Dinosaur Mexico

Fall is in the air for the first time today. For where I live, which is about 40 miles east of Palm Springs, California, that means that the weather finally dipped down into the low 90’s and we all rejoice and turn off our air conditioners. It’s somewhat of an unofficial local holiday. My friends who live in cooler parts of the country think I’m nuts for living here. As one friend put it, “Seriously! I’m worried about you. WHY do you live there?” I answered her with the standard answer that most Desert Rats give when asked that question. We smugly say, “Because for 9 months of the year we have beautiful springtime weather.” And it’s true, we do. I love it in the winter when there’s snow on the mountains, blue skies, and the sun is shining at a moderate 75 degrees. It’s gorgeous. But if there is one thing I could change about that 9 months of springtime weather, it would be to wish for just 1 month of beautiful crisp autumn weather. It’s just not the same eating chili and watching football in shorts and a tank. I feel so cheated.

Anyway, that’s not what I sat down to write about today. I wanted to write about a little road trip our family took a couple of weeks ago. Out on the I-10 west of Palm Springs there’s a historical landmark. Well, maybe calling it a historical landmark is a bit of a stretch, but it’s been there for as long as I can remember. It’s older than the outlet mall that lies 5 minutes to the east of it. And I’m pretty sure that a Christian Slater movie filmed its final scene out there in the mid-80’s. In my book, that’s enough to commemorate a historical landmark. It’s called the Cabazon Dinosaurs. Just so you can get a visual, here’s a picture that my husband Mr. C took from the inside of a T-Rex’s mouth (more on that thrill in just a bit).

Up to the point of this road trip, my family and I would only refer to these concrete creations as we were driving past them as “the dinosaurs”. Mostly, they served as a marker to let the kids know how close we were to getting out of the desert, as in “Mo-omm, are we past the dinosaurs yet?” But for some reason, my 3-year-old son started randomly calling this place “Dinosaur Mexico”. I don’t know where he got the name, but I think its pure genius so from here on out that’s what I’m calling it too.

Our trip to Dinosaur Mexico stemmed from the fact that we were all going stir-crazy at the house. Temps were still above 110 and there’s just not a lot you can do outdoors in weather like that. Even the pool feels like a warm bath.

Out of boredom, or maybe just desperation, Mr. C and I decided to put the kids in the car and just drive. Half an hour later we found ourselves standing in front of a larger-than-life Apatosaurus (confession- I didn’t find out it was an Apatosaurus until today when I was doing “research” for this blog. My kids still think it’s a Brontosaurus, because they’re still young enough to believe that mommy always knows what she’s talking about).

Anyway- it was hotter than Hades, yet surprisingly we weren’t the only crazy people out there. The kids were enthused to find out that you can take stairs up the Apotosaurus’ butt into its belly where there’s a delightful little gift shop. The fact that most of the merchandise had collected dust and that it was hot and stuffy inside the dinosaur belly didn’t deter the little ones from wanting to systematically examine every item in there and then beg and plead for it as if their life depended on it. In hindsight, I don’t know what we were thinking- it’s not as if we didn’t know there was a gift shop up there. The faded and peeling sign that had “Gift Shop” with an arrow pointing towards the dinosaurs’ nether regions was pretty much a dead give away. Really, we had only ourselves to blame for even venturing up there. So maybe that’s why, after denying every request thrown our way, we agreed to pay the $5 a head for the FULL CABAZON DINOSAUR EXPERIENCE. Or maybe we were just suffering from heat stroke. Anyway, here’s a photographic journey of our experience:

Part One of the experience: The Robotic Dinosaur Room.

This was a room about the size of my living room at home filled with more gift shop souvenirs and about 6 robotic dinos, of which a grand total of 2 were working. Here’s me getting into the cheesy atmosphere.

The owners of this place are advocates of Creationism, of which I have no opinion about one way or the other. However, I was amused by the mannequins who were dressed in WWII military gear and standing side by side the dinosaurs like loyal army buds.

