This week the very humorous Jacqui at One Pink Chick has chosen the topic for Listicles – Guilty Pleasures. I could do a quick list of guilty pleasures that would include ice cream and watching people fall and hurt themselves, but I need to catch up so I’m going to bore you with a longer post.
The truth is, since I’m a mom I feel guilty about almost everythingAnd since life is good, everything in it is really a pleasure. So I’m going to write about some guilty pleasures we had on our trip away this weekend.
We went to Williamsburg, Virginia so Fiona could participate in a feis (pronounced fesh - an Irish dance competition). This is the first time she got to wear her beautiful teams dress:
Please note the look of pride on her face, and the fabulosity of the hair. As many of you know I have Irish-dance-wig-o-phobia. I’m scared of the wigs, and I never know how to put them on. So I panic. I flaff around uselessly, jabbing bobby pins and derailing my child’s already limited trust in my crap ability to do girly up-dos. Although I managed to secure the bun on my child’s head, Annie, our wonderful dance teacher, kindly redid it for us. She made it look more like an actual bun and less like a dead squirrel. So for me, guilty pleasure number one this week was having Annie do Fiona’s hair.
There’s a lot of waiting around for moms to do at Irish dance competitions, so I took a self-portrait with three of my guilty pleasures – a good novel, Starbucks cappuccino, and my Ugg boots that are so cozy I never even wear socks with them:
I’m not very good at it yet but I’m starting to get into this Irish Dance Mom thing. Fiona is the type of girl who is good at things she’s interested in, so she won a bunch of prizes – first in traditional fiddle, and in dance two second places, and a third place. She got a trophy and some medals, and there was a tiny smile of pride on her face all day long.
So for me, another guilty pleasure is the pride I feel in seeing my daughter do well in something that she loves. She does not get this trait from me – this doing well at things she tries comes from her father’s side of the family. They are a family who still displays a wall of trophies belonging to their sons. The only thing I ever really won was a a 1st place ribbon for a kick board race when I was 7, and we lost the ribbon.
We stayed at Great Wolf Lodge, a wonderland for children that is also a water park. Guilty pleasures there included nightly children’s story time by the fireplace:
A chocolate pedicure for Ella at Scoop’s kid’s salon:
Trick-or-treating around the hotel:
And a high school dance troup dressesd like zombies, performing Thriller:
But the biggest guilty pleasure of the week was my husband falling on his a** when he was trying to get off the Wave Rider. I didn’t have my camera with me. It sent me into hysterics.
I had convinced him to get on the Wave Rider at the water park. The competition between the dads was pretty high. Some lost their swim trunks. He dove onto the board with gusto, then rolled and rolled like a giant Tootsie Roll, then after an impressive flip-over, he somehow got carried back up to the top by the wave, and the crowd of onlookers gasped when he came tumbling back down again.
Then he stood and attempted to walk confidently off the Wave Rider – but slipped and fell hard right on his a**. I was in hysterics – I was laughing so hard I needed CPR (but he was, too). It was the best laugh I’ve had in two years.
When we got home, we sat together in the family room having a cup of tea, and we noticed a pungent stench all around us. It wasn’t the trash, and we couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. It was so bad that it drove us out of the room. This morning my husband woke up at 4:30 to go swimming – and left a note for me written with on a paper towel:
This note sent me into another spastic fit of laughter. It just sums up life in our
zoo house – who has dead animals rotting away in their family room? We’ve got animals tearing through here all the time. In just the past week we’ve had a baby rabbit, a giant toad, a bird, and two chipmunks run through our living room – most often being chased by our cat. Anyway my husband’s note was another guilty pleasure – because he had to find the decomposing chipmunk under the couch and dispose of it, and I didn’t have to.
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