Let’s Begin with the Work Part: Top 5

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I generally try to avoid blogging about work in any detail whatsoever, but since the primary reason I went to South Africa was to attend a conference for work, I feel like it is a little unavoidable here. That statement is particularly true because for the first time in a long time, it was actually a library-related conference that made me enthusiastic and reminded me of all the reasons why I transitioned my career from being a practicing attorney to being a law librarian. Seriously, I met remarkable people from all over the world working in all kinds of libraries. I came away from the conference more resolved to finish the article that I have been working on for an embarrassing length of time (in the most general of terms: about libraries’ responsibilities to preserve electronic versions of law), and also to start research on about ten other things. I don’t think a library conference has ever encouraged me to think in such a manner before.

Here are the top five other things that I loved:

1. The conference was the annual meeting of the International Federation of Library Associations and had a grand name, the World Library and Information Congress (2015). Attendees were not mere attendees, but were delegates. It is a widely known fact that younger version of myself had the ambition to be a diplomat, maybe one day being a part of the US’s UN delegation. Model United Nations was way too much fun for me in high school. Just the small detail of being a “delegate” to an international organization gave me so much dignity, I cannot even describe it. Sure, I wasn’t starting a war over offshore oil resources (the high school MUN version of me was very competitive about natural resources), but I was collaborating with librarians from Botswana! That is about as good as it gets in the library world for a person like me.

2. The tour of the University of Cape Town libraries was amazing. It is kind of inspiring just to be on the campus of the University of Cape Town. I know that sounds ridiculous, but in some ways, I felt this kinship with UCT because the recent movement there to remove the statute of Cecil Rhodes is similar to the ongoing debates at my own institution about monuments to Confederate soldiers and buildings named after historical government leaders with KKK affiliations. The take of the diverse librarians at UCT on the issue was interesting. From a librarian standpoint, we really believe in the importance of preserving all things historical. Take, for example this book’s note as seen in the UCT special collections library:

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You cannot read that insert and not get the chills in some way. Academic librarians are awesome, even in the midst of repressive, racist regimes. And then we are awesome for preserving the truth about those regimes after the fact in a completely impartial, and objective manner, because the books we preserve don’t lie. The artifacts tell the complete story in themselves.

Also, as a bonus, the University of Cape Town is just beautiful. Seriously, I don’t think there exists a more beautiful geographical locale for a university.

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3. Librarians from around the world see libraries as a vital part of economic development and lifting people out of poverty. It is quite inspiring to listen to a librarian from South Africa talk about what it means for poor children to access books. It is inspiring to hear about the efforts to make government information available in some of those countries where citizens traditionally have had no access to even the laws to which they were subject. It reminded me that in spite of all of my cynicism, libraries are a big deal; libraries are important. I can do something about it; both here in my own country and then work to help other librarians bring access to government information in their own countries too.

4. I had this epiphany while I was at the conference of how good digital collections may actually be. Seriously, I don’t know why I had this view of digital collections as being mere static PDF collections of scanned documents (maybe that is because that is what a lot of them actually are), but I saw some pretty dynamic examples of truly artfully curated digital collections of substantive research collections and it made me excited. Maybe for me you just have to make it about something foreign or international for me to truly be interested enough in it or at least be impressed by the design of it.

5. It gave me new opportunities to be involved not just as a one time thing with librarians working on common issues all over the world. To me, it was an introduction to IFLA, not I believe a one-off experience to attend a conference in my favorite city in the world. Yes, I was so lucky the conference was in Cape Town, because truthfully, a chance to go back to Cape Town was pretty high on my reasons of why I wanted to go to the WLIC. However, while I was there, I realized that this experience was definitely something that I didn’t want to be a one-off event. It isn’t every day I get to be inspired, and not cynical.

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Selfies in South Africa

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David and I returned home on Saturday night from two weeks in South Africa. A week of that time was spent in Cape Town at a conference I attended. If I wasn’t deliriously anticipating getting home to my babies and Knightley, I could have just stayed in South Africa.

I have been arguing with myself over how much I want to write on the blog about this trip to South Africa. I feel so pressed for time these days, that when I have time to write after the boys are in bed in the evening, I am so exhausted, I just want to sleep. Yet, at the same time, going to South Africa inspires me to write to record my experiences and the thoughts they inspired in me. I know, “no1 curr” and all of that, but I care and I want to remember it all, and so I want to write it down, even if it takes me forever to write it all down.

