Monthly Archives: August 2010

I know many of you are passionate about this, both ways. I’d love to hear where you stand.

Last week we were supposed to be in Mexico. Unfortunately I have been starting treatments for my RA, and I absolutely could not be further than a car ride away from my specialists. We did a modified getaway and had a superb time. I got started on Prednisone, and I’ll need several posts to explain just how unpleasant (and sometimes scary) that drug felt.  It was nice to be able to move my hand (for a change), but the trade-off was jitters, nausea and insomnia. It was a difficult week for me.

Sunday morning the kids and I left for Orlando. The folks at Universal invited us here to check out the theme parks and hotels. Well, to be perfectly frank, they invited me and one kid here, so I did the tacky thing and asked if I could bring two. It’s not exactly Sophie’s Choice, but…

Jane, Alexander and I were on an 8 am flight from Los Angeles to Orlando. Once again I found myself on United, and once again I found myself absolutely delighted. Since our tickets were booked last minute all three of us had middle seats, and we were scattered all over the airplane. When I got to the gate I showed our tickets to the gate agent and explained that Jane is 11, but Alexander is just nine, and I’d really like to have them together. I could sit nearby, and I really wanted to be with my kids, but if she could only get two seats together I’d be very grateful.

And then the plane started boarding. They called first class, then section one, and as they were finishing section two the gate agent paged me.

She had three seats for us, all together. The kids gave her a chorus of “thank you’s” and when we boarded I realized she’d put us into Economy Plus. I wanted to run out of the plane and hug her, but I’m pretty sure she *might* not have appreciated it. So Ms. Gate Agent in Los Angeles, you know who you are, the blonde at the 8am flight, I owe you a hug, and the kids do too.

Unlike my flight earlier this month, I didn’t meet the captain, but they did give away a bunch of 10% off coupons for folks who listened in on the air traffic control channel. I love how United treats me as a passenger. Really, I do.

So we got through the five hour flight and my son literally hopped and jumped through the airport. It was like he had little springs on his feet. The flight was, quite simply, too long for his little body. We took the long way around the airport, and finally found our driver. Poor Alexander had to sit down and buckle up again. I felt like I was punishing him.

Our driver pulled out of the airport and began the twenty minute drive to the airport. He asked us if we’d ever been to Florida before, “nope, it sure is lush though”. And made some other small talk. Then he asked me when my return flight was, and I didn’t really have an answer for him. I hemmed and hawed, and as we drove through an elevated highway transition he pulled out his cellphone and started scanning the calendar.

My heart stopped. My children. Me!

I asked him if he could check all of that when we got to the hotel, and he was nice enough, but I was not recovering quite so quickly. I don’t know if Florida has texting and driving laws, but I know that California does. Since the loss of Dr. Frank Ryan I think we’re all on a heightened awareness.

So we arrive at the Hard Rock Hotel, and I swear it’s like we’re the Hatfields showing up. Jane and Alexander and strolling through the lobby Oh my gawding, and I’m dragging my luggage along, refusing help from the bellman, just because I’m really not in the mood for small talk.

As I check in and I’m trying to explain to the clerk that I’m not a bitch, I’m just bitchy because of the car ride. She gets sweeter and sweeter, and my stress melts away. Alexander then joins us, as she’s giving us our room keys (room keys that incidentally allow you to jump the line at the theme parks) Alexander looks at me and says, “Mom I don’t think Florida makes your hair look very good. It’s all frizzy in the front and it’s lumpy here and here and here.” And the little stinker walks around me patting the poofy parts of my hair, which is all of it.

Inside my head I’m screeching: Listen kid. I know I’m due for a Keratin Treatment, but we’re in Florida, no one knows us, and I’m rockin the JewFro*. Leave me alone.

I feel the bitchiness return, and I do not want to take it out on the clerk so I take my darling (but honest) children to our room.

The room is nice. It’s clean and fresh. It’s a standard room which is not how I typically travel with children (I’m a connecting room or a suite kind of mom), but we’re happy to see the room, and the kids are even happier to see goodie bags. There were plush toys, visors and Harry Potter things. I say things, because in reality I have no clue what they are.

And for me, there is a goodie bag, but also a mammoth fruit plate and bottles of water.

I am home.

We settle into the room and unpack (this is quick it’s a short trip) and I go into the bathroom to pee. Then I have to try to not cry. I’ve just finished a few weeks of antiinflammatories, steroids and antacids and my body really doesn’t even feel all that great, and peeing is the most exquisitely painful act. I am alone with two kids and I am brewing a urinary tract infection.Sucktastic.

