There's Something Amiss in the Old Clubhouse

I owe a lot to the old Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. The toddler terrorist has loved the show since she was a little baby. This baby crack has saved me many a time when all avenues of child soothing was exhausted. I don't know what it is about this show, but it just does the trick. Do I feel guilty that Mickey is a better parent than I? Sure. Do I sometimes cringe when I use Mickey as a babysitter so that I can do super fun things like clean the bathrooms, cook dinner, steam clean the floors, vacuum the bedrooms...? Absolutely. Do I sometimes swear off the Micky sauce? Totally. But without an Intervention style rehab stint, it's just not going to happen. And if you did try an intervention, I would be the addict who agrees only after stipulating that I get to go home first and pick up some "stuff". I'd then pack up all the Mickey and the terrorist and fly the coop.

Because the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse acts a surrogate husband and father in our house, I have had the luxury of noticing a few action items that require some attention. These things simply do not make sense. I have outlined my observations below because I am a responsible parent who pays attention to details.

1. Why do Daisy and Donald refuse to wear pants while Mickey likes to rock it shirtless? I might wear the same outfit day in and day out. I might forget to put on makeup and on a crazy day when the tiny terrorist has tried to kill me, I might even forget deodorant. I often forget to brush my hair. But I always remember my pants and my shirt (you're welcome, world). Do the ducks face a closet devoid of pants or do they actively decide not to don their bottom duds? I know Mickey can afford a nice shirt with that fat Disney paycheck. His girlfriend Minnie seems like a proper lady. Why doesn't she do the girlfriend thing and buy him a shirt that he hates but wears anyway because he knows wearing the shirt is easier than receiving the silent treatment for the next few weeks? I'm just fascinated by these various states of undress. Perhaps I'm just jealous.

2. If Goofy and Pluto are both dogs, why does Goofy get to wear clothes and speak English while poor Pluto is...well, a dog? Poor Pluto! It must be so frustrating to be the same species of canine and yet he can't communicate but for a few ruff ruffs and a couple wags of the old tail. His agent probably had to negotiate the title of Pluto the Wonder Dog just to overcompensate for the fact that he doesn't get to be a lovable, clumsy, Goofy mess. He probably gets paid less, proving that even a cartoon canine can hit a glass ceiling.

3. Minnie has two nieces, Millie and Melody. Where the heck are their parents? These adorably mischievous trouble makers just show up sans parents demanding attention. When they don't get the requested consideration from their aunt, they resort to giggling maniacally, combining forces and wreaking havoc. Poor Minnie is the fun auntie and therefore has trouble with disciplining this child power couple. Remember when they screwed up Minnie's winter bow show? They giggled their way right out of trouble and then dragged poor Minnie along on their crazy adventure, causing her to completely neglect the bow show on which she worked so hard. Where were the parents? Taking a nap? There's nothing that bothers me more than a mysterious parent who drops their adorable but rebellious pint sized terrorists off with the sweet, unsuspecting relative. Better to plop them in front of the old babysitter Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and be done with it.

4. How does Daisy squeeze those duck feet into such a cute pair of shoes? Does she ever wish she could run around barefoot like Donald? I wonder if she ever gets sad that she can't just breathe a sigh of relief as she slips on a pair of flip flops. Everyone knows that webbed feet don't allow for sandals. She probably can't wait for the end of her work day when she can finally kick off those ridiculous shoes, stretch out her wide, flat feet and relax with a glass of wine.

5. Does anyone ever get the feeling that there is about to be a coup at the clubhouse? Mickey is clearly the star of the show, but Donald seems awfully exasperated a good portion of the time and Pete is always sabotaging his pal's plans. Seems innocent enough if you're not tuned in to the political power play that is prevalent in each episode. There is trouble in the clubhouse, folks. I'm telling you, there could be a House of Cards style power upset coming to a clubhouse near you. Minnie appears sweet, but you can tell there's a little Claire Underwood buried under all those pink bows. I'm just saying - things are about to get interesting.

These are just a few things that I have noticed about our good friend Mickey the Mouse. What things have you noticed amiss in the clubhouse?

Let it...Go?

Okay, okay. I get it. Parents are up to their eyeballs in Frozen. They're over it, but unfortunately their little ones are not. I've had conversations with other moms that go a lot like this:

Other Mom: "So how many times have you seen Frozen?"

