Top 13 of 2013, Day #8: I Will Never Be Royaaaal

Day #8: July 22, 2013

On different level entirely, there was another birth we were all excited for this summer: The Royal Baby. I won't compare Ben, a child I will watch grow up and who will be a special part of my life, to the future monarch of a country I don't live in, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit to buying into the hype that surrounded his arrival.

Here's the truth: Like most other girls born between, say, 1978 and 1990, I have swooned for the Princes of Wales (William and Harry, not Charles). I mean, I can't even lie - I should have said "swoon" because I still do. So, Harry? Just sayin...if you're a blog reader, you know where to find me.

But I digress. The point is, I've had my eye on those royal boys for a long time. I'm a sucker for a fairy tale, and a prince is kiiiiiind of a key ingredient in all the best ones. Throw in a good looks, a British accent, and centuries of history, and I'm pretty much salivating for any bit of news about either William or Harry.

And then came Kate.

Like most other girls born between 1978 and 1990, I should've hated her. I should've been jealous of her story, of her prince, of her amazing hair. And I am...but I can't hate her. I love her. I want to BE her when I grow up.

Now, believe what you want about how it came to be, but the story I love is that Kate, like the rest of us, had a crush on William. Kate, unlike the rest of us, figured out a way - through informed decisions, smiles of fate, her own charm - to become his Princess. I can't hate her for that. I only hate myself for not doing it first. Or...ever. Like, even in a million years ever.

So yes, when Kate's pregnancy was announced, and it coincided with the very anticipated pregnancy of my best friend, I was excited along with the rest of the world. I wish I could've been in London as they prepared for the royal arrival, but, as that was an impossibility, I settled for the next best thing.

Disney World.

It sounds ridiculous, but for me? It was a really neat experience. Nonstop coverage by the international press guaranteed instant updates no matter where you might be when it happened, so what better place to celebrate a royal baby than in a castle? Or visiting with Princesses? Or, especially, London itself (via Epcot)?!

What's that? A Prince is born?!

And that's what we did. The day Prince George was born, I left the room with CNN on baby watch in the morning, waiting for the ALERT! text that would come at some point that Monday. We started our day walking through the UK in Epcot, but spent the afternoon in the Magic Kingdom because - obviously - that's where MY Royal Family lives.

Lunch? Maybe the castle we ate in was practically brand new and not seeping centuries of history, but the Beast does a pretty good job keeping the ballroom looking grande. By the afternoon, we were waiting to meet Disney's golden girls - Rapunzel, Aurora, and Cinderella, and anxiously awaiting an announcement from the Palace.

Like, the real one. Buckingham. From the Queen, not Mickey Mouse. At that point, my bets were still on a tiny Princess making her debut, but as we stood waiting for Disney Royalty, British Royalty was announced: It's A BOY! the alert decreed.

Of course it was. Kate knows all about how this "heir" thing is supposed to work.

Chalk art celebrating the news!

A boy. A prince. A future king. Yet, in that second, he was the same person our baby Ben was, and Kate the same person my Sarah was - a new mom.

And then the world rejoiced and there were trumpets and press outings and official portraits and whatnot so Ben and George had pretty divergent lives from that point forward, but for THAT moment...history and my world weren't that far off.

We went back to visit the UK Pavilion that afternoon because it was the closest I could get to London, and you know what? It was a pretty cool feeling to be there.

Cheers to you, Prince George!

Tea and...well, Minnie cake.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #7: First Breath

Day #7: July 12, 2013

I don't have kids of my own, but I have been blessed to welcome lives with so many of my good friends. With so many little ones coming into the world, sometimes you take it for granted.

And sometimes you don't. Christmas, for example. And also July 12.

Bennett Russell was one of the times we absolutely didn't.

After a very long year, Ben's arrival felt like the first time any of us could shift focus on what might've been, what could've been, to really appreciate what was.