So that is what I am going to try to do. I think about where I was on my life four years ago when I first went to South Africa and where I am now, and how my perception of a place has changed because of what has happened in my life in that time. Four years ago, when we were there, it was at the beginning of the rigorous medical intervention that we experienced so that we could have kids. After that, I was to have one ectopic pregnancy, two miscarriages, and finally two babies. I couldn’t have even contemplated those experiences when I was there the last time. I didn’t know how much I would feel like I significantly hardened because of those experiences. I didn’t know how much older it would make me feel. Yet, going back to South Africa again, it made me feel soft and lighter than ever. Sure, I am older, wearier, and I have more lines on my face, but there I don’t mind my skin cracking under the light of the sun, because it just makes me happy. That is really the simplest way I can explain it.

I can’t wait to go back in another few years to share the experience with the boys and to see it all through their eyes. But this time, the experience still felt like my own, which maybe I was selfish enough to want one more time.

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Dreams of the Everyday Housewife

Musical Accompaniment for this post:

Last Monday Sarah and Noelle stopped by for a visit and asked me if the boys and I would like to accompany them to Pizzeria Toro in Downtown Durham. David was out of town and as usual when he is gone, I had no specific dinner plans in mind, so I said “Sure! Let me just change the boys diapers and off we can go.”

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting at the table in Pizzeria Toro, and I had a realization. I was wearing a t-shirt with spit up stains, the same pants I changed into every day after work the week before, and my greasy hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. In other words, I was the sloppiest, most shabbily dressed person in this hip downtown Durham restaurant. For a second, I was completely embarrassed, because my former self would have never gone to a restaurant looking that way. Then the waitress came by and complimented my babies being held by their aunties, saying they were the best behaved babies she had ever seen, and you know what? I totally stopped caring about my personal appearance for a moment and was just appreciated those little boys. Yes, it happened.

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We came home, I put the boys in bed and was ready to go about my nighttime routine so that I could go to bed myself. Part of that nighttime routine involves pumping one more time before bed. However, in a moment of panic, I realized that I left my plug adapter for my breastpump at work. What was I going to do? I couldn’t leave the boys and go back to work and get it.

Here was my remedy:
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That would be me sitting in my car in the garage (I remembered to put the garage door up so I didn’t kill myself by carbon monoxide poisoning), so I could use my car adapter for my pump. I brought out the baby monitor to keep an eye on the boys while I entertained myself with an old episode of Outnumbered on Hulu.

So that was the day when I was like, yes, my brain doesn’t work anymore and I look like a middle-aged slob, but I have got these two little faces in my life now, so it is all worth it. They smile and it is more than enough.

Also, they can feed themselves and hold their own bottles now and it is so adorable:

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July is a Time for Friends

When the boys hit six months in June, I realized that several of our friends in the area still hadn’t met the babies. Embarrassingly, my world has become so insular, there are weeks when I am lucky to make it to the grocery store, much less have actual human interaction aside from work and home. So we decided to remedy that in early July and held a Sip ‘N’ See for some friends to formally meet the boys. It was great fun but this is the only pathetic picture I managed to take.

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I swear, we had actual friends come who managed to drink those drinks that I arranged on our kitchen table.

When the boys then turned seven months, I felt less guilty with them having been formally, socially introduced. DSC_0037

A day after they reached seven months, I had a birthday that included a number seven as well. The boys gave me an ice cream maker, which David insisted they picked out. They certainly seemed to admire it…

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Yes, they are wearing the same outfits on my birthday as in their seven month pictures because their Mommy forgot to take their seven months pictures the day before. I am not good at documenting these things.

We then headed off to Philadelphia for Mommy’s work conference where she had overcommitted herself with speaking engagements. While Mommy spent her time in the convention center, Daddy introduced the boys to some of Philly’s historic sights. These basically means the boys posed in the stroller in front of various historic buildings while Daddy talked at them about historic Philadelphia.

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I was able to join the boys for a morning at Valley Forge which was enjoyable until it became five hundred degrees.

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By the time we made it to Washington’s headquarters, the enthusiasm for history waned as the temperature took its toll.

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This was the only family photo I managed to set with the timer, and Desmond’s face is completely obscured, but it was so hot standing in the sun, I gave up after one attempt.

