Best T-Shirts I Saw in Disneyland Part II

This summer we went back to the happiest place on earth.  I love shopping there.  Here are some of the funniest t-shirts I saw there.  Some were in stores, some were on people in line.  Most are Disney, but all are fun.

1.

front of shirt

back of shirt

Mini-Van Mix Up

I live in an area with lots of big families and soccer moms like myself, so It shouldn’t be surprising that many people drive the same vehicle I drive: a Dodge Grand Caravan, circa 2008. There are tons of them out there, and they all seem to be the same dark red color that mine is. Add in the Chryslers which are twins, and you have quite a few on the road.

Many times I have walked out of Costco and gone towards a mini-van only to find it wasn’t mine after getting there. I was recently even trying to open up the trunk of one when the real owner showed up with her groceries. Luckily, she didn’t think I was trying to steal it since I was attempting to use my key, though to no great effect.

Last week when I was parked, waiting for my child to come out of a class at the rec center, a girl of about thirteen started walking confidently up to our van. I looked at her and she instantly stopped, turned and grew red in the face. I’m sure for a moment she was wondering who had snatched her normal mother and replaced her with the weirdo in sunglasses she saw behind the wheel instead.

But the best mini-van mix up came about two years ago. My husband, son and I were going skiing. My husband went into a grocery store to see if he could purchase some discount lift tickets. I was waiting in the passenger seat while my son was in the back. My hubby had left the doors unlocked since the vehicle was occupied. Out of the grocery store came a woman carrying a couple bags. She was walking quickly toward a vehicle, our vehicle. She wasn’t looking my way but instead was looking to the side. She used her key fob, “opened” the door and climbed right in to the driver’s seat–of our van, not her own, all without ever glancing at the passenger seat.

I was so shocked I simply said, “Uh, ma’am, I think you have the wrong van.” The poor woman jumped, then turned bright red, and stammered out, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” as she got out and walked to her own van about three vehicles away. Some men were standing in the parking lot, talking to each other; they witnessed the whole thing and guffawed until long after the hapless woman drove away. My son and I were laughing right along with them.

If I’d been thinking, I would have said to the woman as she got in, “Cool, where are we going?” or maybe, “Kidnapper!” But I was just too surprised to be anything but boring, and I doubt I’ll ever get the chance again. Although, with as many of those mini-vans as are out there, maybe I will. Help me out, and comment with your best reply so I’ll have it ready to go if I’m ever on the receiving end of a mini-van mix-up again.

Camping Chaos

Camping is wonderful. I love it. But, it has its ups and downs.

First, the rain. Living in a desert state, we don’t get much. I’m used to dry camping trips, with perhaps a sprinkle or two. This time, we got drenched. The movie/book title A River Runs Through It aptly described our campsite. For the two and a half days we were there, it rained for two. I was intensely grateful for the natural pine tree umbrella we hung out underneath. Since we can’t stand or even really sit in our dome tent, we used the pine tree to shelter during the day.

Then, there was the nutty squirrel who was determined to chase me away from the bathroom. I woke up before everyone else and skipped to the loo, my darling. (My bladder wouldn’t let me just saunter.) As soon as I came within twenty feet of the pine tree that is its home right next to the bathroom, it began to chatter wildly. Soon, I was the intended target of a barrage of pinecones. This mad squirrel was pulling them down and hurling them my way. I ducked my head and ran in to the bathroom only to hear the roof being pelted as I tried my best to settle in enough to complete my business. (You try having a pee when you’re constantly hearing things being chucked at the roof which you fear may come crashing down at any minute.) When I was done, the squirrel continued its relentless air attack as I covered my head and ran. Who knows what this squirrel might have been capable of had I stuck around for it to scurry to the ground and take its grievance up with me hand-to-hand? I still don’t know what I did to anger a squirrel so much.

Sleeping while camping is, well, not so much sleep as rest. Sort of. I would describe my nights as sleeping in vignettes. I must have had ten to fifteen different pieces of dreams. In between them all, my two-year old was pushing me off the air mattress or kicking me in the face, or trying her best to stake her claim to my pillow. I thought tumbling off the air mattress was bad, but it beat the next night when, after my hubby tried to blow up the air mattress, he pulled out the valve. Though he shoved it back in, it deflated faster than a balloon held by a three-year-old. We were staying in the mountains where the Mormon Pioneers quarried the granite for the Salt Lake Temple. I think they forgot some; we were sleeping on it.

Our mattress for the night

I did love making pixie dust with my kids and the awesome pinecone war we had. (The kids claimed they won, but we totally flanked them and took them by surprise. The adults won. Though, I’m sure had the squirrel joined in, it would have schooled us all!) The ukulele jam was great. And the little forested area right by our camp, named Anatopia by the kids, was perfect as always. Not to mention the hike we took during the brief dry period. Mostly, I just loved spending time with my kiddos, hubby, nieces and nephews, sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law, and my mother-in-law and her husband without any distractions and in the beautiful surroundings God created for us. So, even though the air mattress broke, as did the hinge on our Thule, and the minivan’s battery died and had to be jumped before we could leave, we had a great time.

I do keep seeing images of a rabid squirrel every time I sit down on the porcelain throne. But I’m sure that will fade in time, right?

