Disney on Ice + Three-year-old = Magic

We had a plan last November to take my children to see Disney on Ice while we were visiting in Iowa. I figured both children were old enough plus I’d have enough adult help if one of them got bored.

Plans fell through as my family experienced our worst Thanksgiving.

Fast forward to several weeks ago and a local blogger (Rebecca of “R We There Yet Mom?” who is awesome at organizing events mentions there are spaces for a few bloggers to attend a Disney on Ice show for free.

The catch: you can only bring one child. And it was at 7:30 PM on a Thursday.

Excited at doing something for free that I’d wanted to do anyway, I jumped at the chance.

Then I had to decide: The Tackler? Or Lil Diva?

Knowing from last year how there are multiple Disney on Ice Shows with varying character appearances, I went online to see which show I’d signed up for. It turned out this show was “Worlds of Fantasy”, and while it featured Cars and Toy Story 3 characters, it also had a hefty chunk of Tinkerbell and The Little Mermaid.

It made my choice easy, thanks to The Tackler’s newfound tendency (since beginning kindergarten) to say, “Princesses make me want to puke,” whenever Lil Diva wants to read or watch any princess story.

I had no wish to listening to any whining.

Lil Diva is modeling her purple Hello Kitty pjs (long sleeved because I knew the ice meant a freezing building), with her Rapunzel dress on top.

Lil Diva attended the event in her pajamas in case of early cratering, and at the last minute I dug out last year’s Rapunzel Halloween costume for her to wear over it.

She. Was. Thrilled.

I carpooled with Helen, another blogging friend and her little girl—who quickly became a BFF of Lil Diva—and we set off.

We arrived with seconds to spare at “the blogger suite” and Lil Diva was instantly sucked into the show as Mickey, Minnie, and friends skated onto the ice.

When Mater and the rest of the Radiator Springs crew entered I was hit with regret that my son wasn’t there to see the cars drive around the ice.

Then Ariel and Tinkerbell took over Act 1 and I knew I’d made the right choice.

Also? Twenty plus years later and I still remember The Little Mermaid. VERBATIM.

Taken with Helen’s phone camera so very washed out (it was quite dark). She had this amazing smile about three seconds before, but every time I tried to capture it, she’d go back to “transfixed” mode.

And Lil Diva’s face was PRICELESS.

I only wish I’d had a video camera capable of focusing the dark to capture it.

The awe and amazement, the joy at seeing these characters “in real life” spread across Lil Diva’s face was beyond words. I could see the magic spun as she clapped and cheered for the characters.

“I want to go skate, Mommy.”

I had to explain—again—this was an ice rink, not a roller rink, and it was a show like the circus—we could only watch.

The munchies kicked in and we helped ourselves to the suite perks: popcorn (for both of us and cans of soda (for me) from a mini-fridge.

We raced for the bathroom during intermission as she admired all the other little girls decked out like their favorite princesses.

Toy Story 3 was the entire second act and during the “introduction” scene of all the characters, she was entranced, pointing and clapping as each one entered, especially Jessie, Woody, and Buzz.

By that point it was 9 PM and she’d hit her limit. Toy Story 3 heavily targeted Barbie and Ken’s scenes—more than Woody’s or Buzz’s and she’s not a huge Barbie fan. They had the entire Ken-Modeling-Clothes scene from the movie, which I admit was likely put in there for the adults and had me chuckling, but this is when my three-year-old finally lost her zombie-like trance.

Still, we persisted to the end (helped by more popcorn) as she played musical chairs with some of the other children and I regretted wearing shorts into a building with an ice rink, but glad I’d brought my jacket (in my defense, I think it was 85 and humid when we left and I couldn’t stomach wearing long pants).

The show came to an end and I asked her, “Was that fun? Did you like it?”

Her tired, cranky persona kicked in—the show no longer a distraction—and the contrary three-year-old came out.

“No.”***

Shocked, I gave her my surprised face, jaw dropping in an exaggerated manor. “You didn’t? Why not?”

“I wanted to see Rapunzel.”

Mental note: in the future tell her which princesses will NOT be there, particularly if it includes her favorite.

So if you want a show to take the little ones too, this was a great blend of favorites for both girls and boys (minus those like my son who like to gag at any princesses), but don’t forget to dress in layers because the venue will be COLD, princess dresses and costumes fit right in, bring cash for flashy toys in the lobby and food, and if they are little, try to do a matinee instead.

And if your child’s favorite character won’t be in this particular show, TELL THEM. Before the end.

* * *

***Note: When this contrary mood strikes you can ask, “Do you like ice cream?” and she will emphatically reply, “NO!” even though the child would eat it for every meal if you let her.

As mentioned, my daughter and I were given free tickets to attend the show.  I was not financially compensated for this post.  All opinions of Disney on Ice and Cedar Park Center are strictly my own based on my experience. And Lil Diva’s. 