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Here is Desmond looking very much the cynical teen before we got back in the car. He was trying to communicate, “Really, Mom? Enough with the history, let’s just go to the mall.”

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So going to the mall at King of Prussia is what we did. After all, isn’t that what the Revolutionary War was all about? I mean, I am so glad we won our independence from Great Britain so that I can by my favorite British brands from American retailers.

Back in the city, we managed a few more morning walks before the heat got the better of us.

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The best part of the trip was introducing the boys to some of my favorite people, other librarians I love who also made it to the conference.

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The boys relished the attention and were so happy to make new friends.

We were also lucky enough to spend the night in DC on the way up to the conference and also on the way back down, which meant more time with friends and more play time in the ball pits of friends.

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I leave you with the evening view of Philly’s town hall from our hotel room. This is the best view of Philly I got in the evenings.

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Dandy

Do me a favor. Before you proceed to read the rest of this post, please hit play on the following song.  You need to have the mood set properly for the subject matter. (I apologize if you have to skip an ad first.)

Okay, now that you are listening to the same song that I am mentally humming as I write this, you can view these pictures of my boys.

I am wise enough to know that my days of having any kind of relevance in terms of the fashion world are well over. I am entering my late thirties; I am still chubby; and my most recent monthly clothing purchases were comfortable oversized shirts from Me + Em. Yes, being a woman, once you have too many gray hairs and a C-section shelf belly, the fashion world does not care about you.

Because I still can’t break bad habits, I have taken to channeling my clothing shopping to the boys. It is bad. I do not want them to grow up shallow and materialistic. I don’t want them to care about these things. And yet, I can’t stop because they are adorable and I love finding them adorable things to wear to highlight their adorableness.

I have always considered myself an informal expert on male fashion. In college I had my rating scale for the clothing choices of my male classmates which most of them failed. Look, with the 754 ways I failed every rating that boys made of women at BYU, having a rigid clothing rating scale seemed at least an outlet for my own indignation, even it was similarly very shallow.

Many years later, I married David, and here he is on Father’s Day reminding the boys of the sartorial standards he himself sets.
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Here are the boys modeling some of their more casual looks:

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They get even more serious when showing off their Sunday looks:
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Until Desmond is like, no, I want to do happy for this shot, while Calum demands another take with his serious, cold and penetrating stare:

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Desmond tells his brother, “Come on, lighten up a little.”

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“We are just a couple of little dandies.”**

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**Note, in no way do I want my boys to grow up to be dandies. I want them to grow up and think, “Gosh Mom, you were so frivolous and ridiculous and shallow.”

Meal Time for You my Finicky Friend

I have not at all been secretive about the fact that breastfeeding has been really, really hard for me. I don’t think I was adequately prepared for how painful it was going to be for me, how much time it was going to take, and how utterly exhausting it would be. It is funny how fifteen years ago, long before I contemplated having children of my own, I would have been completely judgmental about a mother like myself. The judgment of the 21 year-old version of myself is in part why the 36 year-old version of myself shed so many tears over so many months about my breastfeeding struggles. The 36 year-old version of me isn’t entirely free of the perfectionism that has permeated most of my life, and thus, the harder something is, the more I feel insistent upon mastering it instead of giving up.

Still, if you were to ask my opinion these days on these matters, you would find me singing the praises of writers like Gayle Tzemach Lemmon or Amy Sullivan who point out that the breastfeeding cult has gone so far in one direction as to become profoundly anti-feminist and anti-choice. Not to mention the fact that formulas have come so far (and continue to improve) that most researchers now conclude that in countries with access to safe drinking water, there really are few (if any) long term differences between breastfeed babies and formula fed babies. The 2014 long term study of sibling groups certainly went a long way to dispel the notion that breastfeeding versus formula feeding had any long term differences in outcomes.

In spite of these things, I am still feeling tremendous guilt in winding down my attempts at breastfeeding. My goal was to make it to 3 months, then six months, and now I have met that. I did it with lots of supplementation along the way, mind you. I had no milk at all for a week after the boys were born, and I worked really, really hard to get my supply up. I didn’t sleep much for several months and pumped and pumped at all hours of the day and night. I dealt with babies who were not enthusiastic nursers. At four months, Desmond would scream and scream when I would try to get him to nurse, so I assumed he was done and gave up. Then, a few weeks ago, when Calum started doing the same, I tried to nurse Desmond again, and he decided he wanted to nurse again. I felt like a failure and felt rejection in both instances when the boys appeared like they didn’t want to nurse anymore, by the way. It made me cry all over again.

