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Gatorland

This classic Orlando tourist attraction predates Disney World and is impressive for many reasons, not the least of which is its mere survival.

One of the reasons why I like places like Gatorland so much (and there are a lot of them in Florida) is that they get away with stuff that would never fly at the Magic Kingdom.

Where else can you hold an alligator (or ball python) for ten bucks? That is, except for the kiosk at the local outlet mall.

Name another zoo where you are encouraged to feed uncooked hot dogs to the wildlife.

I know! I know!

At Gatorland, you can touch just about everything, except for the gators. The disappointment of not being able to pet a large reptile, however, is tempered by the excitement of watching grown men come close to losing their lives. The lack of obvious safety measures is one of the things that appeals most to me about Gatorland.




Today we observed two workers playing games on their cell phones while sitting inside an alligator enclosure, less than three feet away from several animals. The two most popular shows at Gatorland feature alligators that "jump" (in the spirit of Shamu) out of the water for hot dogs and chicken parts and a dude who gets into an enclosure and "wrestles" with the creatures.

Unlike Disney World, which somehow seduces people of normal intelligence into feeling so comfortable with themselves that they don mouse ears, Gatorland makes its visitors feel slightly uneasy the whole time they are there. I got the distinct sense that if I hung around an enclosure long enough that I would witness someone lose their fingers or toes...or worse.


"I've always wanted one of those," Kellen told me when we were in the gift shop. He pointed to a table that contained several real life gator heads and a plastic cobra, coiled and ready to strike.

"Nope," I replied. "I'm all out of money."

I did manage to scrounge up a few bucks, however, for a pack of hot dogs.

***
Tomorrow is the last day to register for the $100 visa gift card sponsored by OnStar. Sign up HERE.

Where Love Comes to Die

There has not been one day this week where I have not found insects copulating in my hair.

No, I don't have lice.

It's love bug season in Florida, which means that if spend any time at all outside, the odds are very high that you will either see insects mating around you, or, if you are particularly lucky, they will mate on you.

They are EVERYWHERE.

For reasons which I don't understand, my front door seems to serve as an unofficial insect love motel. Every morning, we wake up to find thousands of bugs on our doorstep, all of them dead.


We also find several hundred more in our house.

Yesterday, I found one in my two year-old's mouth. Tasty.

I'm sure there is a perfectly sound scientific reason for why love is coming to die at my doorstep (maybe love bugs are like salmon who swim upstream and then die after laying their eggs) but I'm not sure I want to know what that is, especially if it involves my house being some sort of mating ground for every kind of animal that gives me the creeps.

First the rats. Then the cobras. Now the bugs. Next the tarantulas and howler monkeys.

Only three more days to sign up for the Visa card giveaway sponsored by Onstar! Go HERE to enter.

The See-Through Poncho

"Why are all women's shirts these days basically see-through ponchos?"




There wasn't anyone else around when I came home from Marshalls, so I had to ask my husband.

"I believe the proper term is 'sheer,'" he corrected. He didn't have a good answer for why none of the shirts had waists.

I tried on five of these types of shirts at the discount retailer, including one that looked like a Navajo blanket, and I will tell you this: whatever they are, they aren't flattering. At least on me.



"Maybe you just don't know how to wear them," my husband suggested.

I can't say that I didn't try. There was a mannequin at Old Navy that was wearing a poncho and skinny jeans. I brought the exact same outfit into the dressing room and tried it on.

"The looser the shirt is on top, the tighter your pants need to be on bottom," the clerk explained. "It's all about proportion."

And boots. She told me the key to jazzing up a poncho is pairing it with an excessive number of uncomfortable accessories. She recommended a thick belt and three inch heels.

That was enough to make me decide that I'm okay with not being cute.

The Energy Management Plan

Like puppies, little boys need lots of exercise. That's why I've got my twins enrolled in every imaginable organized sport. Actually, they are only playing baseball and soccer right now, but I spend enough time shuttling people to and from playing fields that it feels like a lot more.