Best T-Shirts I saw in Disneyland

Ah, t-shirts.  The perennial American wardrobe piece of choice, especially for summer time.  T-shirts can express  political views, proclaim a favorite sports team or celebrity, or just make a funny statement.  The latter are my favorite.  I love a t-shirt that makes me smile.  And on my recent trip to Disneyland, I saw plenty on 20,000 of my newest friends.  Here are some of my favorites, in no particular order:

1.  Princess Leia as the Mona Lisa:

2.  Darth Vader on Dumbo:

3.  Storm Trooper Emotions Unmasked:

4.  Yoda’s Lament

5.  One worthy of the Haunted Mansion:

6.  Two great philosoraptor t’s:

7.  One I should make my new personal mantra:

8.  The one my two-year-old and my eleven-year old actually wore, but for different reasons:

Front:

Back: 

What’s the favorite t-shirt you’ve worn/seen?

 

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, This Pirate’s Got to Pee!

Arrgh, me mateys, Disneyland! It’s probably our favorite family vacation. We always have a great time and end up with at least one funny story to tell. This year’s funny story came about because I didn’t enforce my number one rule at Disneyland: Everybody goes whether they “feel” like it or not. This simple rule has prevented bathroom mishaps quite a few times. It has also avoided the dreaded, “I have to go, right now!” that always happens thirty minutes after everyone else went in. (And, it seems to happen when you’ve already waited thirty minutes for Peter Pan, and you’re almost to the front.)
My five-year-old has tiny bladder extraordinaire. (See Pay it Forward Pay Day to see when her tiny bladder helped us out.) Since I have three girls and one boy, the majority of the bathroom duties go to me. What with my mother-in-law who was in wheelchair and needed some assistance in the bathroom, my oldest girl and my toddler who needed a diaper change, I didn’t notice when my five-year-old failed to use the restroom on one visit there. Daddy would pay for it later.
My toddler had fallen asleep so my hubby took our three oldest to ride Pirates of the Caribbean while I waited with the stroller. The line was short and we were planning to eat in that area, so it seemed perfect. We weren’t counting on the great potty emergency of 2013.

The line was only fifteen minutes at the most, but the ride is a good fifteen minutes itself. My family got on, and right after they went down the second hill, my five-year-old tugged on my husband’s sleeve and said, “I have to go, right now!” I don’t know if it was the hills, the scary skeletons, or the sound of constantly running water, but all of them probably combined to make her realize she had a bladder fuller than Davy Jones’ locker.
What do you do when your child has to go? And it’s another ten minutes to the end of the ride? Ten minutes are very long when your bladder is the size of a peanut. My husband might have briefly considered just dangling her bare bottom over the of the boat, letting her use the facilities the same way the nautical naughties the ride paid tribute to would have, but he wisely chose not to have a less than Disney day with Disneyland security. Instead, he went for the positive affirmation: “You can hold it, honey. You can do it.”
My five-year-old dutifully repeated, “I can hold it, I can do it.” This became her loud sea chant for the rest of the voyage. She also danced a little-girl-has-to-go jig in her seat, complete with wiggling and holding that would have fit right in with the salty dogs she was surrounded by. The poor people in the boat with my family had to watch her wriggle and hear her repeat “I CAN DO IT! I CAN HOLD IT!” while they attempted to pay attention to the red ‘un and Captain Jack. They were probably all wondering when they’d have to pick their feet up for a warm and yellow leak in the boat. I can just hear them all say, “Hurry, walk the plank!” as they jumped out to a wetter, but cleaner, fate. It’s a good thing the ride ended or the crew might have had a just cause for mutiny, and my hubby and kids might have found themselves marooned, forced to beg the dog that will never come for the keys to the prison cell.
Alas, my little pirate lass was able to fulfill her mantra. Just barely. I got a text from my hubby that read, “Meet me at the exit in five minutes. (Five-year-old) has to go, now!” He ran out with her, and I took her by the hand and ran with her to the nearest bathroom. She couldn’t even lock the stall, but she made it, by the powers, she made it.
Every bathroom visit after that, I reminded this lass to stick to our pirate family code: Everybody goes. Luckily, she doesn’t know enough pirate lore to tell us, “They’re less like rules and more like guidelines.” Otherwise, I might have ended up having to swab her deck with the wet wipes I’d brought for the toddler and break into our emergency treasure (change of underwear and shorts) stash. At least now, we have another way to sing the song: “Yo ho, yo ho, our pirate’s got to pee!”

Next time, an Unusual Souvenir

Ahh, vacation. Twelve wonderful days with my family. I loved nearly every minute of it. (With 30 hours in the minivan, some of it was bound to not be bliss, right?) I also love getting home. Sleeping in my own bed, getting back into a routine, etc. What I don’t love about getting home? The laundry!

Twelve days of vacation took every ounce of clothing everyone in the family had to get us outfitted for the trip. With unloading and general lack of energy, I didn’t quite get to the laundry last night. Plus, the mountain of it was so daunting, it reminded me forcefully of the Matterhorn. Only perhaps taller. So, this morning as the kids woke up, I heard this, multiple times:
Kid: “Mom, I don’t have anything to wear!”
Me: “What about your souvenir t-shirts?”
Kid: “OK, sweet.” (Lengthy pause) “But what about underwear?”
Underwear? Curses. I knew I should have made them get souvenir underwear! Oh well. Next time. Hopefully when we visit Yellowstone next summer they’ll have souvenir grizzly fur boxers. Or maybe a buffalo hair camisole and panty set. I’ll be sure they get those and the goose down undies. Then, my next trip laundry dilemma will be solved