My friends have been stronger than I'm sure even they could've expected, putting their faith into something much greater than us, but so much was NOT said in one year. So many times you catch yourself about to say something that you take back, unsure of how it will sound if you say it. So many questions about what is right, when is it the appropriate time for this or that. I'm not really sure how they did it, except that I look at Abbie and realize they had to. There was no option to just shut their eyes and sleep for a week or a year or a lifetime because Abbie wouldn't let them.

She's given us a lot of gifts in the last few years. I believe that was one of them. I can't put myself in their shoes, but I'm pretty confident that Abbie gave them a reason to wake up in the morning.

It was a tense week leading up to Ben's arrival. Besides Sarah's nerves as his due date approached, I was watching the calendar hoping he'd make his entrance before I got on a plane headed to Disney World. I know my presence in the state made no difference to him or his new family, but I also know I wouldn't have thought of anything but them if he was still living inside Sarah when I landed in Orlando.

The night he was born, Sarah and I were casually texting about...well, probably any number of random things, but I can assure you none of them were "I AM IN LABOR."  She was home. Russ was sleeping off pain killers from a dental procedure. And then the texts stopped with a vague message about heading to the hospital.

I wanted to set up my phone with a special text alert so that I would definitely wake up overnight for any updates from Russ. I was going to be prepared, I was going to be attentive, and I was going to be there for my friends.

I didn't even get a chance to apply the updated text alerts before Russ's message heralding Ben's arrival came through.

My favorite new siblings!

Sarah, with no time to consider pain killers OR what she was about to endure, once again exhibited both mental and physical strength that I can't even imagine. The headline from Russ was confusing - it seemed impossible that Sarah and I were texting casually less than two hours before, and now she had twice as many kids as she did the last time I talked to her - but Ben had arrived. Faster than his mom could get some drugs to make it easier, but also faster than his mom could worry about anything that could possibly go wrong.

So many thoughts that I just can't put into a blog. Some of them I shared with Sarah and Russ, some of them I cried about privately, some of them make me even stronger in my faith that a higher power is looking out for us all.

Ben was born at just the right moment. For the first time in exactly one year, we were finally able to take our first breaths.

Meeting Ben for the 1st time

Top 13 of 2013, Day #6: notfunnotfunnotfun

Day #6: May 3, 2013

"NotfunnotfunnotfunnotfunnotfunNOTFUNNOTFUNNOTFUNnotfunNOTfunNOTfunNOTfun..."

I think you get the picture.

Calm before the storm

For the most part, May 3, 2013 actually WAS fun. For the most part, I spent it on a beach, reading a favorite classic, actually RELAXING for the first time in months.

For the most part.

But there was one part, one part in which I was positive I was both going to die and SUFFER doing it. That part wasn't fun.

And it was my MOTHER'S fault.

You know, the same mom that I toasted to just a few blogs ago for sharing my birthday in Disney World with me? Yeah, that one.

The woman flat out tried to drown me.

Picture this: We - my sister Tracey, my mom, and I - are in Aruba, enjoying the sun and the sand. It's Aruba. It's paradise. The sun is high, the water is clear, and the sand is warm. But do you think that was enough for my mother? Do you think she could be content just napping in the sun? Do you think she could enjoy letting the waves gently splash against her legs? Do you think she could just let ME read in peace?

The answer is no. No, she could not.

No, MY mother, who doesn't like ANYTHING that moves quickly that isn't a car, who hasn't stuck more than a toe in our pool since the 80's, who doesn't even take showers because she doesn't like water on her head (she washes her hair in the sink), decides that she wants to go on the SUPER MARBLE.

We watched people bounce around the sea for an entire day, figuring she'd change her mind.

She didn't. She wanted to do it, and, because we are obedient children, Tracey and I agreed. Well, not so much agreed. We just didn't feel like there was much of a choice.

Now, there are some things you should know about me if you don't already.

