Thanksgiving "Vacation" Recap

 So, my Papa says to me, he says "I want you to come to Thanksgiving at the Grand Hotel. I'm paying. You're going". And I says "hehhehehheheHEHEHHEHEHEHEHHEHEYIIIIPEEEEE!". We get there (there was a lot in between.....12 hour car ride, 3 children, one of which is an ADHD 5 year old with sensory issues. Not something I wanna relive on my blog or anywhere else ever again) and I'm dying I'm so tired (see previous parenthetical interlude). All I want to do is lay down on a bed of feathers. After a scavenger hunt to retrieve my room key from my Father we waddled to the room to enjoy a nice relaxing calm before the storm. We opened the door to see our beautiful room....our beautiful WHITE room. My face looked like this...

This is my "Oh, FUCK no!" face.

No joke. The beds could not have been whiter and all I could think about was how in the holy hell am I going to keep those god damn sheets clean!!! Not 5 minutes in and my third born has pen marks all up and down the bed spread. Next to come were chocolate hands followed by pizza faces. I'm sure housekeeping hated us. I know I would if I were them. SORRY, MR. MAN FROM JAMAICA WHO'S NAME I DON'T REMEMBER BUT WHO WAS SUPER DUPER NICE AND PATIENT WITH ME AND MY FREAKAZOIDS!!!!

Hives. I'm getting giant open sore hives just looking at this picture.

Jesus Christ, Kill Me Now

The thought of getting to stay in a 4 star hotel/spa on the bay sent me into joyful spasms of hyperness, you have NO idea! And then we get here and I realized "fucking hell, I totally forgot to leave my children at home". Goodbye relaxation, hello constant embarrassment. So, they're favorite thing to do to piss me off is run into people, especially as they are trying to come out a door. The door opens and SLAM my kids are bowling anyone in their path over with that unstoppable annoyingly arrogant kid force. Every single time I yell at them when they do this and yet they do it over and over. We were heading into our hotel and they did their little "We're oblivious to other people around us because we're jacked up on Dr. Pepper" routine to a group of elderly people carrying suit cases. So I bitched them out, of course, and I continued to bitch them out as we waited for the elevators. I then tried to make a pre-emptive strike against the same thing happening with the elevator (they also love to stand with their noses to the elevator and rush in when the doors open, scaring the shit out of the people on the elevator who are wanting to get off....it's great fun). Just as I finished my explanation of how we let off the people who are on the elevator before we get on, the doors opened and my third born exclaimed "HOLY SHIT DIAPERS, THAT ELEVATOR IS PACKED WIF PEOPLE!". Holy shit diapers?????? It's a miracle we weren't related to anyone on that elevator. I'm a little sad he didn't get that gem from me. I might have to use that one. Holy shit diapers. Wow.

Quit Playing With Your Balls 

(This title totally could have worked with a story about my boys but NOPE, it's not about them for once). People in the South take football hard core seriously. People who regularly stay at The Grand treat football like it's a religion made entirely of peanut butter fudge that's dipped in Reese's covered bacon (naturally the only kind of religion to which I would bow down). I actually like football. I've been actively trying to watch more but I must admit I don't watch it alone or anything. At this hotel there are TVs everywhere you turn around. They even have them outside! People gather around the big screens and lounge in huge Adirondack chairs that are meant to be gathered around beautiful fire pits. What's entertaining to watch are the Southern female football fans. The sounds that spontaneously erupt from their mouths when excited or dismayed during a football game are so melodically disturbing at first but after a while they become oddly soothing. Of course to reach a certain level of appreciation for their exuberance one must be heavily liquored up. It's funny that the men were not near as embarrassingly vocal with their cheer leading. Or maybe they were and I just didn't notice because I couldn't take my eyes and ears offa the train wreck lady fans. WOOOOOOOOOPIGSOOOOOOOOAYYYYYY!!!

Picture Summary Of The Swimming Experience

 Satisfied customer

 Pissed beyond belief customer....
No matter how hard I try I can't please everybody. Shit, I can barely please anybody half the time. Oh well. So your big brother won't swim with you. TOUGH SHIT! Play with your little brother who adores you more than his fucking precious art supplies, for Christ's sake! I got this look and immediately knew it was a no sale:/

Gingerbread House Making Contest

Here's what infuriates me most about parents: when the rules state "work must be done by a child" that is when it is time to let go of any dream you might have that the end product will look like something Leonardo Da Vinci would have created. The idea is to let the children CREATE. It's going to look stupid. That's a given. Accept that. So, while MY children were working their little fingers to the bone everyone else is doing it for their kids. My boys were like "Mom, ours looks horrible!!! They're house is gonna win because ours sucks!". Nice. 

Mine and Third Born's chalet included an open floor plan and gum drop vineyard.

Yeah, I know it looks like shit:/. Could be worse. It could literally contain shit! And so I give you......

First and Second Born's gingerbread outhouse!

There's a little peppermint moon on the door and everything. I could not have been prouder....nor could I have been LOUDER. "BOYS, THAT IS WONDERFUL WORK!!! LOOK THEY BUILT AN OUTHOUSE IN WHICH ALL THE GINGER PEOPLE CAN DEFECATE. ISN'T THAT CLEVER!!!". 

 Heheheheeeehehehehee. I love my little poop obsessed boys:D.