The house we’re renting on Cape Cod is a cute little cottage except for the roaches, although the pest control guy claims they’re beetles but he agrees that they should not be inside.
Here’s what I don’t understand, however, about this Summer on the Cape phenomenon. Why is everyone so anxious to pay such a premium for so much inconvenience? Okay, it’s pretty here. But what am supposed to do? Besides go to the beach, which is a quarter mile walk along a busy narrow road with no sidewalk, and I can’t drive because you have to be a resident to park there and even if I had a resident sticker I’d have to wait for an hour for a spot.
But back to the house....it is a cute little house. Let’s put little in italics, for emphasis, particularly for nine people. Four big people and five rugrats. The real problem, however, is that when we arrived, it had not been cleaned after the previous renters departed. It was passable, because rental agreements stipulate that you have to leave the house “broom-swept,” whatever that means (Who are these people? Do you think I want to go on vacation to clean somebody else’s house?), but the bathrooms hadn’t been cleaned, the trash had not been emptied, there was even coffee left in the pot. There was a pair of dirty underwear under the bed. Two pairs, in fact. I mean, ick.
After several calls to the rental agency, the homeowner began calling. He called three times. No, he did not want to apologize for charging us $2,700 for the privilege of staying in his dirty house. He wanted to tell us that the rental agency had been feuding with the cleaning company and somehow our house didn’t get cleaned. But it wasn’t his fault.
He came over the next morning to tell us again that he understood this mess wasn’t our fault. Duh. But that it wasn’t his fault either. And that the cleaners would be there soon.
The cleaners came and cleaned the house and that was done. We went to the beach and swam in the frigid waters and dug in the sand, and felt temporarily very Cape Coddy.
Back at the house, the Diva told me her throat hurt. I gave her some ice water. That night at dinner, she told me she was cold. I gave her a jacket. She said she wasn’t hungry. I told her she needed to broaden her culinary horizons. Then I took her temperature. She had a fever of 102, and white pustules on her tonsils.
Husband reluctantly took her to the emergency room the next morning because I couldn’t get a
pediatrician’s office to answer the phone. There is one walk-in clinic that’s open evenings from 5-6:30 p.m., which I don’t find very helpful.
Anyway, the doctor took 45 seconds to diagnose the Diva with strep throat.
At the drug store, after I paid for the penicillin, I asked the pharmacist if he could recommend something to help with the pain in my increasingly throbbing cavity tooth. He said no, nothing other than ibuprofen, and he asked when we were headed home. “Saturday,” I said. “But we’re driving. To Florida.” He whistled.
“Who’s the penicillin for?” he asked. I told him my daughter had strep throat. He pointed at the Tyrant, who was with me. “No,” I said. “She has pneumonia.”
He shook his head, then said he’d be happy to recommend a good scotch.
The same night the Diva fell ill with strep, we arrived home from dinner just after dark. When my sister-in-law turned on the light in the basement bedroom where her two boys were sleeping, dozens of gross brown bugs scurried everywhere. My sister-in-law was, understandably, completely skeeved out by this, and she made her husband sleep in the basement with the bugs while the two boys slept with her in a queen-sized bed. She’s cranky now.
We called the rental company. They spoke to the owner who promised to send over the pest control company to spray enough chemicals to eradicate every known species of bug in the Northeast. We said no, thanks, but we’d rather our children not return to their homes as altered species.
Our 4-bedroom cottage is now a 3-bedroom cottage. Actually, last night it was a 2-bedroom cottage, since the upstairs bedrooms have air conditioning and the downstairs bedroom does not. All those rumors about the Cape having a cold windy summer? Put them to rest. The heat has arrived. Right now, I am writing at 5:30 a.m. while Husband, Pterodactyl, the Diva and the Tyrant pretend to indulge in restful sleep, all in the same bed.
The owner visited the morning after the bug discovery to announce again that this was not his fault because he pays a pest control company to handle this stuff. He did some vaguely threatening chainsaw work for about an hour then cut some of his hydrangeas and gave them to me as some sort of compensation. Then he showed up again last night at 9:30 p.m. to collect bug samples. At this point I think he is stalking us, and I’m going to take my boxing gloves out of the car and leave them in a prominent place.
Just to further complicate matters, the Pterodactyl is having a very rough time because most of his cousins are older and tend to exclude him from playing. He tussled with one younger cousin who bit his finger so hard I thought it might be broken.
I’m getting a little cranky myself. Husband said I barked at the children so loudly at the ice cream store last night that people actually stared. I have no memory of this. Also, I forgot to get my happy pills refilled before I left, so I am parceling them out sparingly.
