by Abigail.)

Have a lovely Thanksgiving! Unless you don’t happen to celebrate it, in which case: Have a lovely Thursday.

I put Audrey down for her nap today, then came out to the kitchen to discover Owen standing on a step stool gazing at the kitchen counter. That’s never a good sign, but I didn’t spot anything out of place, and as he wasn’t actually ON the counter, I just shooed him back to his quiet time activity and sat down with my cup of tea. My warm-but-not-too-hot, super-honeyed, slow-brewed tea, which I had boiled water for an hour ago so it would be ready at this precise moment.

This morning, before I brewed my tea, before quiet time, Abigail and Owen spent a while painting. We broke out all the paint supplies: brushes, paint, and sponges cut into interesting shapes. Being the conscientious housekeeper that I am (what? Stop laughing. Pick yourself up off the floor and keep reading), I rinsed all the painting tools right away and left them on the counter to dry.

But! Back to the tea. I picked up my mug and put it to my lips, only to discover… come on, you must have guessed by now… yes, that’s right, my mug was now filled with six discolored sponges, one crammed in after the other.

Is it still Monday around here or something? Because paint sponges floating in my caffeinated beverage feels like Monday to me. Oh well. Goodbye, tea. Goodbye, expectation of being revived during quiet time. I’ll miss you.