The fact is my boys mostly have eaten pumped milk, with supplementation from formula as well as some time spent at the breast. That is just the way it has been. When you do a little bit of all three, it is a massive commitment of time. Yet, I haven’t wanted to give up one of the three because I get benefit from all of them – the pumped milk, knowing how much they were actually getting from me; the time at the breast, the bonding from that; the formula, the convenience and substance of it kept them sleeping a little longer, particularly when they started sleeping through the night.

Going back to work with my Mom gone and David back at his regular work travel schedule means that the insane amount of time all three take is not really workable anymore. Already, I have cut back to pumping just four times a day, and even that seems like a lot, particularly in the morning when I am trying to feed both boys as well. Yes, in addition to the pumped milk, at the breast, formula trifecta, I have now added solid foods to the mix as well, and well, feeding four different ways is just starting to be too much. Later in the summer, I will be away from the boys in South Africa, and I am not going to spend two weeks pumping and dumping milk. So, the days of pumping and breastfeeding are going to be coming to an end sooner rather than later.

I feel sad about it. Even though I am exhausted from trying to keep up with everything, I am sad that I am not going to have those bonding moments. There is part of me that feels terrible giving my boys formula for no reason other than how terrible it tastes relative to breast milk. I need to think about it in terms of having reached my goal and realizing that what I have done for them is the best that I can do, but I cannot turn off the part of my brain that still feels like my efforts aren’t as good as they could have been, and I could have done more. I really hate that I can never view myself as good enough.

So to try to give peace to that guilt, I am turning my efforts in regard to feeding them to solid foods. Before we had the boys, David mentioned he wanted to make homemade baby food for him, and I looked at him like he was crazy, and said something like “Have fun with that.” Now, this is the picture of my Saturday nights:
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Yes, now on Saturday mornings, you will find me at either the Carrboro or Durham Farmers’ Markets, and Saturday nights I spend the night steaming and pureeing in my Beaba Babycookpro2X. When my parents bring me fresh produce from their garden in Mississippi, I get even more excited about it. I scour the Internet for recipes to try, and have bought the accompanying cookbook.

It is shocking how seriously I, lover of McDonald’s cheeseburgers on holiday, have taken this whole food thing for my babies. I guess part of me hopes that if I can get them to be good, healthy eaters, then it will help me develop better eating habits too. So to that end I have also purchased and devoured the book Getting to Yum: The Seven Secrets to Raising Eager Eaters by Karen Le Billon. She also wrote the book French Kids Eat Everything, so maybe I trust her judgment about getting my kids to eat endive. Those French moms do a good job of getting their kids to eat lots of vegetables, and as Le Billon points out, their breastfeeding rates are the lowest in the Western world (so thanks French moms for helping me feel less guilty about something!).

I am at the point where I actually think that this kind of food preparation is quite fun. It helps that I also purchased an Infantino Squeeze Station, which makes me giddy like a little kid when you transfer the food into the squeeze bags. Yes, I know I am terrible for using disposable squeeze bags and creating more waste for our planet for the sake of my own personal fun. I also try to use reusable freezer containers for some things, so I am not entirely wasteful. I am sure at some point in time, it is possible that my Saturday night cooking frenzy will stop feeling fun, and instead will become tedious, but right now, I am having fun trying out different things for my babies. The pinnacle so far is that yesterday they ate my homemade kale, leek, and potato creation and loved it. It makes me happy that they so far have eaten the following vegetables: carrots, parsnips, sweet potatoes, green beans, green peas, broccoli, squash of all kinds, kale, leeks, and spinach. They have eaten a fewer variety of fruits but I have made apple and pear, as well as given them mango, banana and prunes. So far, the only thing they haven’t really enjoyed (once Calum got over his initial reluctance with regard to the green stuff) is the puréed chicken. I can agree with them that meat probably isn’t something that is best puréed.

That is the great thing about parenthood, I think. Once you get over your guilt about doing one thing wrong, there is something entirely new to feel guilty about.

Here are the boys ready for their dinner:

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We are too young for manners lessons, so here is evidence of their lazy mom stripping them down to make cleanup after mealtime easier.