And get this -- it’s only Day 3. We’re not even halfway through.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Vacation Odyssey #4
It’s the final day of travel to Cape Cod, and we are finally heading in that direction now at 10:29 a.m. We’ve been in the van for 21 minutes, and I’ve already taken the Tyrant to the bathroom at Stop & Shop, threatened to cut off the Pterodactyl’s hand and throw it out the window, and cried because the Diva didn’t like the DVD I bought for her. I’m exhausted.
It has been a long 15 hours and crankiness has infected everyone at some point. That might be partly because everyone’s a bit constipated as a result of Husband limiting liquid intake to avoid bathroom stops. Except the Tyrant, who is taking the antibiotic Augmentin for her pneumonia. Did you know that one of the side effects of Augmentin is frequent loose bowel movements? The Tyrant has been potty-trained for months. There has been some regression on this trip.
Yesterday afternoon we decided to stop in Hershey, Pennsylvania for the night. We were all excited to visit Hershey’s World of Chocolate, and it didn’t disappoint. Husband called it the greatest entertainment value in the history of America because....get this: it’s free. Free parking, free visits with the giant Reese’s character who looks like a square brown penis with eyes, free ride on the chocolate car which takes you on a tour of a fabricated chocolate factory. But here’s the catch: while you’re riding on the car, you’re breathing in some sort of chocolate heroin fog which makes you think you might die or kill someone if you don’t eat chocolate immediately. Then you exit through the gift shop. And the whole “free” concept goes to shit.
But still, it was fun, a little slice of Americana that I can paste in my mental scrapbook of Nice Things I’ve Done For My Kids.
It was after 9 p.m. by the time we pulled into the Hershey Hampton Inn. It was booked. So was the Days Inn, the Springfield Suites by Marriott, the Harrisburg Residence Inn, and the next four hotels we stopped at to beg for a place to sleep.
We just kept driving and feeding Hershey’s Kisses to the children until they fell into sugar comas and quit crying. We drove until after midnight.
That’s the bad news. The good news is that the only hotel we could find was a really nice Hilton and the only rooms left had two double beds so I had to get two adjoining rooms and we all slept great. (Yes, cha-ching, cha-ching, if you’re counting.)
We all felt refreshed for about 15 minutes until the arguments began over who could have which complimentary beauty products. The Pterodactyl was nearly insane with envy because the Tyrant had a shampoo and a conditioner and he only had a shampoo, and only calmed down slightly when I found a shower cap for him.
Husband and I realized the boy was probably hypoglycemic and needed to eat. We all did. So before we left the hotel, we spent $36 in the gift shop for breakfast, not including the adorable heart-shaped mirrored compact the Tyrant stole.
We sat in the luxurious lobby living room and ate blueberry scones, a cold muffin, some fruit, potato chips, two pats of butter and a packet of mustard. The coffee was delicious. We watched guests arrive for some sort of fancy Indian wedding and admired the women’s colorful sparkly saris.
Finally we caravanned through the hotel to our car, lugging the recyclable Publix bags in which our stuff was packed and leaving a mustardy trail of potato chip crumbs behind.
Now we’re driving through New York City. We’re really, truly on the last leg of the first part of the journey. We should be on the Cape easily by dinner. What could go wrong?
Okay, here’s a glitch. It’s a gorgeous day in NYC, and every single person who owns a car is trying to escape via I-95. We will never get out of Connecticut. I’m on the verge of exiting the highway immediately, renting the first house I see and enrolling the kids in school. The Tyrant only sleeps when we play Poker Face by Lady Gaga so I’ve heard it 300 times in a row. The 3-pound supply of Hershey’s chocolate from Chocolate World is dwindling. If my trainer is reading this, consider me a major renovation project to undertake 10 days from now.
Okay, glitch #2. Sister-in-law just texted to me to say she had just arrived at the Cape rental house. She wrote: It’s going to be a long week.
Sigh.
It has been a long 15 hours and crankiness has infected everyone at some point. That might be partly because everyone’s a bit constipated as a result of Husband limiting liquid intake to avoid bathroom stops. Except the Tyrant, who is taking the antibiotic Augmentin for her pneumonia. Did you know that one of the side effects of Augmentin is frequent loose bowel movements? The Tyrant has been potty-trained for months. There has been some regression on this trip.