First, I don't like open water. Actually, I have this...thing. With fish. I hate them. I don't like looking at them, I certainly don't like touching them, and I will panic if there's one trying to touch me, even by accident. I don't know what it is, but if I see a fish in the water, I just won't go back in. There have been very rare circumstances that I have been able to overcome this phobia for the sake of snorkeling and tropical adventures, but those are few, very far between, and require extensive therapy afterwards. So that's the first thing. I don't like fish.

The SECOND thing is that I don't like open water. It's because of the fish thing I guess, but I hate not being able to see to the bottom of the water. Even deep pools make me nervous. I saw Jaws when I was little, and I am convinced that shark was living in my pool when I was nine.

The SUPER MARBLE itself is the third problem. It's a giant tube. And it bounces you around the damn water so much, you've got to clutch the damn handles for dear life if you want to survive. Which I did. But I also wanted my $300 Tiffany sunglasses to survive with me.

There's still a chance this ends well.

Yes, fine, it was irresponsible for me to be wearing the damn things, but I felt like it would've been more irresponsible for me to leave them on the beach. Better falling off my face than being on someone else's.

We climbed on to that SUPER MARBLE, Tracey and I on either side of my mother, and it was all fun and games. Until the boat started moving, towing our bouncing death trap behind it. It started off choppy but manageable, like speeding down a highway full of potholes, but then they hit the gas.

And I started alternating between praying and yelling obscenities. I could see my mother's legs flopping all around the surface of the stupid tube. I could hear Tracey hooting and hollering. I felt my sunglasses shifting a little more than I was comfortable with, but I couldn't let go of the tube. I was sure if I loosened my grip on the handle even a little, even if just for a second, I'd be cast away, floating away from Aruba, never to be seen again.

So I just screamed instead. It was NOT fun. I thought maybe if I yelled long enough, they'd slow down or take us back. They did not. The screaming, in fact, seemed to encourage them to go even faster, to take the turns even tighter, to actually aim for the surf with the highest waves.

And then this happened and I almost died.

I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that we were going to hit one of those waves and one of two things was going to fly off that tube: me or my Tiffany sunglasses. And either way, I would've been in the water, because there was no way in hell I'd sacrifice those sunglasses. Once I was in the water, I knew already that that tube would be on top of me, and I'd likely drown or suffocate. Maybe both, one by the other. So yeah. That was for sure going to happen.

It was the longest 15 minutes of my life. I'm not even sure they kept us out there for 15 minutes. It might've been 10 minutes, it might've been six hours, and I'm pretty sure it was closer to A LIFETIME. Maybe two, because I'm SURE I saw my life flash in front of my eyes at least twice.

And "notfun"? Yep, I repeated that a couple hundred times. All I wanted was for them to slow down enough for me to swim back to shore, no matter how far away we were when the boat stopped. Which it eventually did. I checked to make sure my sunglasses were still on my face, ripped off that life jacket, and kneeled to kiss the ground.

Not amused. My mother later said that she didn't get worried until she saw the look on my face and realized there might actually be a chance we were going to die out there.

Meanwhile, she still won't ride Big Thunder Mountain. 

It wasn't fun. But it was a memory, and one that we have not hesitated to remind my mother about regularly since it was made. Sometimes people will surprise you.

I think I appreciated every moment of the rest of that trip even more because of the trauma of my mom's choice to surprise us.

Back to my happy place.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #5: Celebrate Good Times

Day #5: April 6, 2013

I did a lot of celebratin' this year. Not just the annual things, but there were graduations, and awards, and promotions, and weddings and babies. Is this what it's like to be in your 30's?

Yes. The answer is yes, this is what it's like. Hallmark exists because people between 25 and 40 have a lot to celebrate, and there's a card for every occassion.

This spring was especially full of "occassions," when it seemed like I was double booked for festivities more often than not. It's a good problem to have, but it's quite a day when you start your morning gushing over tiny baby socks and enjoying finger sandwiches with your pregnant friend and end the evening at a Prom from the 80's screaming the lyrics to "Love Shack" while dressed like Clarissa Darling and wearing a fanny pack.

