Death defying Vacation...

So we are back from our annual winter adult only vacation. No matter where we go, we always have a great time. Sometimes it comes out in forms of immaturity, as in, before having children or just complete stupidity, but it always leads to a funny story afterwards. We went to Cancun, Mexico this year. It is one of the cheaper destinations so we thought we would try it out. We've been to the Rivera Maya, which is nice (they have great golf carts that you can borrow to get around some of the resorts...well...maybe that's not for everyone), but we were trying to be a little budget conscience this year. So we take the plunge to try it out.

The beach has at least ten miles of sand to walk on. The ocean is beautiful and fun to swim in if you're a strong swimmer. Cancun is extremely commercialized so if you like shopping this is the place for you shopaholics. Since we had arrive, we heard nothing but good things about taking the local bus to different places down the hotel strip. One of the buses was labeled for going to one of the markets (like a flea market). I thought, that's where I want to go. It was only 85 pesos or about 75 cents per person. Of course, the picture I have in my head is something like when I was a little girl and my parents would take us down to Tijuana for the day to do some shopping (This wasn't probably all that safe 25 years ago. I am almost positive it's not safe now to go to Tijuana, but on my parents behave, they both speak Spanish. Even though at eight years old, I knew a little blond white girl, even with being tan, wasn't safe. I stuck close to my parents and I always kept a close eye on the other eyes watching me. I learned a lot from these experiences--always knowing the proximity of people near me, understanding I have a dead on gut feeling, and possibly my wild imagination was developed during this time.)

For me, the objective was to find something that was locally hand crafted. No problem finding a bus stop (they're everywhere). We hop on and get into looking at all the other hotels down the strip, comparing the sizes and the newness of each. After twenty minutes, the hotels start turning into more of a city. There's gas stations, fast food restaurants and some local color. We must be getting close, right? I feel a tap on my shoulder, the local says you should get off here at Walmart, you shouldn't go any further. The hubby and I look at each other and jump up exiting the bus. Now we have no clue where we are. I want to know where the market is. There's a few other tourist, but mostly locals. We follow the other tourist across the street to Walmart. I definitely don't want to go into Walmart so we ask some others where the market is and they say we passed the market. Now what do we do? Get back on the bus going back up or try to walk it? Nah we ask the local guy trying to sell excursions and time shares (now if you've ever been to Mexico, you know what kind of guy this is). He pulls us into his booth and tries to get us to go to one of the hotels to sell a time share. He tells us the market is only six blocks up, but he can take us to this new hotel, we go through the tour, then he will drop us off at the market. We politely decline (like a hundred times) and walk away. It can't be that far right, six blocks is nothing we can walk it. So we start walking.

After several blocks we start our adventure to the market. As each block passes, we notice the pedestrians becoming less tourist-like and more local-like. The buildings are becoming more shabby and tall stucco walls surround some of the places of business. Suddenly, across three lanes of traffic a bus opens its doors and the driver asks if we want to get in and is repetitively waving his arm for us to get on. We both shrug our shoulders and cross traffic to get on the bus.

When we get on the bus, there is another couple that are tourist too. We ask them if they know where the market is. They tell us they've been on the bus for an hour trying to find this market (Thank God, we're not the only stupid tourists around). The local was right to tell us to get off.  They rode the bus the whole way downtown. Apparently, it wasn't a place for any tourists.

Through this whole ordeal not once did I feel panic or feel we were in danger, but I could feel my hubby becoming very uncomfortable. When you're six feet tall, it's kind of hard to blend in.

Heading back down the hotel strip, we get off at one of the bus stops near one of the older malls. The other couple have a map showing the flea market somewhere close to this place. So we all trek through the mall and out the other side. We pass some more plaza shops and finally we make it to the market. Except this isn't exactly quite like I picture it. All it is is a bunch of t-shirt shops in a building. Not what I was looking for.

Of course, the first vendor tells us only $1 for each t-shirt. We get pulled in and start picking out shirts. Then the tune turns to $1 dollar off. I put back all the shirts and my hubby wants to know how much for the shirts. He likes playing the haggling price game. I just walk out and go down a few shops thinking he will follow me. I take a look at a few purses and bags. Then I realize he didn't follow me. I can't see him at the other shop. Where is he? I look back, then look ahead of me. He's nowhere. Now the panic starts to settle in. One of the vendors says your husband up ahead pointing to another shop ahead and says inside (all the crazy alarms are going off in my head). I step forward to look into the shop, but I don't see him and I don't go in. I see the other couple we were with up ahead and I don't see him. So I head back to the first shop and my hubby steps out. Phew, the relief comes back. We skip the rest of the place and catch up with the other couple. Neither one of us wanted to stick around. We walked passed another older mall and found a bus stop and hopped on.

Now I have a pretty wild imagination, but I'm sure you all have your own version of what could've happened there at the market. Please make note there is not market in Cancun. Stick to the lady selling things at your hotel.

I think Mexico is going to have to do without us for awhile.

Wet Paint

"Don't touch the wall. I just painted it."

"Don't touch the wall." In a monotone voice.