Yesterday afternoon we decided to stop in Hershey, Pennsylvania for the night. We were all excited to visit Hershey’s World of Chocolate, and it didn’t disappoint. Husband called it the greatest entertainment value in the history of America because....get this: it’s free. Free parking, free visits with the giant Reese’s character who looks like a square brown penis with eyes, free ride on the chocolate car which takes you on a tour of a fabricated chocolate factory. But here’s the catch: while you’re riding on the car, you’re breathing in some sort of chocolate heroin fog which makes you think you might die or kill someone if you don’t eat chocolate immediately. Then you exit through the gift shop. And the whole “free” concept goes to shit.
But still, it was fun, a little slice of Americana that I can paste in my mental scrapbook of Nice Things I’ve Done For My Kids.
It was after 9 p.m. by the time we pulled into the Hershey Hampton Inn. It was booked. So was the Days Inn, the Springfield Suites by Marriott, the Harrisburg Residence Inn, and the next four hotels we stopped at to beg for a place to sleep.
We just kept driving and feeding Hershey’s Kisses to the children until they fell into sugar comas and quit crying. We drove until after midnight.
That’s the bad news. The good news is that the only hotel we could find was a really nice Hilton and the only rooms left had two double beds so I had to get two adjoining rooms and we all slept great. (Yes, cha-ching, cha-ching, if you’re counting.)
We all felt refreshed for about 15 minutes until the arguments began over who could have which complimentary beauty products. The Pterodactyl was nearly insane with envy because the Tyrant had a shampoo and a conditioner and he only had a shampoo, and only calmed down slightly when I found a shower cap for him.
Husband and I realized the boy was probably hypoglycemic and needed to eat. We all did. So before we left the hotel, we spent $36 in the gift shop for breakfast, not including the adorable heart-shaped mirrored compact the Tyrant stole.
We sat in the luxurious lobby living room and ate blueberry scones, a cold muffin, some fruit, potato chips, two pats of butter and a packet of mustard. The coffee was delicious. We watched guests arrive for some sort of fancy Indian wedding and admired the women’s colorful sparkly saris.
Finally we caravanned through the hotel to our car, lugging the recyclable Publix bags in which our stuff was packed and leaving a mustardy trail of potato chip crumbs behind.
Now we’re driving through New York City. We’re really, truly on the last leg of the first part of the journey. We should be on the Cape easily by dinner. What could go wrong?
Okay, here’s a glitch. It’s a gorgeous day in NYC, and every single person who owns a car is trying to escape via I-95. We will never get out of Connecticut. I’m on the verge of exiting the highway immediately, renting the first house I see and enrolling the kids in school. The Tyrant only sleeps when we play Poker Face by Lady Gaga so I’ve heard it 300 times in a row. The 3-pound supply of Hershey’s chocolate from Chocolate World is dwindling. If my trainer is reading this, consider me a major renovation project to undertake 10 days from now.
Okay, glitch #2. Sister-in-law just texted to me to say she had just arrived at the Cape rental house. She wrote: It’s going to be a long week.
Sigh.
Vacation Odyssey #3
Day 2.
We all slept well. That’s the good news. And we’re on the road by 7:30 a.m. after a raucous breakfast that ended with my hooligans stealing approximately 400 tourist brochures for places we will never visit.
For the moment we’re quietly chugging along in our landfill, which is really beginning to smell.
“My lunch goal for the day,” I just said to Husband, “is for the kids to not eat chicken fingers and French fries.”
“Yes. I agree.”
“Maybe a Panera, or something.”
“Right. Because the Appalachians are full of Paneras,” he said. “God. Could you be any more suburban?”
“Well, honey. What do you think they’re going to eat at Mama’s Down Home Country Kitchen Diner?”
“Dirt. Or coal residue.”
So now we’re back to being quiet.
I’m thinking about the Diva asking me to explain Hamlet last night, and how she’s getting to the age at which she understands that bad things happen in the world. The other morning I was in bed reading the newspaper, and she was snuggled next to me watching television, which incidentally is one of the most awesome feelings in the world, when she said, “Mom!” in an urgent voice and pointed to an article in the paper. I looked where she was pointing, and saw the headline: Woman eats baby’s brain.
The Diva is a very good reader and it was too late to brush it off and tell her it was nothing. So I was stuck explaining to my 7-year-old that sometimes people get sick in their heads, like their brains don’t work right, and they think it’s okay to do terrible things. And she said, “Oh, right. My friend Jay told me there’s somebody at camp like that.” So I used that diversion to steer away from detailing the story of the woman who carved up her own 7-week-old infant and took a few bites of him.
This all makes me a little sad. I hate that I’ve got to stain, even slightly, her perennial sunny outlook on life. I particularly dislike introducing her to fear, even if it’s a healthy fear, the kind that keeps her safe from predators and prevents her from placing herself in dangerous situations. But I know it’s part of parenting. I keenly remember how I learned healthy fear. I was 7 years old, the same age as the Diva is now, when I broke the rules and rode my bike in the street. I got hit by a car. That showed me.
