Christmas at Great Wolf Lodge

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This year we spent Christmas at Great Wolf Lodge, a water park about an hour and a half outside of Seattle.  We’ve been here before, but usually during the summer, not during one of the busiest times of the year. I thought, who else would take their families to a hotel instead of celebrating at home?  Answer: EVERYONE.

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The whole resort was made to look like a festive wonderland.  We missed Santa by one day, which makes it another year I fail to get any Santa photos done but also show my kids a tree way better than ours will ever be.  Win-win!

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I didn’t take any pictures while we were in the water.   I don’t have any fun waterproof cases.  I didn’t want to hide it under some towels and then find it snatched up later.  I don’t trust people.  I don’t even trust the people I gave birth to, especially since I can’t trust that they will bring their shoes even though I clearly instructed/yelled/yelled some more, “Pack your shoes! You need shoes!”

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We had Christmas Eve dinner at one of the restaurants in the hotel which may not seem like the most festive way to celebrate, but we made it work.

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Every night there was story time in the lobby with animatronic characters coming to life to sing about some story and song.  I think it was about forests? About the wilderness?  Something something nature.  It was incredibly crowded.  I thought it would be better if all the children were able to have seats in the front with adults corralled in the back, but I saw a lot of parents sprawled over seats, one even using the seat next to him to mix his coffee.  It wasn’t even some fancy coffee.  It looked like he took a cup from the hotel room machine then decided to use valuable real estate to stir in the powdered cream and only look around like the neanderthal he is when someone (me) huffs by.

Asshole parents are the worst, especially when I am one. And it’s easy for me to morph into a Mr. Hyde Mom with a few ingredients like a super crowded hotel where I am surrounded by rich families and teen girls in ugg boots and sweatshirts who probably say things like, “I love Nordie’s!” and she isn’t talking about Nordic culture.   I don’t know if it’s because I’m jealous of all their privilege (because I am) or I’m angered at how clueless they can be when they’re posting dumb articles on facebook (I wish they wouldn’t protest in front of Abercrombie and Fitch!  I need a new hoodie!) or literally standing behind my car and texting while I just need to back out of my space and I don’t want to honk the horn, I want them to be better people.   And I want their parents to be better people, like not make coffee when they can offer people a seat instead.

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TJ managed to get a great seat, though.

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After dinner, Mike stayed in the room while TJ slept and Nathan and I went back to the water.  The lines were short, probably because families were out, inconveniencing others with their coffee making manifest destiny. We went on the huge slides, the ones that TJ was too short to ride on, and we would get in the tube, spin in this huge whirling vortex, scream and then repeat, repeat, repeat.  That’s one thing about Nathan I love so much.  He loves adrenaline, he loves the rush, he also loves watching his mother scream and scream but then nod once he asks, “Can we do it again?”

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We spent money in the arcade.  Someone won some tickets.

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Someone didn’t win any tickets.

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I attempted a nice kid shot on our way out.  Someone wasn’t having it.
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Then two people weren’t having it.

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Here’s the photo I want to print and frame.  The one that captures how two boys feel when they know they will be spending a day swimming and sliding in what they have called, “The most fun place on earth.”  The anxiety (mine), cost (ours–ugh) were all worth it for these two to have a good time.  They deserve it.

Happy 4th of July!

It’s July 4th! Or Indepants Day, the holiday only I celebrate because no one else has signed on to this catchphrase so I sit alone, eating watermelon and saying the cleverest name to myself. I know how to party.

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So do my boys, who found ways to make poop jokes at the “snake bomb.”

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Freedom is running with your brother until your mom calls you back to the other end of the parking lot, where there are more sparklers to light and all the time in the world for a fart joke.

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