I'm entertaining the idea of trading in my car for a camper van, but that's a different story.

You have to admit that when you think about, the idea is startling appealing.

Anyway...I don't know how it's possible, but sometimes even a two hour practice isn't enough to rid my children of the need to wrestle in my dining room and/or play freeze tag right next to me while I'm making dinner.

Inspired by the successes that I've witnessed at local dog parks, I'm now making them run laps around my neighborhood.

I would also like to purchase one of these super cool ball throwers that I've seen around. But my husband said "no." :(

Look how much fun she's having. This could so be me.

Some of my neighbors are supportive of my new energy management plan. One has even signed up her third grader for the same program. Others are a little freaked out by the sight of two--and sometimes three--boys sprinting down the street several times each day.

"One of your boys just ran past my house. Again!" This is what the woman who lives across the street called to tell me this afternoon.

I assured the woman that Cortlen wasn't casing the joint. Nor was he training for the Olympics. He and his brother just need "off" buttons.

It's 11pm as I write this and five minutes ago, I just caught them in the dark using my cell phone charger cord as a string to play with the cat.

"What are you doing up?" I screeched. "Why are you out of your beds?"

They asked me if it was too late to go running.

The Missed Birthday Party

One of my boys got invited to a birthday party for one of his friends at school. I've never met the birthday boy, but I have heard good things about him. Evidently he has an I-Touch and spends enough afternoons at karate each week that he could break my son's leg if he wanted to.

Much to my eternal sadness and despair, we had a prior commitment (ie. baseball game) scheduled at the same time as the party and so my son couldn't attend. When I called the boy's mother (whom I've also never met) to RSVP, she was very understanding.

"We have a present for your son," I told her. "We can drop it off sometime this week."

"Or you could take my son somewhere and give it to him then."

I thought I didn't hear her right. "What?" I replied.

She cleared her throat and said that it would be a nice gesture if we took her son out to dinner somewhere--like Chuck-E-Cheese's--to apologize for missing his party.

I was so taken off guard that I didn't know how to respond. Which made what I did say sound particularly awful.

"I have a box of popsicles in the freezer," I told her. "Does that work?"

The woman told me that she would buzz me into her gated community later that afternoon. "If we're not at home," she said, "You can just leave the gift on the doorstep."

She seriously said this.

And I seriously considered leaving a burning paper bag on her doorstep.


Instead, I took the present back to the store and have been impersonating the woman to everyone who will listen.

Including you.

Geesh!

***
Tell me your birthday party horror stories. I love 'em.

My Almost Haircut

My eight year-old daughter has big dreams of growing up to work in a hair salon.

I am totally supportive of this goal. In what other job are you paid to listen to gossip and make women feel beautiful?

Ever since she got serious about her career path a few weeks ago, Camber has been building up a storehouse of supplies. There are close to 3,000 elastic hairbands scattered around her bedroom. My only hairbrush keeps disappearing from my bathroom.

And then there's the acrylic nails. I cleaned out her school backpack last Friday and found this tasty treat in the bottom:



"I found it on the sidewalk," she explained.

"Delicious," I replied.

Yesterday afternoon she plopped me into a chair and told me that it was my lucky day. I had been selected at random to receive an extreme makeover.

"By who?" I asked nervously.

She held up a plastic grocery bag...filled with my cheap makeup and the dreaded curling iron.

I was wide awake when she attempted to curl my eyelashes and almost blinded me with an eyeliner pencil. I found myself nodding off, however, when she started teasing my hair into a thick rat's nest.

"What are you doing?!"

I was jolted awake by the sound of my husband's panicked voice.

When I looked up, I saw half of my hair in between the blades of the kitchen scissors. He caught her just in time.

The murder weapon

"She needs a hair cut," my daughter explained unapologetically. "I can totally do it."

Needless to say, I'll be sleeping with one eye open for awhile.