Yep. That happened. And I loved that day for all the people in it.

My fanny pack broke. It was sad. Like, literally. Look at that frown.

Started the day looking presentable.

April 6th isn't on my list because it made any great change in me but because it was so much fun to be part of both celebrations.

Just a couple of weeks after Kelly's beautiful baby shower, we welcomed Jackson into our world. His pre-arrival party was a classy affair put together with all the love the ladies in his life could shower him with, and I think he's got a lifetime of spoiling ahead.

Ended the day looking like Nickelodeon.

Meanwhile, at Lindsay's Bachelorette Party, we ventured to NYC as a group of 80's queens (Prom, not Drag). Well, ok, truth be told, we didn't push the limits of practicality too far (I literally had a fanny pack for cripes sake), but that's why I love my friends.  We had a family dinner, we went to an (AWESOME!) 80's Prom, and then we closed out the night with the best tater tots you've ever put in your mouth.




No one got arrested, no one got roofied, and no one got a tattoo (I think...). They won't make a movie about us (but, I mean, they SHOULD, and might I suggest Tina Fey and Amy Poehler to be cast as Lindsay and me?), but you probably wish you were there anyway.

Tin roof. RUSTED.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #4: One Step At A Time

Day #4: March 23, 2013

Most of my "top days" are really happy ones. As much as I complain on a daily basis, and as many things as I'd like to change, in general, I'm pretty content with life. The fact that I had so many top days to choose from while making this list made it very, VERY clear how lucky I am.

But it's not the soft things that help you grow. The hard times are the ones that change you the most, that give you a reason to change.

In 2012, particularly here in Connecticut, we were all tested by the unfathomable tragedy at Sandy Hook. The reminders remain almost as prevalent as they were a year ago, but I find myself now thinking of those angels even more when something positive happens, not only when the news blares another nightmare.

There was nothing I could do last December. There was so little any of us could do. It wasn't my place to put myself in anyone else's shoes or try to install myself in our neighboring community and intrude on their experience.

So I stayed in my own shoes. And I did something I do NOT do.

I ran.

Last March, I ran for a lot of reasons, all of them listed in my blog, "Why I Run."

I never posted an update after the race, and I'm sure some people wondered if I ever finished. I did finish. Not with any sort of impressive time, but I was upright (mostly), and it was 100% worth it.

I'm glad it took me a while. I'm glad I felt the pain in my chest as the cold air cycled in and out. I felt that pain, and I knew I was alive. And damn it, I deserved to feel that pain as a reminder of why I was moving with that herd of people in the first place. I'm glad I walked part of it, going slow enough to notice the birds overhead. I had vowed that I would remember that moment. I'm even glad it snowed. I always feel pretty good about slowing everything down for the snow.

The Sandy Hook Run was my first official run, the first time I crossed a finish line painted with something other than chalk or neighborhood markers like "that big rock over there". That was the change in me. I still don't like running, but that race has made me "a runner." All I needed was a reason to push my own limits, kick my own ass, and also stop to take a breath once in a while.

And I guess that's how we're all moving forward, bearing the weight of whatever it is we have to overcome. You can't get there in one stride, but you have to keep moving. One step at a time.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #3: Champagne Birthday

Day #3: March 3, 2013

Do you know about "Champagne Birthdays"? Some people call them "Grand" or "Golden", but for me...it's all about the bubbly. Your Champagne Birthday falls on the day you turn the same age as your birthday - my birthday is the 3rd, for example, so my Champagne Birthday happened when I turned three. Long before I could actually celebrate with champagne, of course.