Part Two of the experience: Mining for gold

This the kids TOTALLY dug, although I have to confess that it was hard for me to let go of my fear of dirty water germs to let them sift through the brown murk in search of “gems” (aka aquarium rocks).

Here’s my 5 year old proudly displaying the bag of gems she bravely risked contracting some kind of flesh eating disease for. Seriously, that was some nasty smelling water.

Part Three of the experience: Climbing inside a T-Rex’ Head.

I am not a person who is afraid of heights. Or one who gets panic attacks. I did not think that taking a narrow spiral staircase up 3 stories into a T-Rex mouth would do me any harm. I helped the 3 year old up the narrow, steep, and dirty spiral staircase while holding Baby Roo in my arms and nervously shouting warnings to my oh-so-confident-and-nimble 5 year old. I did this without coming off as too much of a Nervous Nelly. But then when we got to the top and were looking through Mr. Rex’s teeth (that’s his proper name, the gift shop lady in the apotosaurus’ gut told me so), and I realized that I was looking directly at the San Andreas Fault. Now, I may not know much, but I do know that no one wants to be found dead inside the belly of a 50 foot dinosaur named Mr. Rex after an 8.0. I believe that I deserve a better death than that. So, mainly because the walls had started to close in and I was having just the tiniest hint of a panic attack, J, Baby Roo, and I all climbed back down the stairs while Mr. C and Princess G stayed up on top and took pictures. Here’s proof.

After that, the FULL CABAZON DINOSAUR EXPERIENCE was pretty much over. The kids dug in an “archaeological dig” to find some rocks that had a dino painted on it. They scored 2 rocks, which meant they got to choose a prize from the prize bucket inside. As far as they were concerned, that alone made the trip worthwhile. We then packed it up and went thru the BK drive thru for some tall drinks, which we downed in about 5 minutes and then headed home. Our trip to Dinosaur Mexico was over. It was a tourist trap for sure, but the memories we have of the kids and that day are priceless. Thanks for letting me share them with you too. Have a good day!

Dear Facebook Friend with the Strong Political Views,

Dear Facebook Friend with the Strong Political Views,

Can I be honest with you? I really REALLY hate it when I have a friend who I like just fine in the real world and then they ultimately ends up annoying the heck out of me in cyberspace. You, girlfriend, have crossed that line. And unless some serious corrective steps are taken, I’ma gonna have to delete you.

I mean it. You are really starting to bug me.

It’s not that I can’t appreciate an intellectual debate. Or a strong point if view, even when they are different from my own. Especially when they are different from my own. It’s just that EVERY SINGLE TIME I LOG ON I have to look at another status update in which you are either whining about something or demanding justice for someone- and quite frankly it’s bringing me down.

I log on to Facebook for the same reason that I believe most other people do- for a little fun and relaxing social networking. I scroll through my homepage and read what people are up to- who’s having what for dinner, who’s kid said something cute today, who’s got a date night with their hubby. I look through a few picture highlights. I check to see who’s climbed ahead of me on the Bejeweled Blitz Leader Board. But then, most days there’s you. Like a lump of black coal in a child’s Christmas stocking, there you are shouting your opinions all over my home page and demanding my attention, when all I really wanted to do was take some mindless quiz to find out what color my aura is.

What’s on your mind? Well in the past couple weeks I’ve seen you complain about organic farming, healthcare, childhood vaccinations, swine flu vaccinations, animal rights, , Katie Couric's interviewing techniques, media coverage of the President, and finally illegal alien rights. Then one of your friends piped in by saying that illegal aliens do in fact pay taxes, in the form of sales tax. I have no idea what that's about, but for now I'm just going to chalk it up to an embarrassing Facebook Faux Paux.

My point is that honey, you’re coming off like one of those people we all met in college (you know the type who didn’t wear makeup or animal byproducts) and are always marching for this or that, and protesting about this or that, and were always condescending to people about this or that. Those people never smiled. It’s time to lighten up, sister.