I certainly don’t wish that kind of lesson on my children. At the moment, I’m happy they’re safe in the back seat watching the Jetsons, and that their greatest fear is that we’ll spend the whole day in the car again, which we will.
Husband just found an NPR station. I’m going to sign off and look for a Panera.
Okay, succeeded in avoiding chicken nuggets for lunch. We had ice cream instead at the Natural Bridge Gift Shop in Virginia, and then we descended 34 stories into the earth to see some caverns, which were very cool. The Pterodactyl was fascinated, especially when we walked over some 2x4s and told him it was an underwater bridge. The Diva was bored to tears. Literally. She was cold. She was tired. She couldn’t see. She was scared. She only rallied when we left through the gift shop, but I’m proud to say we didn’t cave. Pardon the pun.
We all slept well. That’s the good news. And we’re on the road by 7:30 a.m. after a raucous breakfast that ended with my hooligans stealing approximately 400 tourist brochures for places we will never visit.
For the moment we’re quietly chugging along in our landfill, which is really beginning to smell.
“My lunch goal for the day,” I just said to Husband, “is for the kids to not eat chicken fingers and French fries.”
“Yes. I agree.”
“Maybe a Panera, or something.”
“Right. Because the Appalachians are full of Paneras,” he said. “God. Could you be any more suburban?”
“Well, honey. What do you think they’re going to eat at Mama’s Down Home Country Kitchen Diner?”
“Dirt. Or coal residue.”
So now we’re back to being quiet.
I’m thinking about the Diva asking me to explain Hamlet last night, and how she’s getting to the age at which she understands that bad things happen in the world. The other morning I was in bed reading the newspaper, and she was snuggled next to me watching television, which incidentally is one of the most awesome feelings in the world, when she said, “Mom!” in an urgent voice and pointed to an article in the paper. I looked where she was pointing, and saw the headline: Woman eats baby’s brain.
The Diva is a very good reader and it was too late to brush it off and tell her it was nothing. So I was stuck explaining to my 7-year-old that sometimes people get sick in their heads, like their brains don’t work right, and they think it’s okay to do terrible things. And she said, “Oh, right. My friend Jay told me there’s somebody at camp like that.” So I used that diversion to steer away from detailing the story of the woman who carved up her own 7-week-old infant and took a few bites of him.
This all makes me a little sad. I hate that I’ve got to stain, even slightly, her perennial sunny outlook on life. I particularly dislike introducing her to fear, even if it’s a healthy fear, the kind that keeps her safe from predators and prevents her from placing herself in dangerous situations. But I know it’s part of parenting. I keenly remember how I learned healthy fear. I was 7 years old, the same age as the Diva is now, when I broke the rules and rode my bike in the street. I got hit by a car. That showed me.
I certainly don’t wish that kind of lesson on my children. At the moment, I’m happy they’re safe in the back seat watching the Jetsons, and that their greatest fear is that we’ll spend the whole day in the car again, which we will.
Husband just found an NPR station. I’m going to sign off and look for a Panera.
Okay, succeeded in avoiding chicken nuggets for lunch. We had ice cream instead at the Natural Bridge Gift Shop in Virginia, and then we descended 34 stories into the earth to see some caverns, which were very cool. The Pterodactyl was fascinated, especially when we walked over some 2x4s and told him it was an underwater bridge. The Diva was bored to tears. Literally. She was cold. She was tired. She couldn’t see. She was scared. She only rallied when we left through the gift shop, but I’m proud to say we didn’t cave. Pardon the pun.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Vacation Odyssey #2
Well, we’re five hours into our Vacation Odyssey Driving Trip to Cape Cod and Husband is already in the doghouse.
We are in Bumfuck, Alabama. Today’s headline in the Bumfuck Times is: Feeling Love -- More than 40 students dedicate life to Jesus Christ. On the plus side, Hank Williams apparently grew up around here.
We’ve actually only been on the road for three hours. Add onto that 45 minutes for breakfast, half an hour trying to extract ourselves from the Cracker Barrel Country Store, and half an hour trying to figure out how to insert the disc into the DVD player that Husband PROMISED HE’D FIGURE OUT HOW TO USE BEFORE WE LEFT ON THIS GOD-FORSAKEN JOURNEY.
Part of the problem may be that he decided yesterday that we’d leave Destin at 4 a.m. this morning so that the children could sleep part of the way. Then he bought a bunch of rum and served everyone Exotic Island Punch for the rest of the night.