Me: "Probably about 20 times."

Other Mom: "That's it? I've seen it 20 times too....This week."

I, on the other hand, am digging the Frozen phenomenon for one simple reason. Sure, I can recite every line and of course, I'd rather be watching bad reality television rather than listening to Anna lament her relationship with her sister (again), but Frozen has brought out something adorable in the tiny terrorist.

Turns out, the girl loves to sing. And it's adorable.

The first time I heard her singing Let it Go, I wasn't sure that was exactly what she was doing. I caught it on video so that I could run it by a few other judges for a ruling.

My husband wasn't convinced. But as the weeks went on, she became more and more animated. The way her face lights up when I play a song from the movie could thaw a Frozen heart. (See what I did there?) She now can belt out a rendition of Do You Want to Build a Snowman that is quite impressive if I do say so myself.

I get it. There is a major Frozen overkill. But I don't know if I can ever let it go when it comes to this adorable singing voice.

Taking to the Unfriendly Skies

In less than a month, I will be embarking on a solo plane trip with the tiny terrorist. It's a rite of passage through which all mothers must pass, but it has me trembling in my Toms. I have witnessed close friends of mine take flight with toddlers in tow without incident, but I always seem to be the exception to the rule. My husband and I travel frequently, yet we always seem to roll deep with stress and luggage.

Take the San Diego Airport. Whoever invented the Southwest terminal had a diabolical anti-baby plot brewing as he deviously drew up plans for a circular floor plan that forced the millions of travelers to shimmy by each other like packed sardines as they chase their own tails (or toddlers in our case) around, and around, and around...

Then this mischievous little terminal creator decided to put in one bar. It is always packed and the people are always spilling out into the already too small walkway, adding insult to injury to frazzled parents. Smell that delicious scent of libation freedom? Too bad you can't have any as you race through a throng of travelers, desperately chasing your independent (and really fast) child as she is resolutely hell bent on boarding a random flight sans parents.

Our last trip was particularly memorable. It was so crowded that I was forced to confine my little runaway in her stroller. The only good news was that her outraged screams were drowned out by the other travelers screaming over one another to be heard. I caught my husband's eye from across the terminal as we simultaneously rolled our eyes and pulled our imaginary triggers in a futile attempt to disappear from the hell that is the Southwest terminal of the San Diego Airport.

Now let's talk airplane. Everything you are doing with your child, the flight attendant demands you do the opposite. If you are wearing your baby, you must remove her from the carrier. Never mind that she is sleeping, it is a fabulous idea to remove her just so that the flight attendant can raise a disapproving eyebrow as the baby erupts into screams, cranky that she was just so rudely awoken. As we take to the unfriendly skies, we are admonished for playing Mickey Mouse without forcing our 13 month old to wear headphones. I'm sorry, ma'am - have you met a 13 month old? Surely you haven't, because if you had you would certainly understand that getting a child that age to wear pants is a success. Headphones might be pushing it a little. And as you reason with this lovely flight attendant who is just doing her job, you remind her that a screaming toddler is much more disruptive to the passengers than the background melody of Hot Diggity Dog.

No? Okay, lady, you asked for it. There goes my toddler, bum rushing the cockpit as she petulantly pelts peanuts at unsuspecting passengers while belting out her favorite war cry rendition of Let it Go. Face flushed and feeling as though every eye in the plane is boring into my back, I frantically lure the outlaw Bugsy Malone back to her seat with a trail of toddler tricking snacks and resume the task of containing the wiggle worm to her assigned seat. Sigh.

We once sat next to a nice man with really long dreadlocks. When he first sat down next to us, we told him he was brave. He laughed it off and said she looked like a sweet girl and besides that, he loves kids, he claimed. My husband and I raised our eyebrows and smirked. Fast forward to mid flight, and the tiny terrorist was having the time of her life yanking on his luscious locks while he looked tried to laugh it off but was surely covertly Googling where he could turn in his kid loving card.

I have always had my husband to help wrangle the wild one. When she is sick of me, she can climb on her dad and vice versa. This time I will be flying solo with my sidekick who is always unpredictable. If it goes badly but I live to tell the tale, I will sure to share my stories. I'll see you on the other side!

Do you have any tricks for traveling alone with a toddler?