Fortunately I have a good doctor. I was able to locate a 24 pharmacy (Walgreens around here closes at 6 on a Sunday) and my Doctor called in some pain relief as well as an antibiotic. We met up with the rest of the group, The Simpsons, Scooby Doo, and Woody the Woodpecker, and us Moms (and Aunts) realized that seven is the perfect age to meet characters. One of the kids was such a joy to watch interacting with the characters that I’m unable to wipe a grin from my face in the retelling of it. We then had an amazing dinner at The Kitchen, and after dinner the kids and I hopped into a taxi and got the goods.

Does anyone ever take a vacation without needing a prescription? You’ll be happy to know that I peed without crying, pyridium is very effective that way.

So I’m trying to get to bed at a reasonable hour (failed already) so that we can check out the theme park tomorrow.

Thus far we have a few things to report:

• the kids love me best
• the kids realize I have bad hair and would like me to fix it
• the kids are aware that this might be a three day sugar binge if they don’t sit next to me at all times
• The Hard Rock Hotel is less Rock and more Family than I’d have imagined.

If you know the difference between a Methodist, Lutheran and a Protestant Church I advise you to NOT use the term JewFro as you will be seen as anti-semetic. Catholics typically are able to get away with it for a time, as they share our passion for guilt, fattening food, wine, incense and candles. They also tend to have unruly hair, unlike the Protestants who taunt us with their blonde bobs.

I don’t know that I’ll ever find the words to fully articulate what happened this week.

Jane is growing, she’s within four inches of my height, and her hand mirrors mine when we clasp hands. She’s very much a child at just eleven, but wants desperately to be older. There is a new connection, a maturity in conversation. She’s silly, she’s little, but she’s stretching to ask me about more adult things, and she’s becoming very fashion conscious.

Alexander too is changing. He’s my sporty little boy, who wants nothing more than to be just like his father, but I looked at him this week through the lens of a camera and there were no round cheeks. My son has cheekbones.

There is no one little and round in my home any more. They’re still little, don’t get me wrong, I’m smack dab in the middle of parenting little kids.

But this week I clung to my kids, because we are wrapping up early childhood, and clearly moving to new phases. I love this, I love them, and for the first time in a very long time I’m not afraid of how quickly it all moves.

Maybe in boxing there’s a girl who rings a bell. But checking into a hotel, one always asks for the bell boy or the bell man. One never asks for the bell girl.

We got the bell girl.

To start off our last family vacation we were both stupefied when a “bell girl” showed up to  carry our luggage to our room. Said bell girl was about 22, maybe 130 pounds, and close to six feet tall. A waif, if you will.

On what planet would my husband sit around and let a skinny scrawny girl carry his family’s luggage? Maybe every man who checks into the hotel should simply leave his nut sack as well as his AMEX?

Blah blah blah, feminism, equal rights, fine. But no bell girls.

Short and sweet, or long like a chapter in a book?

Take a look at your blog, and see which posts are getting the most traffic. I’m thinking that they look more this this than like a newspaper column.

What do you think?

It’s like a cheerleader. Beautiful but dumb, and not particularly necessary.

I was at The Wit Hotel in Chicago last week, and it’s a nicely and recently remodeled hotel with some nice assets, but many more serious flaws.

The Wit is a singles scene. They have a wonderful rooftop bar that the locals of Chicago (rightly) want to spend a lot of time in, but that means that as a hotel guest you won’t get good service. In fact, it’s unlikely that you’ll even score a table without a reservation. I was there as part of a Kenmore group, and we did have a table, and some delicious food, but cocktails are served in plastic glasses, which means you will have lukewarm wine. Not a deal breaker, but also not exciting.

My first night at The Wit was horrible. Not sort of bad, but absolutely dreadful. With the air conditioning blasting full force, the room remained over 70 degrees. At 2am I called the front desk. No one answered the phone. At 3am I called the front desk. Still no answer. At 8am when I had to get up for the drive out to Sears I wanted to put the hotel manager’s head on a stick.

When I stopped by the front desk and explained that there hadn’t been any air conditioning on a 92 degree day with ridiculous humidity no one was surprised. You see the building is an old building and in an attempt to be energy efficient they shut off sections of the building’s air conditioning at night.

They had no explanation as to why the front desk didn’t answer the telephone. The staff was lovely and appropriately apologetic. The left a plate of lollipops and fruit in the room after engineering fixed the problem.

Sadly, my friend Ciaran had no air conditioning in her room on our second night.

As much as I appreciate the clean rooms, and hipster vibe of The Wit, I’d caution anyone from actually spending a night there, because when push comes to shove, a hotel room that you can’t sleep in is worse than a tent. I would decline a free night at The Wit. It was that bad.