He did get up at 3:30 a.m. to load the car. Then we carried the children to the car and strapped them into their seats. The Diva resumed slumber immediately. The Pterodactyl dozed off after about 20 minutes. The Tyrant fell asleep three hours later as we were pulling into the Cracker Barrel for breakfast.
We had a nutritious delicious breakfast. (Husband: eggs, biscuits, sausage, grits. Me: eggs, wheat toast. Diva: steak fries and three bites of chicken. Pterodactyl: bacon and butter. Tyrant: eggs, catsup, butter, gummi worms.)
Then we spent half an hour trying to drag our kids out of the Cracker Barrel store, which is like a retail glue trap. At one point, an employee actually walked up to the Diva and placed a giant purple monkey Webkinz in her arms and said, “Feel how soft!” Are you kidding me? Do you think I’m going to spend $20 on something that isn’t going to keep her quiet in the car for more than a nanosecond? Instead we bought candy they could suck on for a while.
Husband is pretending to be fascinated by everything he sees along the highway, including billboards, orange work barrels, hills, and the Hyundai manufacturing plant we just passed. “Wow,” he said. “Now that’s the kind of thing you just don’t see when you’re flying.” He added that he thought it would be really cool to take a tour of the plant.
I asked Husband about his target destination for the day. He doesn’t have one. I’m guessing we’ll stop at whatever point the DVD player stops working. Hopefully by that time, we’ll at least be out of Alabama, where you can still smoke in restaurants and highway road signs advertise the Alabama Division of the Sons of the Confederacy. Yikes.
My back hurts already from contorting myself around to: hand Pterodactyl a sippy cup, rub Tyrant’s leg, pick up Teddy when she throws it at my head, open the computer to the downloaded AAA Triptik, administer the Tyrant’s pneumonia medicine, and pick up Gummi Worms from the ground. Also, nothing perfects the art of coughing up phlegm like a little bout of pneumonia. So I am surrounded by baby wipes full of mucous that the Tyrant has spit into my hand or retrieved from her nose. Too bad the dog is in the kennel - used baby wipes are her favorite snack.
Okay, fast-forward to the night. We’re in a Knoxville, Tennessee Hampton Inn, having accomplished an 8-hour drive in a mere 13 hours. I thought we’d never get out of Chattanooga. But it seemed silly to be so close to Lookout Mountain and not go look out at it. Then it seemed stingy not to ride the Steepest Incline Train In The World, particularly when the Pterodactyl thinks trains are even better than potty talk. And then the Diva got carsick going up the mountain, the Tyrant plastered chewed-up Gummi Worms on her fingernails like nail polish, we all got cranky coming down the mountain, and after eating a late lunch at a fly-infested Wendy’s, we drove a little more and called it a day.
We walked along Knoxville’s riverfront, which was nice, and found a little Shakespeare in the Park and had some ice cream. The Diva inexplicably loved Hamlet and kept asking me what it was about. Like I know, just because I’m a writer.
It was a nice evening. Back at the hotel, the Tyrant's Teddy came up missing, and Husband had to light out into the night to search; he finally found it at the ice cream store, thank goodness, or I seriously would have canceled the rest of the vacation.
I’m really proud of us for getting through this day. I’d even be giddy about it if we didn’t have two more like it ahead of us. Five more, if you count the trip home. Tomorrow I’m going to calculate how much money we’re actually saving by driving instead of flying. My guess? Not enough.
We are in Bumfuck, Alabama. Today’s headline in the Bumfuck Times is: Feeling Love -- More than 40 students dedicate life to Jesus Christ. On the plus side, Hank Williams apparently grew up around here.
We’ve actually only been on the road for three hours. Add onto that 45 minutes for breakfast, half an hour trying to extract ourselves from the Cracker Barrel Country Store, and half an hour trying to figure out how to insert the disc into the DVD player that Husband PROMISED HE’D FIGURE OUT HOW TO USE BEFORE WE LEFT ON THIS GOD-FORSAKEN JOURNEY.
Part of the problem may be that he decided yesterday that we’d leave Destin at 4 a.m. this morning so that the children could sleep part of the way. Then he bought a bunch of rum and served everyone Exotic Island Punch for the rest of the night.
He did get up at 3:30 a.m. to load the car. Then we carried the children to the car and strapped them into their seats. The Diva resumed slumber immediately. The Pterodactyl dozed off after about 20 minutes. The Tyrant fell asleep three hours later as we were pulling into the Cracker Barrel for breakfast.