"Don't touch the wall." In a sing song voice.

"Don't touch the wall." In a firm parent voice.

If you touch that wall, your butt is grounded."In the ultimate threatening voice.

Child #3 (who is only 5 years old) replies, "So my butt will be the only part grounded?" Followed by giggles.

What a smart ass!

Circles

So the project was to redo the kids rooms over their Christmas vacation. They received new bed sets for Christmas. Great no problem. All I have to do is paint. We also bought a new bunk bed for Child #1 and Child #3. Child #2 is getting her own room. You may ask why is Child #2 getting her own room? Well my first response would be that Child #1 opted out of having her own room. But, it really stems from who causes the trouble at night while everyone is trying to sleep. Even though Child #2 causes the most trouble, she is the only one who is a neat freak. In my favor, I would prefer her to have her own room because at least one room would stay clean. And to the credit of Child #2, Child #1 and Child #3 do not want to sleep alone in a bedroom either. In a perfect world, we have a solution.

Anyway back to redoing the bedrooms. We bought a bunk bed so that the two sharing a room would have more room. In the past, we had three beds in one room. When they were little, none of them wanted a bunk bed because no one wanted to sleep on the top. Now Child #1 is willing to sleep on the top so we decided it would be a great space saver.

Off to the paint store to buy some paint. To try to make their room fun, I decided I would try to match the pattern from their comforter. 

First mistake. Don't ever try to match patterns. Make sure to go with just a solid color.

I had to paint one wall with primer since I had a dark color on it. There goes the first coat. Then I paint all the walls one color. No problem everything goes fairly smooth. Then comes the patterns. I figure, I will trace the shapes on the wall with a washable marker. 

Second mistake. Never use a marker to outline patterns. Even if it is a washable marker and a light color. It will show up no matter what.

In order to try to cover up the lines, I primed the shapes on the wall. So now I'm up to the third layer of paint. Then I begin to fill in the shapes with the intended colors. The plan was supposed to be just simple dots, big and small, in different colors spread over the wall.


Third mistake. My obsessive need to have things done the right way. The lines were bothering me. So the design became more intricate to cover up the lines.


The results after four days of painting.

Granted, during those four days we were busy doing other activities like going down to Chicago to see my grandma, visiting my dad in the hospital after his surgery, and ice skating with my younger brother and the girls. So I spent my afternoons and evenings working on the room. I managed to get the room set up and finished like I promised the girls by tonight. Miracles of miracles I was able to complete my promise.

Now I am onto Child #2's remodel. I'll give myself a break and wait to start that one tomorrow. It shouldn't take as long, but that is what I said about this room.


Happy New Year!

To Believe or Not to Believe

We went to 10pm mass on Christmas Eve this year. This was our last ditch effort to get Child #1 to still believe in Santa. The girls got in the car while I hung back and quickly placed the gifts under the tree from Santa. When we came home, they were so surprised we let them open up all the presents. Not exactly sure if Child #1 truly believes, but she was so excited to finally get a Nintendo DS that she didn't say one word about Santa not being real. This truly will probably be the last Christmas she believes or half believes. So sad to reach this milestone with her. If only they could stay innocent forever.

St. Mom to the rescue or maybe the cover up. You decide.

So at 7:00am on December 6, I get a finger poke in the middle of the back (and its not just a little poke saying hey wake up, it's one of those pokes with attitude). I roll over to eye which one it is.

Child #1 says in a hushed, but firmly angered voice, "You forgot to put out the St. Nick presents."

My response is, "You are right. I sure did." Technically this was not supposed to be my responsibility. I did not celebrate St. Nick while growing up, but my husband did and he wanted to continue his tradition. It was in agreement that he would take on the responsibility. But of course, he was out of town last night. I bought the gifts. I remembered the night before, but while I was waiting for the girls to fall asleep, I fell asleep. Imagine that.

Now understand Child #1 already has figured it out that there is no Santa, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, etc. (Thanks to all the other wonderful children at school who can't keep a secret). Oh well, but we've made it clear she has to play along with Child #2 and Child #3.

Of course, Child #2 and Child #3 wake up and run for the stockings. My mind is going a mile a minute. I am running scenarios through to figure out what one sounds the best.

The one that wins and here it goes...

"Mom St. Nick forgot to leave us presents," with such disappointed faces and stuck out lower lips.

My response oozes a matter of fact tone, "Well, you know guys, St Nick and I were talking last night about how kids just don't really appreciate gifts anymore. We were talking for awhile so he got distracted and forgot to put them in the stockings. But he left them under my bed, so you guys go potty and I will bring out the gifts and put them in your stockings."

With all their excitement that they were getting gifts and St. Nick hadn't forgotten them, they totally bought it.

I have to say it wasn't the best excuse, but it was perfect when Child #3 opens her gift and says, "That's it. That's all we get."

Of course that is where I shake my head and say, "See this is exactly what St. Nick and I were talking about children just don't appreciate what they get for gifts anymore."

Boy did that change Child #3's attitude toward what she got. She was overly appreciative after that.