Seems to me that most people probably can't recall more than half their birthdays before they turned 10. Since my memories of that era of my life are written by faded photos in lost albums and stories flavored by the interests of the people telling them (for instance, my mother allowing me to be nearly kidnapped after my sister threw hot cocoa at me at a McDonald's in New Jersey...but that's another blog entirely), I feel like I got gypped by my original Champagne Birthday three decades ago.

Those of us with single digit Champagne Birthdays deserve better, so I propose that the day you turn your FULL birthday, you get a chance to celebrate something extra. A Champagne Clause, if you will. January 5th, for example, means you get to re-celebrate your Champagne Birthday when you turn 15. Still can't toast with actual champagne of course, but at least this time you'll remember it.

This year was my Champagne Birthday - I turned 33 on 3/3. Ironically, I celebrated the day the same way lots of actual 3-year-olds probably did: At Disney World with my mom.

I did, however, get to do something those birthday girls didn't: I enjoyed my first ever toast of champagne inside the Magic Kingdom!

Traditionally, there's never been alcohol served in the park. Not until Beast welcomed us into his Castle nestled in the mountains of New Fantasyland has a guest been offered a wine list, and that seemed like a perfect reason to celebrate there.

Mickey balloons become part of the finale

It was a short trip, but it was a perfect party. Watching Wishes - my absolute favorite thing in all of Disney World - a bundle of at least 20 Mickey balloons was released into the sky. I mean, they weren't for me (or WERE they?!?), but the deliberate timing convinced me those balloons were something special to someone (and I hope the special meaning wasn't "unemployed" to a careless Cast Member). I got a surprise serenade from Mickey and Minnie, and it was absolutely freezing the entire weekend. There were even reports of flurries in Orlando the morning of my birthday.

Be Our Guest

But dinner? Dinner was special. As you already know, I'm a frequent Disney visitor, and, while we can always find something different to do, entirely brand NEW experiences are a different kind of exciting. Taking our seats in the ballroom the night of my birthday was one of those experiences.

I won't ruin it if you haven't been there, and I won't bore you if you don't "get it", but Be Our Guest dining is an amazing experience. From the snow on the balcony "outside" to the chandeliers on the ceiling, Imagineers could not have done more to make you feel as though you've snuck into the Beast's ballroom. Did my eyes sweat the first time I walked in (and...every time since)? Yes. Don't act like you're surprised.

 

 

I had my champagne, and I enjoyed my steak, and then? I got to try the grey stuff. This was before they added it to the menu, when the grey stuff was reserved for celebrations, and I had no idea what to expect.

Fun fact: It IS delicious.

It made me happy. All of it. My mom and I don't typically travel without one or both of my sisters, so the fact that she was sharing it with me was a brand new experience, and it came at a time when I needed to be away from everything more than anything else.

So a toast, to my Champagne Birthday, and to my mom for sharing it with me.

Top 13 of 2013, Day #2: The Sweetest Thing

Day #2: February 15, 2013

By the time they're my age, most people have either identified which highway they want to take in life or pulled off to a side road that they're at least comfortable driving on, even if it wasn't exactly where they intended to end up.

I'm not most people. I remember feeling anxious when we had to write about what we wanted to be when we grew up, and now that I've physically "grown up," I've got a warning for the next generation of kids who don't really know how to answer the question: You may never know.

Or, it might take a series of "top days" for you to accept that the anxious feeling isn't because you DON'T know what you want to be but, instead, because you DO know.

For me, the first in my series came the day after Valentine's Day with a short phone call about a candy shop. Some of you may recall the story of Seashore Sweets', as I have previously chronicled my encounter with a member of Team Disney here so I won't go through the details again, but honestly?

It was a pretty damn cool phone call to get.

It hasn't led to anything more (yet), but it did spark enough in me to make me wonder if, just maybe, I COULD be part of the storytelling happening at Disney, part of the legacy that is committed to telling every piece of the tale. Nothing is coincidence, everything has an explanation, and if you can just ask the right person, you're going to hear it all.

 This was the first piece of, what I hope will be, the rest of my story.