ANYWAY, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t care so heavily about the issues. I’m just saying that you’re using the wrong medium to express your views. Look, when I want to learn about “ISSUES” I turn on CNN or NPR. Occasionally I’ll have a discussion with a friend or family member. But when I log on to Facebook, I just want to RELAX. Maybe do a little light cyber stalking, but mostly I want to just relax. What you’re doing is a little much. Maybe you can tone it down to one issue a week? Or better yet, start a blog. That’s what they’re for. But until then, do me a favor and stay off my wall okay? That is, unless you have a good link to an E!News Weekly celebrity dish.

Thank you,

Meanie Mom

I Am Meanie Mom

Hey all.

So, I’m starting a blog. And while I have lots of ideas for this blog, it turns out that I haven't a clue on how to actually start it. You have no idea how many times I’ve rewritten this already. I guess I should start out by clarifying the name…

I’m not really a meanie mom. I got the term from a sitcom in which the term “meanie moms” refers to these stuck up-ish, yoga pant wearing, Pilates trained, back stabbing, trash talking, Land Rover driving, bitchy type moms with highlighted hair, manicured nails, and Blackberries. That is definitely not me. I’m not even sure mommies like that even really exist, although my friend who is a nanny in L.A. assures me they do. In fact, she laughs straight in my face when I question it and gives my naïve noggin a sweet little pat.

I’m really just a regular mom of 4 (one teenage step kid and 3 little ones of my own, ages 5 and under). I got inspired with this name one day because a Facebook acquaintance of mine posted that she had had “a mean mommy moment.” She didn’t elaborate nor did she need to- tons of moms responded because we all knew exactly what she meant. A Mean Mom Moment is when you are already running at your absolute wit’s end and you little ones choose to take that particular moment to do something that pushes you beyond your line of sanity. This may happen in any number of ways. My kids’ tactics of choice include:

A) Asking a stupid question (mom, why do we have to have toenails?)

OR

B) Complaining about something miniscule and unimportant (mo-om, why did she get TWO MORE chocolate chips on her waffle than I did?)

Sometimes they’re even able to combine these two tactics into a special double whammy that'll put you on the road to crazy in doubletime:

C) Asking a stupid question while complaining at the same time (Mom, how come you never explained to me why we have toenails? I thought you said we’d go to the library and look it up. We never do ANYTHING fun. )

Now remember, it’s only a meanie mom moment if they employ these tactics when you are already running on empty. The washing machine broke, the 3 year old has just spilled fruit punch all over the floor and the baby has crawled in it, the phone starts ringing, the TV’s blaring, and that's when your little nugget opts to start in with the inane questions and comments.

So what’s a mom to do? I’m convinced that 95% of us do this: “What? WhaT? WHAT? I DON’T KNOW! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT? GOD! CAN YOU PLEASE JUST DO SOMETHING USEFUL AND GET ME A TOWEL SO I CAN CLEAN UP THIS MESS?”

And that’s when the Meanie Mom guilt hits. You look at the tiny little face of this sweet child who just witnessed you going apeshit over a question about toenails. You see the hurt and the confusion and you realize that it’s not their fault that they’re not intelligent enough yet to know that when there’s obviously so many messes for mommy to clean and it’s still too early for her to pour herself a glass of wine, that’s it’s really just best for them to keep their tiny bow-shaped sweet lips zipped.

And somewhere between answering the phone and peeling the newly dyed pink onesie off the baby you start to really feel like a schmuck.

That’s a Mean Mom Moment. My day is peppered with them.

So, there it is. That’s why this is the Meanie Mom Diaries. I’m a meanie mom, but I don’t beat myself up too much. I’ve always figured that it’s better to cop to your weaknesses and learn from them rather than to strive to give the illusion of perfection. Perfection is boring. We may muddle through our days around here, but there’s plenty of funny and interesting stuff that happens. In fact, it’s enough so that I want to write about it- hopefully on a daily basis. So thanks for reading my blog!

I’ll be seeing you!