The Happiest Survelliance State on Earth

I have got to give it to Disney World. They are incredibly smart at getting vacationers to willingly surrender all of their personal privacy. I mean, yours truly was practically giddy with the convenience of the Magic Band. The magic band is a radio transmitter bracelet that 99% of park attendees willingly wear. If you stay at a Disney resort, the band is a key to your room, your park tickets, your meal plan tickets, your instant charge card, etc. It also is your way to store photographs that Disney photographers take of you. Basically, it is your wearable tracking device while on Disney property. They know everything about you.

But you don’t care about a corporation gathering millions of data points about you when posing with picture of a giant mouse do you?
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Of course not! So just sit back and enjoy the convenience of it!

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Thanks to that above photo, the mice of the Walt Disney World Corporation are now aware of how terrible my hair looks post pregnancy in the humidity of Florida, and just how little I care about it!

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They are aware of just how difficult it is to get my babies to look at the camera when taking pictures.

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They know that I am the kind of person that will insist on having a family photo taken in front of faux Parisian street scenes.

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Or in front of giant fake baobab trees.

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They know that Melissa is someone who takes games on rides very seriously.

And they know that we are the kind of people that will pose with our kids and Disney characters (but only the traditional ones).

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Judging from my terrible hair, they probably know that I am the kind of person who will never be responsible for creating any sort of “viral” online craze, but if I were to surprise them and create some sort of online anything that goes viral, it would probably involve the cuteness of my niece.

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Look at the spontaneous, uncoached knee pop, guys:
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But nothing tops the adorableness of the pictures with Pluto:

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They know that we are the kind of people who knows when the surprise photo is going to be taken on the roller coasters:

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That is, except Harrison, who has no idea what is going on for some of the rides. On Dinosaur, when everyone else is looking at the giant tyrannosaurus jumping out on the right, Harrison is casually gazing to his left, like no big deal.

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The last bit is the most terrifying bit of all. For the above photos, I had someone scan my wristband to have the photos linked to my account. For the newest ride, the Seven Dwarfs mine train, you have a couple of moments in the ride when the flash goes off, and you think, oh, they just took my picture. Then you get off the ride, and unlike all of the other rides, there is no place you walk through that is scanning through the pictures of people on the ride that you sync up to your magic band. Nope, you walk out of the ride and think, oh, I guess there weren’t pictures after all.

Then, you go home and scan your Disney pictures and you realize, oh wait, there are pictures of me on the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train right there on my picture account. THEY KNEW IT WAS ME THE ENTIRE TIME. That is when you realize there is no such thing as anonymity at Disney World and you FREAK OUT. Privacy is just a ruse in that place. Who knows how else they are tracking you with your magic band. Did they track every time I went to the bathroom too? Disney World is the place where dreams come true, unless your dream is to be anonymous and have your vacation not used for some corporation’s higher marketing purpose. Here is the picture when Melissa, David, and Harrison didn’t realize that their Dwarf Overlords knew it was them the entire time. (David and I went back to go on the mine train one night after the boys were in bed, and it was raining the entire time we were at the Magic Kingdom that night, and I have shared enough terrible pictures of myself to also share another terrible picture of me as a wet dog riding a children’s roller coaster.)

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I am sad my children will grow up in a world where it is impossible to be anonymous on vacation.

A World of Faces

I took a copious amount of pictures of our family trip to Disney World. It was the boys first real vacation, and so I wanted to document it well, even though they won’t remember it. I will remember it. I will remember how fantastic of a trip it was, as the boys were both perfect travelers. They were great on the plane. They were great in their strollers walking around the parks on muggy Florida days. They were great on the kiddie rides and they were great in the pool. For the most part, they slept really well.

So it was all really great, and I have a few pictures of happy faces to share (and a few other great facial expressions).

Here is the boys’ first walk down Main Street with a view of Cinderella’s castle.

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Of course, we headed back to Fantasy Land first thing, because that is what you do with young kids. You also take pictures of standing in line at various attractions, like, It’s a Small World. You take pictures of yourself and subsequently realize from looking at that picture, that some unidentifiable substance is all over your left arm. It was probably spit up. It is always spit up.

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A small world is always a great place for good faces, because every time I go on that ride, I have to make up some new narrative to accompany what is otherwise an incredibly annoying experience. This time, the narrative was that clowns were launching an airborne attack against the children of the world who were coming together to fight them off. This narrative works very well on It’s A Small World, because at the end of the ride *spoiler alert* there are clowns descending from the ceiling in make-shift hot air balloons. And those clowns are scary. Here is Harrison trying not to be too scared.