We had a nutritious delicious breakfast. (Husband: eggs, biscuits, sausage, grits. Me: eggs, wheat toast. Diva: steak fries and three bites of chicken. Pterodactyl: bacon and butter. Tyrant: eggs, catsup, butter, gummi worms.)
Then we spent half an hour trying to drag our kids out of the Cracker Barrel store, which is like a retail glue trap. At one point, an employee actually walked up to the Diva and placed a giant purple monkey Webkinz in her arms and said, “Feel how soft!” Are you kidding me? Do you think I’m going to spend $20 on something that isn’t going to keep her quiet in the car for more than a nanosecond? Instead we bought candy they could suck on for a while.
Husband is pretending to be fascinated by everything he sees along the highway, including billboards, orange work barrels, hills, and the Hyundai manufacturing plant we just passed. “Wow,” he said. “Now that’s the kind of thing you just don’t see when you’re flying.” He added that he thought it would be really cool to take a tour of the plant.
I asked Husband about his target destination for the day. He doesn’t have one. I’m guessing we’ll stop at whatever point the DVD player stops working. Hopefully by that time, we’ll at least be out of Alabama, where you can still smoke in restaurants and highway road signs advertise the Alabama Division of the Sons of the Confederacy. Yikes.
My back hurts already from contorting myself around to: hand Pterodactyl a sippy cup, rub Tyrant’s leg, pick up Teddy when she throws it at my head, open the computer to the downloaded AAA Triptik, administer the Tyrant’s pneumonia medicine, and pick up Gummi Worms from the ground. Also, nothing perfects the art of coughing up phlegm like a little bout of pneumonia. So I am surrounded by baby wipes full of mucous that the Tyrant has spit into my hand or retrieved from her nose. Too bad the dog is in the kennel - used baby wipes are her favorite snack.
Okay, fast-forward to the night. We’re in a Knoxville, Tennessee Hampton Inn, having accomplished an 8-hour drive in a mere 13 hours. I thought we’d never get out of Chattanooga. But it seemed silly to be so close to Lookout Mountain and not go look out at it. Then it seemed stingy not to ride the Steepest Incline Train In The World, particularly when the Pterodactyl thinks trains are even better than potty talk. And then the Diva got carsick going up the mountain, the Tyrant plastered chewed-up Gummi Worms on her fingernails like nail polish, we all got cranky coming down the mountain, and after eating a late lunch at a fly-infested Wendy’s, we drove a little more and called it a day.
We walked along Knoxville’s riverfront, which was nice, and found a little Shakespeare in the Park and had some ice cream. The Diva inexplicably loved Hamlet and kept asking me what it was about. Like I know, just because I’m a writer.
It was a nice evening. Back at the hotel, the Tyrant's Teddy came up missing, and Husband had to light out into the night to search; he finally found it at the ice cream store, thank goodness, or I seriously would have canceled the rest of the vacation.
I’m really proud of us for getting through this day. I’d even be giddy about it if we didn’t have two more like it ahead of us. Five more, if you count the trip home. Tomorrow I’m going to calculate how much money we’re actually saving by driving instead of flying. My guess? Not enough.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
A Vacation High
A Mother of the Year I know is frequently posting Facebook status reports about her wonderful life with her handsome husband and beautiful children.
You know who you are. And I admit that occasionally I have had less-than-charitable feelings toward you because of your perennially sunny disposition and outlook.
I now understand that I have been jealous. I further understand that part of the reason your life is so great is that you look at your life as being so great.
This burst of enlightenment has come to me courtesy of a fortunate confluence of events. First and foremost is that I have finally managed to regulate both my happy pills and my hormones in a way that allows me to smile without grimacing and fold laundry without the urge to tie bra straps around my own neck.
Secondly, I am on vacation in Destin, Florida and currently writing this from a balcony overlooking the crystal aqua waters of the Gulf of Mexico. And my parents are paying for the condo.
Thirdly - and possibly most importantly - I think I might be maturing. After 4.5 decades of life, I think I have realized that the world doesn’t revolve around me. Nobody really cares about my crow’s feet or the fact that I wear the same clothes for three days in a row or whether I shave my legs. Life goes on for billions of people regardless of whether I’ve bounced a check or waxed my eyebrows or served my children cupcakes for breakfast.
Now, I know you’re thinking that I should have come to this conclusion many, many years ago. But I didn’t, mainly because I am at heart a pretty selfish person. In time, I think I will expound on the reasons I may have developed into a selfish person.
