peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

I have been drinking the Disney Kool-Aid.

I do not own a Goofy t-shirt. I am not a wearer of Disney pins. My vehicle does not sport a sticker with our family members in Mickey Mouse ears.

Yet I know the songs to The Nightmare Before Christmas. I own the majority of Disney movies on DVD. Even Blu-ray. Watching Cinderella with with my daughter makes me happy. On Sunday nights as a child, I watched The Wonderful World of Disney, cuddled in my jammies. I rode It’s a Small World 30 years ago. And again last week.

See? I’ve been drinking the Disney Kool-Aid since I was a child.

How can you NOT? In our culture, it’s almost force-fed.

As an American family, you “go to Disneyland.” This part was sorta nagging at me since my two youngest kids, aged seven and 10, are the perfect age and we hadn’t been in five years. Down the line, my daughter may not want to go. Or, she may not want to go with me. The time was NOW.

It was my Mom duty to go to Disneyland.

So, I planned a surprise trip, with my husband’s stealth encouragement. The suspense of keeping this secret for two months! On my daughter’s 10th birthday, we sent her to school and promised we’d pick her up a little early to do “something fun.” Maybe a frozen yogurt treat? She’d like that. That’s the kind of girl she is.

On the way to the airport, I nearly peed my pants, I was so excited. Excited to head to sunny California for a few days. But mostly, excited to share the magic with my children. This video shows my daughter’s I-don’t-believe-you reaction, as we announced the Disneyland plans while pulling up curbside at the airport, with her bags secretly packed in the back. You can hear the giddiness (Kool-Aid) in my voice. I don’t think it quite sank in with her until we were actually walking through airport security.

And here we are spazzing out on the airplane. Giddy with excitement! I was extra giddy. I was about to be a kid again and see “the magic of Disney” through their child eyes.

And when the flight attendant asked what we would like to drink, we answered:

“Disney Kool-Aid.” Duh.

The 4th of July is my favorite holiday.

It is the holiday that screams summer, family, yummy food, and celebration.

As a kid, when I spent summers in Missouri, I’d shake my apple bank empty. (I had a bank where you would insert a coin and the worm would grab it and take it to the inside of the apple = coolest bank ever!) I shoved the handfuls of coins into my pockets until they bulged. Then I would climb on my bubble gum-pink Schwinn–with the banana seat–and bolt to the nearest fireworks tent, Famous Dave’s.

Back then, $5 would buy a lot of awesomeness. Smoke bombs, Piccolo Petes, Roman candles, sparklers, snakes (that would make a permanent black mark on my Dad’s driveway), and bottle rockets–my favorite! Those suckers are illegal where we live now. Just the other night, when my 13-year-old son and I were buying fireworks, how you’d balance the glass Coke bottle on the wooden fence, drop in a bottle rocket, light the fuse with your punk, and run.

On the 4th, my Dad always made ice cream. The old-fashioned kind. Always vanilla. With ice and rock salt and a crank. It took way too long.

The street asphalt would bubble under the sweltering heat. I often went shoeless. Coming home after meandering through our neighborhood on my bike–with black-bottomed feet–I just in time to help with the final cranking of the ice cream, and suck on an ice cube laden with salt, until the ice cream was ready.

It was the 4th. And it was a celebration of all of my senses.

Happy 4th of July!

I’m hanging out with other cool bloggers here. Check ‘em out!

Two words: Thank You. Thank you to all the veterans.

Oh, and four words: Don’t Be A Hater.

Today in the United States, we celebrate Veterans Day, where we honor the millions of men and women who have served or are serving in our nation’s armed forces.

This is not a day for naysayers and haters to rant about their political views, share their anti-war sentiments, or put down those honorable men and women who are doing their best. Save it. At least save it for another day.

And, really, should this be a day in America where we shop for mattress sales and attack all of the other Veterans Day sales in our department stores nationwide? Ugh.

Nah, it’s not about that.

11-11-11 only comes once every one hundred years. Many of us won’t be around to celebrate the next one.

So, save the hating and the naysaying.

How about making today a peaceful day?

November 1 marks el Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, a holiday celebrated in Mexico and beyond. It’s a time to remember, honor, and celebrate friends and family members who have died. The skeleton is likely the most recognized symbol for death. And in Mexican traditional culture, people make skulls out of white sugar. These are considered thoughtful offerings to the returning spirits.

But around my house, sugar skulls might get dissolved into the morning tea.

A safer–and more permanent–way for me to honor el Día de los Muertos, is to display my Mexican folk art paintings. These portray the joy and the sadness associated with the dead. I purchased these paintings in Oaxaca, Mexico…  Nah, psych, I bought these paintings on canvas on eBay. They are still hand-painted, one-of-a-kind pieces that celebrate the richness and color of traditional Mexican culture and artwork.

I, for one, have an appreciation for skeletons and their symbolism. Do you?

With our political correctness, we have obliterated Halloween in our elementary schools. And that’s a shame. When I was a kid (OK, that was decades ago, don’t rub it in), we joyfully donned costumes and marched around at recess in the school’s Halloween parade. It was a spectacle and a celebration. And it was great fun. Your mask would get all sweaty inside. Someone would step on your cape. And maybe you accidentally peed through your costume.

What child can concentrate in school on Halloween anyway? With visions of Snickers and Twizzlers and Tootsie Roll pops dancing in their heads?

We can’t even utter the word Halloween in schools. Let alone have a party. It’s “pumpkin party” or “harvest party.” I say, boo. Hello? It’s like not acknowledging the elephant in the room. It’s Halloween, for goodness sake. SAY it. (Is this the holiday that will not be named? Ala Voldemort?)

So, no costumes or parades. And certainly no parties with cupcakes with spiders on them or punch with floating gummy worms. No sugar.

And if it’s no sugar and absolutely no peanuts (these days), then that means no Snickers. And in my book, that gets a failing grade.