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We also took pictures in the line to the Winnie the Pooh ride. It was actually the first ride we went on. Doesn’t Calum look thrilled in anticipation?

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Look at Phoebe’s enthusiasm:
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Of course, the Magic Kingdom also meant we enjoyed some of those classic Disney treats like frozen Mickey Ears icecream:

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And attempted family selfies on the Carousel with strange kids photobombing you in the background:

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There was also Dumbo, which for Calum, meant making this face:

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He was probably just annoyed that his mom forgot to work the lever to go up and down. So after, he took this picture with his Dad, a person who knows how to properly work a flying elephant.

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Now I will just come right out and say this, people all over that place saw us and thought we were crazy and brave to bring two almost six month olds to Disney World. Those people are not in on this great secret. When your kids are six months you can still take lots of cute pictures and take them on cutesy rides which are fun, but even more fun is that you still get to determine the agenda. This means my kids aren’t old enough to complain if we want to spend an afternoon puttering around the World Showcase eating. Seven year olds will complain about that. But for me it is still the bliss of taking pictures in front of fake British high streets:

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Or spending far too long eating delicious French pastries:

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Or spending far too long hanging out in Club Cool, sponsored by Coca Cola, because I develop an addiction to the free Bibo DJ Kiwi Mango from South Africa in the absence of Stoney Tangawizi.
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Oh no, older kids would not like their parents hanging out in Club Cool, in particular because Club Cool plays a techno soundtrack that makes their mother dance crazily while consuming far too much carbonated sugar in tiny paper cups at the free soda fountains. But with babies, they cannot object to that.

Of course, I was excited to take them on their first “safari” ride at the Animal Kingdom, which they didn’t like because it was too bumpy.

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But they didn’t mind the wait in line for that ride.

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Harrison didn’t mind posing for silly pictures at our lunch spot at the Animal Kingdom which was designed to look like an open air marketplace, eatery somewhere in East Africa, and I loved it.

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No one objected or complained about my ridiculous getup on the Kali River Rapids either.

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But we all laughed and smiled heartily when we all got soaked, with Melissa and Harrison getting the worst of it.

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Of course, we enjoyed more splashes and fun at the pool at the Bay Lake Tower where we always stay now.

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Then of course there was the night we ate at the Chef Mickey’s buffet and met characters and the boys dressed up in gifted character outfits.

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Harrison and I once again got silly.
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Phoebe approached the characters tentatively at first, and then with greater enthusiasm as the trip went on.

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And Desmond was like, no, I am having none of your ridiculousness Mom and Dad. This is so absurd you dressed me up like a Duck and then thought it was so funny for him to meet me.

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After the fact, he was like, look at what you have done to me!

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But that is what we do when we are new parents in Disney World. And now, we close with a picture of me and David on top of the Contemporary at the California Grill our last night at Disney World. It has become our date night place at Disney World, as we have eaten there our past five trips. We have taken a picture before in the same spot and here you get another, with all of my post-partum hair loss fully on display!

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Yes, bad hair for me and Disney World have become one and the same. These are things that you just accept when you are the crazy person pushing around two six month old infants.

Repeat

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I know my last post was about my mom leaving to go back to Mississippi after being with us for these past months. But, I am on this topic again because last Thursday, when we arrived back at our house after a successful Disney trip with the boys, I was wrecked. I burst into tears crying, because I missed my Mom being there. I know it sounds ridiculous, because I am a woman in my mid (to late) thirties with children of my own, but there I was crying because I wanted my Mommy.

I guess it is for several reasons. Having my mom there gave me confidence in my own skills as a mother. The moment she wasn’t there, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it on my own, particularly when I knew David would be traveling for work the following week and I would really have to be doing it on my own. I cried because I was nervous having someone else other than my mom taking care of my boys during the day when I am not home. And also, I was just once again crying because I love my mom and I miss her already.

This week we are making it. I am lucky the boys are such good babies. Of course we have our moments, and when it is just me I cannot always please both of them at the same time, but I am just trying to relax, cross the things of the list of the routine we follow, and smile with them instead of crying too. I think we will be okay, even when it is just me.

I promise, the next post will be about something different.