****
Have you signed up for the $100 Visa Card giveaway sponsored by Blogher and Onstar? If not, check out my post on the new FMV mirror (Onstar system that can be installed in nearly any car) and register. It's super easy.

The Neighborhood Improvement Committee

Some trials you can't control. Others are self-inflicted. The Neighborhood Improvement Committee falls into the latter.

Like most Floridians, we live in a master-planned community that is governed by a homeowner's association committee with too much free time on their hands. We had heard stories about the HOA before we bought the house, but never gave it much thought because we never figured that we would never be on their hit list.

I'm sure you know what's coming.

A few days ago, we got a letter from the HOA outlining a few suggested home improvement projects that we take up over the coming weeks. The Neighborhood Improvement Committee thinks our front yard would look better if we added a "curved flower bed underneath our living room window" as well as a "row or two of evergreen boxwoods or shrubs of similar species" on either side of our front walkway.

Of course, these are only suggestions. If we choose not to follow them, the only thing that will happen is that the HOA will put a lien against our property.

As I mentioned before, we did this to ourselves.

The last line of the letter is my favorite. It points out the fact that everyone on our street has plantation shutters on their living room windows, except for us.

No pressure, of course.

My husband, who is far more obedient and compliant with such matters than I ever will be, ordered the shutters the next day.

Fortunately, the window coverings won't arrive for four weeks. This gives me plenty of time to stand naked in the middle of my living room window, at night, with all the lights on.

If It Looks Like A Straw...

"Jimmy's cell phone started ringing in the middle of math today."

This is the first thing that my eight year-old daughter said to me when she got off the bus. Then she looked at me expectantly.

Fortunately, I know the moral of this tale and was more than happy to share it with her.

"That's why we don't bring electronics to school," I told her.

She rolled her eyes. "Noooo," she said slowly. "That's why I need a cell phone. I'm the only one in my class who doesn't have one."

I studied her carefully. "How about a mini-stapler instead?" I asked. I had just returned from Target and saw said item on sale for $1.77.


Her eyes lit up in excitement. My offer far exceeded her wildest dreams.

Just because I am a nice person, I let everyone pick out their own clearance stapler. We almost made it out of the aisle without incident when someone spotted a can of keyboard duster.

"Tee Hee!" I spun around on my heels to find one of my children squirting pressurized air into the mouths of the other two.



"Why would you do that?" I asked.

"It has a straw attached to it," Cortlen explained.

I felt compelled to ask them what they would do if I stuck a straw in the toilet bowl. "Would you drink out of it?"

They didn't see my point. But they did find my analogy funny. A little too funny, in fact, for my liking.

"You want us to drink toilet water?" Kellen could barely get it out before collapsing on the floor in a fit of giggles.

"No," I replied. "I just want you guys to use your brains."

By the time we got to the parking lot, Cortlen was in tears. "What' s up?" I asked. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

He shook his head. "It's not fair," he wailed. "Kellen and Camber got two squirts of the spray and I only got one."

I swear-I might as well just go dig a ditch and lie in it.

PDA in the Park

This afternoon, I met some friends from the neighborhood at a community park. In all, there were 12 children at the park, including the two random teenagers who showed up midway through our play date and started making out on top of the picnic table.

"I am confused," one mom said as we watched the duo out of the corner of our eyes.

Of all the places to make a connection, the middle of a playground at 3 o'clock in the afternoon seemed an odd choice.

"I don't want to have this conversation with my kids today," another mom said as the couple got horizontal.

A philosophical conversation about the ethics of juvenile PDA ended with the decision that something had to be done.

Of course I picked the shortest stick.

I was practically on top of the couple before they noticed me. "Hmm," I said, clearing my throat loudly. "Excuse me."

The couple disentangled and sneered at me.

"Would you mind going somewhere a little more private?" I asked.

The girl half of the couple shook her head.

Seriously? She was all of 15.

