Snappy Ruled the Pool...

So, we're home now, and we're all glad to be home (Snappy yelled "home" from the moment we started packing up the hotel room to the time she ran in the door, ready to greet the poor fat cat with a barrage of squeals and tickles.) In the Top Ten List of cool shit that we did, Meeting Giant Clams at the aquarium (Snappy is well-schooled in Spongebob Marine Biology and said, "Clam" when she saw them), Coming face to face with a tiger at the Zoo and our Pretty Woman-esque, Paris Hilton-style shopping spree at the ABC Stores would be at the top, Daddy Monster losing his wedding ring in the Pacific would be at the bottom, but the spot at #1 would, for all of us, surely be Snappy learns to swim.

Our first day there, we arrived to find that our room wasn't ready. We were disappointed. We left our stuff with the bell hops...and wandered around..until we wandered outside...and there it was...in the middle of this strange tourist trap...Waikiki Beach. I heard Polynesian rhythms in my head as I watched a group of people row a native-style canoe in the pale blue surf. So this was it. This was Hawaii...not a secluded waterfall in the middle of a rain forest, but one of the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen set straight across a busy city street.

Because the good people who designed the beach were smart enough to put in a wave wall,so that kids could swim without having to fear for their lives (ahem! Ocean Beach!) We were able to take Snappy down to the water, only to discover that Snappy had developed (along with her new stranger anxiety) a fear of water and wanted nothing to do with it and ran around the beach, knowing full well that we would chase after her. Oh yeah...did I tell you it was a record -breaking heat wave? Yeah, people from Hawaii were complaining about the heat. We were accustomed to life in a fog bank...the last thing we wanted to do was chase a two-year old in the mid-morning sun around the beach.

So, I took her to the pool. Still the blazing sun, still the searing heat, but it had something the ocean did not: steps! I sat her down on the first step and told her to splash in the water. She did this for awhile and then I suggested she try the next step. She did it! I decided to push my luck and try for the next step. At first, she seemed game, but then she balked...and bolted. I caught her just before she went sprinting across the slick tile. I started over again. Slower this time.


The whole process repeated itself a few times before I remembered that Snappy's speech therapist said we should make motor boat noises for her. "Snappy, would you like a motor boat ride?" She shook her head. No she did not. I grabbed her by the waist and spun her in the water Bbbbbbbbrrrbbbrrrbbbbb! Snappy's expression turned from fear to anger to surprise to joy!

"Swim! Swim!" She said.

"That's right! Snappy's swimming. Just like the ducks!" We ventured out into the pool.

"Swim! Swim!" Snappy said at the 5 foot mark, pushing at my arms. It was then that I realized that by "swim swim" she meant "Yes, mom, I've got this swimming thing down. You can let go now. Come on. Let go! Oh for Chrissakes mom, you've got to cut the apron strings sometime."

Much to Snappy's mild annoyment, I did not let go, but I did take our little Swim Swim show on the road. Technically...across the road. To Waikiki beach, where we spent many sunscreen-covered hours splashing and saying stuff like "swim! swim!" and "Bbbbbbbbrrrbbbrrrbbbbb!" Oh...and losing wedding rings, but that's no where near as important as the swimming.

Snappy's New Religion

During a fun visit to the Honolulu Zoo today, Snappy found her new god: this elephant statue:

Snappy goes Native

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.

watching Ratatouille with Dad.

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.

Don't let the early-80's-mobster-style limo she's rolling in fool you...she's not REALLY wearing pants.

Enough blogging...I'm in Hawaii, dammit!



Next...Snappy rules the pool.