Right now, though, I’m just happy. Life’s not perfect: Husband just took the Tyrant to the urgent care clinic because she either has an ear infection or swine flu and is keeping us up all night with a tubercular cough. I have a cavity. I know it’s a cavity because I went to the dentist and he told me it was a cavity but I canceled my cavity-filling appointment because it interfered with a workout schedule, and now I’m paying the price. And I still have this 24-hour, 32-minute drive to Cape Cod looming before me.
But the coffee is strong, the wine is cold, the seafood is fresh, and the sisters are having fun together. The eye-rolling has been tolerably limited.
It’s a good day. I think I’ll go relax and wait for something to fuck it up.
Addendum: the Tyrant has pneumonia. That has definite fuck-up potential. But I’m looking on the bright side. It’s only in one lung.
You know who you are. And I admit that occasionally I have had less-than-charitable feelings toward you because of your perennially sunny disposition and outlook.
I now understand that I have been jealous. I further understand that part of the reason your life is so great is that you look at your life as being so great.
This burst of enlightenment has come to me courtesy of a fortunate confluence of events. First and foremost is that I have finally managed to regulate both my happy pills and my hormones in a way that allows me to smile without grimacing and fold laundry without the urge to tie bra straps around my own neck.
Secondly, I am on vacation in Destin, Florida and currently writing this from a balcony overlooking the crystal aqua waters of the Gulf of Mexico. And my parents are paying for the condo.
Thirdly - and possibly most importantly - I think I might be maturing. After 4.5 decades of life, I think I have realized that the world doesn’t revolve around me. Nobody really cares about my crow’s feet or the fact that I wear the same clothes for three days in a row or whether I shave my legs. Life goes on for billions of people regardless of whether I’ve bounced a check or waxed my eyebrows or served my children cupcakes for breakfast.
Now, I know you’re thinking that I should have come to this conclusion many, many years ago. But I didn’t, mainly because I am at heart a pretty selfish person. In time, I think I will expound on the reasons I may have developed into a selfish person.
Right now, though, I’m just happy. Life’s not perfect: Husband just took the Tyrant to the urgent care clinic because she either has an ear infection or swine flu and is keeping us up all night with a tubercular cough. I have a cavity. I know it’s a cavity because I went to the dentist and he told me it was a cavity but I canceled my cavity-filling appointment because it interfered with a workout schedule, and now I’m paying the price. And I still have this 24-hour, 32-minute drive to Cape Cod looming before me.
But the coffee is strong, the wine is cold, the seafood is fresh, and the sisters are having fun together. The eye-rolling has been tolerably limited.
It’s a good day. I think I’ll go relax and wait for something to fuck it up.
Addendum: the Tyrant has pneumonia. That has definite fuck-up potential. But I’m looking on the bright side. It’s only in one lung.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Vacation Odyssey, Volume I
I have great news. Today is the start of our two-week cross-country odyssey, which includes back-to-back extended family vacations and driving to Cape Cod in our motorized landfill which has 94,000 miles on it.
It is possibly the most fun you can have in a minivan with one overly-optimistic adult, one adult of questionable mental stability, two young children, one barely potty-trained toddler and no liquor.
Obviously this is not great news for me. But it is exciting news for those of you who like my blog, and even better news for those of you who, for whatever reason, have wished misery upon me. Your dreams are coming true as we speak.
We are currently driving to Destin, Fla., for a visit with my side of the family. It’s a 6-hour drive. We left our home at 10 a.m., and right now, it is 2 p.m., and we have traveled about 100 miles. There have been six stops so far - one to drop the dog off and go to the bathroom, one to buy a toy and go to the bathroom, one to buy food, one to just go to the bathroom, and two stops to buy food and go to the bathroom.
The morning began ominously. Upon waking, the Pterodactyl made the horrifying discovery that he had left his Leapster at the restaurant where we ate dinner last night. The Leapster was to be his sole entertainment for the road trip, other than eating sugar. But Hot Firefighter Husband jumped in the car and retrieved the Leapster, saving (a small part of) the day. When he returned, he left the Tyrant unsupervised near the luggage and she dug out the Diva’s Nintendo DS and broke it in half. First destination: to buy a new Nintendo.
After all the stops, we’re now cruising along with two of the three children asleep. The Tyrant threw two lollipops at my head so my hair is sticky, and there’s a strange flapping noise coming from outside the car that apparently wasn’t covered under last week’s $2,200 check-up. Husband is on steroids for burgeoning sinus infection and is already sick of me. He’s driving right now listening to his iPod with earphones.
But we’ll reach Destin before dinner and have a very nice time. Our condo is right on the beach and the kids will play with their cousins and we’ll have frozen fruity drinks every afternoon. The only wild card is my dad, who quit smoking for the 800th time a week ago and informed me yesterday that he still hates everybody, which is unfortunate, unless I can convince somebody to give up a little Ativan to slip into his coffee. Or beer.