"This is not a good time or place for this," I continued.

They rolled their eyes.

"What you are doing is inappropriate," I said a little louder.

Clearly I have a lot of authority because they went back to kissing.

To make a long story short, my friends and I had to leave the park because the activity on the picnic table continued to escalate.

Lucky for us, a security guard pulled into the parking lot just as we were pulling out. One of the other moms flagged him down and told him what was going on. Of course we all hung around until the man came back.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, shaking his head. "There is a couple at the picnic table, but they are just playing cards."

One of the other moms opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Another mom screamed.

I'm looking into the idea of purchasing a primitive cabin in the middle of Wyoming. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of living there with my kids when they are between the ages of 12 and 18.

The Boy I Hope Will Grow Up to Be My Daughter's Boyfriend

Student Council elections were held this week at my kids' elementary school.

I give my daughter major credit: she stayed in the race despite certain defeat. Her primary opponent for the position of classroom representative was a girl with pierced ears, a golden mane the length of the Mississippi River, and a celebrity father. Last year, an ad for the girl's father's dental practice graced the back cover of the school phone directory. This year, he's on the inside flap of the daily planners.

"Just do your best," my husband and I told her as we listened to her practice her speech.

On the morning of the election, my daughter was sick with worry: not that she might lose the election (she knew that going in), but that she wasn't going to get any votes.

"I will be so embarrassed if no one votes for me," she said a million times.

I had bitten my fingernails down to stubs by the time she got off the bus.

"Well?" I asked nervously.

She shrugged. "Jessica won," she said matter-of-factly.

Then she went on to tell me the good news. When the votes were being collected, my daughter happened to notice that the boy sitting at the desk next to her wrote her name down on his ballot.

That was the only vote that she got.

After my daughter skipped off happily to play, I dug through the kitchen drawer for last year's school directory and found the phone number for the boy who preserved my daughter's dignity.

And I called his mother and told her how grateful I am for her son.

Feathered

image from http://www.kissandmakeup.tv/2011/05/hairfeathers_ar.html

Earlier this week, a neighbor invited me to her house to be feathered.

I backed slowly away from her. "As in tar-and-feathered?"

The woman threw her head back and laughed. "No, silly!" she giggled. Then she pointed to the bird clipped to her scalp.

Or at least what was left of it.

When I was younger, I was taught to steer clear of things that birds dropped. This rule applied mostly to white feces, but could be extended to include other things as well...including feathers.

How do I tactfully explain to my neighbor that becoming one with an ostrich is not a good look for me?

How also do I tell the same neighbor that the feather that she has clipped into her hair is not a good look for her?

How long will it be before I am the only woman in the universe who isn't feathered?

These are the questions that keep me up at night.

OnStar FMV Mirror Review + $100 Visa Gift Card Giveaway

Everyone knows about OnStar: the comprehensive in-vehicle safety, navigation, and communications system. Up until recently, the system has been reserved for use only in GM cars.

That all has changed! I’m excited to announce the launch of the OnStar FMV rear-view mirror, which works in most vehicles.

The folks at OnStar were kind enough to send me a mirror to test out and I got it installed a few weeks ago. Here’s what is great about it: the system provides many of the same services as the original OnStar system including automatic crash response, turn-by-turn navigational routing, stolen vehicle tracking, hands-free calling, and roadside assistance. Plus, it’s easy to find. The system can be purchased at your local electronics retailer (ie. Best Buy, Frye, ABC Warehouse).

The new OnStar system is perfect for me because, like most moms, I practically live in my car. And one of my worst fears is finding myself in a position where I need help but am not able to get it. The OnStar FMV mirror provides the safety and peace of mind that we all need as parents and caretakers of young children.

When my car was new, I didn’t worry that much about it breaking down. Now that it’s creeping into old age, however, I find myself getting increasingly uneasy whenever I plan a road trip or head anywhere off the beaten path (which is five miles off the freeway in any direction in Florida). What would happen if my car breaks down...gulp...here…and with the kids? Since getting the OnStar FMV system, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I am now free to roam the country or at least the swamplands of central Florida with fewer worries.

