I know I owe many blogs about how cute Snappy is, and believe me, those are coming, but I'm going to Blog about our big trip to Hawaii for the next couple days. The first installment I like to call "Getting There" or "The Horror. The Horror.".
We started Wednesday am like gangbusters. We woke up Snappy at 6:30 am. It was about 4 hours too early to be getting up by her clock, but we told her we were going to get on a plane and she sprung into action: ready for adventure.
And all was great. We flew Hawaiian Airlines, which precludes the big in-flight entertainment feature presentation (Drillbit Taylor) with lovely, bucolic scenes of Hawaii. Snappy enjoyed this, saying things like "hey fish" and "eat grass" (that last comment came when she saw a horse eating grass...genius!).
A few hours later, it came to pass that I, who had delegated walking-the-high-energy-toddler-up-and-down-the-aisle duty to Dad for the entire flight (there and back, but sh. He doesn't know that, yet.), got the first poopy diaper duty. I changed it in the tiny ass bathroom like the seasoned pro I am. I of course had an extra pair of much-needed pajama bottoms (stupid leaky safeway brand diapers) and plenty of extra wipes to clean up her car seat (while holding a two-year old under my arm like a clutch purse, of course). I resisted the urge to run up and down the aisle, pumping my fist and singing Queen's We are the Champions (with the lyric we are changed to I am.
After a bit of a rough patch (aka full-blown tantrum). I pulled yet another miracle out of my pocket (aka a Big Big World DVD). "Ook!" Snappy exclaimed, And just like that...tantrum over. The miracles continued as Snappy fell asleep just as the words "dangerously low battery" flashed across the screen. Ha! I laugh at danger.
She looks cute, but she's stinking up the entire plane.
Or I did. That is until two agonizing hours before the flight ended, I realized that my sleeping beauty was, yet again, sitting in a puddle of what, for potty-training purposes, we'll call pee-pee. There was also obviously (and not just to me) some poopy. I wasn't going to wake her...oh no...I'd sooner pull on Superman's cape while simultaneously spitting into the wind, pulling the Lone Ranger's mask off and messing around with Jim than to wake a sleeping toddler on an airplane.
When the plane touched down, like a couple of secret ops on a kill-or-be-killed mission, Dad and I managed to get her out of her car seat and into the broom-closet-sized bathroom before the remove-your-seatbelts ding had fully dinged. I still had plenty of wipes, but no more bottoms, so I threw a pajama top on her legs and hoped no one would notice...and possibly inform the autorities.
Enough blogging...I'm in Hawaii, dammit!
Next...Snappy rules the pool.