No, the real fun will begin in a week, with our 1,519 mile trip to Cape Cod to congregate with Husband's side of the family. The AAA Trip Estimator puts our travel time at 24 hours and 32 minutes.
Visiting Cape Cod in the summer is an annual vacation, but we usually fly. This year, we (Husband) waited to long to buy airline tickets, and we (Husband) decided against selling a kidney to pay the last minute fares.
Husband has a nostalgic vision of car trips from his childhood, the longest of which was nine hours. “I’m having a great time!” he said to me at the last rest stop. “What could be better than being together as a family?” Then he bought me some coffee from a vending a machine.
Of course, he’s driving, listening to music with earphones, and I’m getting wet sticky candy beaned at my head and wrenching my back every 10 minutes trying to retrieve dropped items and address the Diva’s running list of questions and commentary: What’s a shoplifter? When are we gonna be there? My stomach hurts. Can you buy me the game Clue? I wanna be Miss Scarlet. Can I play a computer game? I’m ready to get out of here. I’m tired. What can I do?
Well, we’ve finally reached Tallahassee, averaging about 45 mph on the highway when you include all the stops. All children are asleep. The strange flapping noise has disappeared. I’ll sign off now. I must concentrate on convincing myself that I don’t have to pee.
It is possibly the most fun you can have in a minivan with one overly-optimistic adult, one adult of questionable mental stability, two young children, one barely potty-trained toddler and no liquor.
Obviously this is not great news for me. But it is exciting news for those of you who like my blog, and even better news for those of you who, for whatever reason, have wished misery upon me. Your dreams are coming true as we speak.
We are currently driving to Destin, Fla., for a visit with my side of the family. It’s a 6-hour drive. We left our home at 10 a.m., and right now, it is 2 p.m., and we have traveled about 100 miles. There have been six stops so far - one to drop the dog off and go to the bathroom, one to buy a toy and go to the bathroom, one to buy food, one to just go to the bathroom, and two stops to buy food and go to the bathroom.
The morning began ominously. Upon waking, the Pterodactyl made the horrifying discovery that he had left his Leapster at the restaurant where we ate dinner last night. The Leapster was to be his sole entertainment for the road trip, other than eating sugar. But Hot Firefighter Husband jumped in the car and retrieved the Leapster, saving (a small part of) the day. When he returned, he left the Tyrant unsupervised near the luggage and she dug out the Diva’s Nintendo DS and broke it in half. First destination: to buy a new Nintendo.
After all the stops, we’re now cruising along with two of the three children asleep. The Tyrant threw two lollipops at my head so my hair is sticky, and there’s a strange flapping noise coming from outside the car that apparently wasn’t covered under last week’s $2,200 check-up. Husband is on steroids for burgeoning sinus infection and is already sick of me. He’s driving right now listening to his iPod with earphones.
But we’ll reach Destin before dinner and have a very nice time. Our condo is right on the beach and the kids will play with their cousins and we’ll have frozen fruity drinks every afternoon. The only wild card is my dad, who quit smoking for the 800th time a week ago and informed me yesterday that he still hates everybody, which is unfortunate, unless I can convince somebody to give up a little Ativan to slip into his coffee. Or beer.
No, the real fun will begin in a week, with our 1,519 mile trip to Cape Cod to congregate with Husband's side of the family. The AAA Trip Estimator puts our travel time at 24 hours and 32 minutes.
Visiting Cape Cod in the summer is an annual vacation, but we usually fly. This year, we (Husband) waited to long to buy airline tickets, and we (Husband) decided against selling a kidney to pay the last minute fares.
Husband has a nostalgic vision of car trips from his childhood, the longest of which was nine hours. “I’m having a great time!” he said to me at the last rest stop. “What could be better than being together as a family?” Then he bought me some coffee from a vending a machine.
Of course, he’s driving, listening to music with earphones, and I’m getting wet sticky candy beaned at my head and wrenching my back every 10 minutes trying to retrieve dropped items and address the Diva’s running list of questions and commentary: What’s a shoplifter? When are we gonna be there? My stomach hurts. Can you buy me the game Clue? I wanna be Miss Scarlet. Can I play a computer game? I’m ready to get out of here. I’m tired. What can I do?
Well, we’ve finally reached Tallahassee, averaging about 45 mph on the highway when you include all the stops. All children are asleep. The strange flapping noise has disappeared. I’ll sign off now. I must concentrate on convincing myself that I don’t have to pee.
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