Having used the system for a few weeks now, I can personally attest to its ease and accessibility. I have my cell phone linked into the system so I can talk to people hands free. Also, just this afternoon, while I was loading something into the back of the car, my preschooler climbed into the front seat and pushed the OnStar emergency call button. The operator was on the line before I could blink my eye, asking me about the nature of my emergency. I was more than a little embarrassed to tell the poor woman that I did need assistance, but not the kind that she could provide :)

While I'm going to work really, really hard to make sure that little fingers don't push any more buttons for fun, it's a relief to know that even the smallest of children can reach the OnStar team if they need to.

I am happy to announce that Blogher and OnStar are teaming up to offer one lucky reader of the Meanest Mom blog a $100 Visa gift card!

Want a chance to win? Just leave a comment below that includes an answer to this question: How could the OnStar system help your family?

The giveaway starts now and runs through September 30.

Other rules:

No duplicate comments.

You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry
methods:

a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post

b) Tweet about this promotion and leave the URL to that tweet in a comment
on this post

c) Blog about this promotion and leave the URL to that post in a comment on
this post

d) For those with no Twitter or blog, read the official rules to learn about
an alternate form of entry.


This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older

Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail.

You have 72 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be
selected.

The Official Rules are available here.

Check out OnStar on Facebook

Check out what other bloggers are saying about the OnStar FMV mirror. Head over HERE!

Crabs

Today my husband and I took our kids crabbing. Basically this amounts to tying chicken necks to a metal crab trap and waiting for something to happen.

When we didn't catch a crab within the first two minutes, the expedition was deemed a failure.

"I guess we're never going to catch a crab," Cortlen announced, throwing up his hands. My husband and I watched helplessly as the kids hopped off the fishing pier and onto the sandy beach below. While all of the big crabs were in the water, there were several hundred tiny crabs (ie. size of a fingernail) scurrying around on the sand.

Everyone was having a great time playing with the little crabs until they started going down people's shirts.

"AGH!!!!!" Camber screamed at the top of her lungs. "Cortlen put a crab down my back!"

"You threw one at me first!" he yelled back.

Kellen split the difference and tossed a handful of the creatures into the air. "It's raining crabs!" he screamed.

I buried my face in my hands. "Why do they always have to ruin everything?" I asked my husband.

By then, all three kids were punching each other.

My husband shook his head. "Next time, let's take them deep sea fishing," he said. "That will be super fun."

Volcanic Flowers

Cameron's doctor's office is located in an unsavory part of town. We're talking pawn shops and cash advance stores and Asian massage parlors and liquor marts on alternating corners.

There is rarely a time when I'm down there when there isn't a police barricade of some sort, or a news helicopter flying overhead.

You get the idea.

Yesterday, I found myself stuck in traffic in this neighborhood with a car full of kids. As I inched my way forward, I saw that a woman's car had broken down in the middle of the intersection. Other cars were maneuvering around her as she just sat in the seat, paralyzed by her misfortune.

I felt bad for the woman but there was not much that I could do, except call for help. Just as I got close enough where I could talk to her, I noticed a commotion to my right. When I turned my head, I saw a group of 6 young men, who had just come out of a liquor store, start running towards us. Rapidly.

For a split second, I thought I was going to die. At a minimum I figured that I was about to be robbed, or have my car hijacked.

The last thing that I was expecting was for this group of young men to run into the intersection and, without a word, push the woman's car several hundred yards to a strip mall parking lot. Before the woman could roll down her window to thank them, they were gone.

As I watched the group's retreat, I couldn't help but think of something I saw during a hike in New Zealand several years ago.

There is a certain breed of wildflower that grows in volcanic ash. Where little else can survive, these flowers flourish.