The Magical Power of the Foot Massage

I love baby feet: unused, soft, and free of stink… Well, usually.

I’m not a fan of touching other people’s feet. If I do, chances are:

A) I married you, you just took a shower, and I want one in return

or

B) I gave birth to you and your feet don’t stink…. yet.

But I LOVE getting a foot massage.

Sadly, they are in short supply after almost ten years of marriage and a lack of visits to a masseuse.

Still, there is just something magical about foot massages.

This simple fact hit me one night when my six-year-old awoke, SCREAMING.

“MY LEG HURTS! OWOWOW!” Over and over.

Nothing I did distracted The Tackler from his pain and I finally removed him from his room. I took him downstairs and grabbed some lotion, thinking a leg massage might do the trick.

Nope.

“OW! It’s hurts, Mommy!” Tears streamed down his eyes, and I hit the Parenting Point of Desperation: where you will try anything you think might work.

I switched to rubbing his feet, and like a switch, his cries stopped.

“Does that feel better?” I asked.

“Yes.”

After a few minutes I convinced him to go back to bed if I kept rubbing his feet—fearing the logistics of maneuvering him into a top bunk bed if he fell asleep.

Less than ten minutes later, his deep breaths were audible and I left the room—amazed something so simple helped.

Lil Diva was a bike riding machine at the park–riding more than she ever had before. I wonder if it was part of the cause of her leg pains. And no, she isn’t in the street here. This park has a kid-size town, complete with streets and stoplights for bike and scooter riding.

Then Sunday night, after a very active day at the park, my three-and-a-half-year-old Lil Diva woke up two hours after falling asleep. SCREAMING.

It’s more challenging to get her to speak while incoherent, but finally I deciphered her words: “My leg hurts!”

At first, I chalked it up to her banging it on her toddler bed—she sleeps in the strangest positions.

When nothing worked after twenty minutes—even a video on the iPad failed to quiet her sobs—I was reminded how this resembled her brother’s cries.

I brought her downstairs and gave her some ibuprofen (to avoid having a reoccurrence). Then I brought out the lotion and started rubbing her tiny feet.

It was the classic light switch scenario again: her cries stopped.

She was exhausted and after only a minute I convinced her to continue the foot rub in her bed and she capitulated easily.

After five minutes of a foot massage, my daughter was quiet when I paused, and I escaped to the chair in her room to make sure she didn’t scream again.

Silence.

Naturally I consider myself an expert on this situation after a 2/2 success rate and consider it my duty as a parent to share how something actually worked when I hit the Parent Point of Desperation.

So if your child wakes up screaming, and claiming of leg pain—which according to my mother and Google is often credited to “growing pains”, although some medical sites claim this to be a “myth”—whatever the cause, try a good old fashioned foot massage with some lotion.

It’s magical.

* * *

Anyone else had a child wake up with these “growing pains”? What did you do?

Never Forget Rule #3 – Beware of the Quiet

I forgot.

Blame Mommy Brain.

Blame complacency—only one child was at home.

Blame the fact my children are over the age of three and I thought the rule no longer applied.

I was wrong.

I forgot rule #3 of parenting:

BEWARE OF THE QUIET

It was Monday and I hadn’t yet reached the twenty-four hour mark on the antibiotics treating my ear infection. My ear hurt, my sinuses ached, and my nose was so stopped up I risked exploding an eardrum if I dared use a tissue.

I did the only thing a mother at home with an awake three-year-old can do: I laid on the couch and prayed she’d entertain herself.

And she did. She babbled and talked and I closed my eyes, afraid to move an inch as I gained the ability to breathe out of one nostril.

Then it hit me.

She was too quiet.

I sacrificed my breathing and rose, hurrying into the adjacent playroom.

There I found a pile of her brother’s new markers—caps off—strewn around her, cast like a circle of magic. Naked dolls of every size joined the circle as if sacrificed.

In the middle was Lil Diva, who evidently didn’t want to wait for Mommy to breathe so I could paint her nails…

This was just the bottom half..

Not shown: how the marker decoration went ALL the up her legs and continued all over her belly…

The dolls did not escape unscathed.

It’s hard to see on the baby dolls because she used a light green and yellow, but they all have pedicures (on the bottoms of their feet) and partial facials. But Belle, Cinderella, and Ariel had the more drastic “all over” dark green makeovers.

Neither did the carpet.

They are washable markers.. It *should* come out…

I tamped down any anger (because frankly, what is a little marker when your 12-year-old cat decides to eschew the litter box), grabbed the camera, and firmly instructed her, “Do not do that again WITHOUT Mommy’s permission.”

Two days later, it was crayon on the tile, but I caught the silence early this time.

Because now, I remember:

BEWARE OF THE SILENCE.

And rule #29:  Never purchase any paint/marker/crayon that does not say “WASHABLE” on the side.

At least until they are teenagers.

* * *

What have your children done when it’s been “too quiet?”