Category: Drinking

3-Year-Olds Are Pure Evil

Ok. So maybe this title is a little bit overstated, but not by much. They are evil dipped in adorable, topped with sweetly mispronounced words, and sprinkled with a dash of bat-shit crazy. “Mommy, I want more ‘camel-lope’ please.” (That’s cantaloupe to you & me.) Immediately followed up with a psychotic tirade of frantic warfare when said ‘camel-lope’ is all gone. Whoever coined the phrase ‘terrible twos’ apparently never met a 3-year-old. That, or they decided that ‘terrible’ was simply just not a strong enough word to describe the rage-inducing, tiny vein in forehead bursting task that is raising a 3-year-old.

Maybe I’m just too fresh from the drama to be objective about this age group. Perhaps if you ask me tomorrow I’ll proclaim that it’s one of my favorite ages because they really start to communicate with you and their personalities really emerge and some other b.s. that I really mean at the time. But not today.

Today began with the 3-year-old climbing into our bed at about 2:30 in the morning and kicking me in the face. Did I mention she was wearing shoes? Why, you ask? Because apparently footwear is very important to her (even when she’s sleeping) and I have lost the ability to argue with tiny humans about why wearing shoes to bed is a bad idea. But I digress. Needless to say it was not a restful night of sleep.

The morning brought with it whining. OMG, the whining! Just sitting here thinking about the “whiny voice” is raising my blood pressure. You see, dear reader, whining is the primary form of 3-year-old communication. I feel fairly certain that the devil himself employs a whiny 3-year-old to be Hell’s receptionist.

All of this whiny fun was then followed up with a trip to the dentist where lovely threenager refused to allow the hygienist or dentist to clean her teeth. The dentist was able to get as far as being able to count her teeth before making the very wise decision to try again in 6 months.

Lunch was equally as enjoyable. I had the nerve to serve her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She used to love peanut butter and jelly. Not today. Today I may just as well have served her dog poop on pasta. Pretty sure it would have gotten the same reaction. I made the poor dear take a bite of her sandwich. She refused to swallow the bite and as we were loading into the minivan for big sister’s dance class she must have accidentally choked on the sandwich a bit. Next thing I know she vomited all over the back of the van, on her sister, and on herself. We were a tad late to dance class today and my minivan now has a faint barf smell to it.

The afternoon has brought with it more whining, some crying, fighting with big sister, and (just when I’m about to completely lose it) some sweet little gesture to remind me there really is a good little person in there hiding under all those very big 3-year-old emotions. Not all days are this bad. Some days she’s a perfectly sweet little girl. But today? Today she is a threenager, and so mommy drinks a glass of wine.

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Do you have a threenager living in your house? What is the most psychotic thing your threenager has ever done?

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The World’s Saddest & Most Expensive Pub Crawl

Second Rate Husband and I are going on a vacation. Without kids. Because of his stellar work performance over the past year, Second Rate Hubs has been awarded an all-expenses paid trip to Calgary, Alberta, Canada. A whole glorious child-free week! Yippy!! I can hardly wait!

On the way to the airport we encountered some traffic, causing us to arrive later than planned. And then it happened. We got to curb-side check in at 9:36 a.m. Our flight had a scheduled departure time of 10:35. PROBLEM. International flights require that you check your bags a full hour before departure. Missed it by one minute. One. Freaking. Minute.IMG_0585

Another fun bit of international travel trivia: You have to be on the same flight your bag is traveling on. In other words, we couldn’t just hop on our flight and send our luggage on the next flight. SO. Next flight it is. Eight. Hours. Later.

Once we adjusted to our new reality and accepted the fact that we would, in fact, be spending the next eight hours in purgatory the airport, we decided to re-collect ourselves with an adult beverage. Just as I’m getting settled in with my $10 airport TGI Fridays drink (kill me), I noticed that I no longer have my iPhone. A short trip back through security to retrieve it (thank you Mr. Second Rate) and we are back in business.

Yep. Just seven and a half short hours away from boarding our plane…which will then be followed by a  four hour long flight. Oh, and did I mention we are renting a car and driving two hours to Banff when we get there? So, yeah. Thirteen some-odd hours later, and we’ll officially be on vacation… (Can you tell my enthusiasm is suffering a bit at this point?)

And then Second Rate Husband, in all his eternal optimism, decides that we were going to make the most of our time here in airport purgatory. He excitedly proclaims that we are going to use the tram to visit all of the airport terminals and have a beer in each one. Yes folks. This was his way of attempting to win me back over to the sunny side; with the world’s most expensive and depressing pub crawl.

Well, by this point I still have seven hours to kill, so why the hell not? Besides, Second Rate Husband seems pretty pleased with himself for dreaming up his new-found bucket list challenge. Let the sad little pub crawl commence.

Which terminal to start with...decisions, decisions.
Which terminal to start with…decisions, decisions.

We started our journey. First up was Terminal A for a beer and some time on our devices. Because there’s no one in the world I’d rather sit next to and ignore.

Quality time in Terminal A.
Quality time in Terminal A.
Second Rate Husband
Second Rate Husband

In Terminal B we made lots of friends, including a nuclear physicist with a son that plays professional paint ball (seriously, I can’t make this shit up) and this guy headed to Corpus Christi for work.

Good conversations at Cantina Laredo.
Good conversations at Cantina Laredo.

Terminal C was a low-key stop, but we got to check it off the list at a sports bar.

Next stop: Terminal E!
Next stop: Terminal E!

Finally, we made it to Terminal E. Our final beer and some dinner before heading back. Although I started today’s airport pub crawl journey with less than great enthusiasm, I have ended it on a much better note. Maybe it’s all the beer I’ve had, but I’d like to think it’s because I’m thankful for a husband that helps me make the most of things. After all, there are much worse ways to spend eight hours.

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