I took last Friday off to make a lovely 4 day weekend out of Memorial Day. I even booked it out of work early Thursday and goofed around Target all by myself.
Friday morning just as I was about to announce to my husband in a mopey fit that I didn't want to go anywhere at all and maybe the big excitement for the weekend could be new bedroom curtains it suddenly occurred to me that we never go anywhere let alone on a real live vacation and next thing I know I'm bidding on a fancy schmancy hotel on Priceline and we're shoving crap in bags and driving to San Antonio. Just like that.
It was crazy. I didn't even call my mother and tell her we were going anywhere. I kept thinking she'd call me sometime during the weekend saying she'd be dropping by my house that afternoon and I'd get to surprise her and say don't bother because we're in a galaxy far, far away. Except I guess she forgot about her only daughter and never called so I didn't get to do that. Whatever.
Our hotel probably isn't the fanciest hotel in existence but for people with 2 small children and normal jobs, it was above average fancy. Priceline continues to impress me with bargain basement prices on 4 star hotels. Seriously, bargain basement. This time ours was called the Emily Morgan Hotel and when I called to get directions, their recording described it as a "luxury boutique hotel." It even claimed to be 12 steps from the Alamo. I thought that was the sort of over exaggerated crap hotels like to claim. Sort of like when they claim every room has a beach front view except there's a building in the way and really you can only see a sliver of what may or may not be water if you lean directly out the window and look left while you balance on your tip toes. But it really was 12 steps from the Alamo's side gate. It was insane.
They didn't even have a refrigerator in the room. Because people that stay in boutique hotels apparently don't try to cut corners by bringing soda from home. They do however pay $24 a night to park their car. And when they get really hungry but too lazy to drag their kids out into the night to get something to eat they pay $19 for 5 pieces of ravioli from room service. No really. $19. I mooched food off my husband who was enjoying a $29 steak. Which sounds even crazier than the $19 ravioli except my husband's plate contained enough food to actually leave him feeling full. So in comparison with the ravioli that left me contemplating vending machines it was actually sort of a bargain.
The children found the entire thing very exciting. Except maybe the 4 hour car ride. For example, the 4 year old asked how much longer we had to drive before we'd even left the city limits. Mostly she wanted to know when she'd get to see Shamu again. That was our main plan for the trip. Blowing the family fortune on room service was just an added benefit.
The kids both gave the hotel beds high marks for jumpability. They had both exceptional spring and were positioned close enough together for maximum back and forth leaping fun. Too bad people that stay in boutique hotels apparently enjoy full size beds instead of queen size. My husband and I both bed hog the hell out of our queen size bed at home so I can't begin to describe the ongoing power struggle that went on in that little full sized bed. Except to say that somewhere during the last night my husband decided the floor was preferable.
And the bathroom in our room didn't really have doors so much as sliding sort of screens. Screens meaning don't try to get up early and take a bubble bath because the light will shine directly on everyone that's sleeping and suddenly it will be time to feeding the starving masses.
Although the bathroom more than made up for the screen type doors by containing a giant jacuzzi tub. I want to fold that tub into a little square to tuck it in my pocket and take with me everywhere. Never have I, a devoted bath connoisseur, experienced such luxury. No back rest needed. No body parts got cold because the water didn't cover them. And I didn't have to bend my knees the whole time. My husband will rue the day he let me lay in a jacuzzi tub if he take too long getting me one of my own.
And incidentally, jacuzzi tub + baby shampoo = an entire hour of bubbly entertainment for two kids while you and your husband lay in separate full size beds watching Law & Order reruns. Beautiful. So was the trip. Thumbs up and glad I decided not to be mopey.
5.19.2008
Anywhere you want
My husband called me yesterday and invited me on a fun filled vacation this weekend. It came complete with phrases like, “We can go anywhere you want” and “whatever you want to do.” I feel certain there’s a correlation between this generous offer and the fact that he’s out of town yet again. I’ve actually grown kinda mellow to all the traveling. Not, "Gee this is awesome I wish he’d go away more often" mellow. More of, "I don’t really feel like stabbing my eyes out 24 hours a day because at least there’s bedtime to look forward to."
My least favorite thing about my husband being out of town isn’t even the “him out of town" part. I’d just like to get out and do things a little more often. When he’s gone I tend to spend my entire day either at home or at work with brief periods in my car in between. On the weekends, our big outing is usually the grocery store. And sometimes McDonald’s. Because M&M McFlurries are good motivational tools to keep everyone on track in the grocery store. Yesterday I tried to use them as a “let’s sit in the cart and eat one while Momma looks for blinds at Home Depot” tool. Let me tell you, no. Just no. Melting. Dripping. Sticky. No, no and more no.
I try really hard to leave the house with the kids more. I do. But sometimes things I enjoy without my kids end up being a lot less fun when they’re there. Like going to Target. Who doesn’t enjoy a nice trip to the Tar-jay? There’s always some new piece of crap you don’t need and they have it in like seven different colors with every single one more cute than the next. And don’t get me started on the little T-shirts for kids. Someone in my household gets a new T-shirt every time I go there. Yesterday it was pink with cherries. Upon purchasing it, I felt certain I could live to see another day now that I owned such cuteness.
Having said that, along the way to the checkout I wanted to kill someone. First, my 4 year old likes to find things she cannot live without. Yesterday it was a $30 Disney princess trashcan. Then there was some talking baby doll followed by a pink hula hoop. Thankfully she had already decided she wanted gummy bears. Faced with choosing between a hula hoop and gummy bears (which ironically cost roughly the same thanks to cheap labor in China), the hula hoop was second banana. Although she thinks we’re getting the hula hoop next time. Right. Except she won’t be there next time. Because how am I supposed to get my shop on when I’ve Sophie’s Choice going on everytime the kid spots something new. Seriously. The hula hoop and the gummy bears was an existential crisis for her. Yummy versus fun. What to do.
And her brother is busy running around the aisles. Literally running. Next time you wonder whose kid that is circling the rug aisles, don’t worry about where his mother is. She’s in the next aisle over. She can hear that kid charging right down the aisle the whole time. And there’s a fair amount of squealing going on. He's not lost. She knows right where he is. But she needs a new rug by her washing machine. Because the other one keeps sliding every time the dogs go out the door. And one of the dogs is claustrophobic and sliding rugs make him skittish. Because he’s a baby but don't tell her husband because he thinks the dog hung the moon.
I also noticed that my husband’s been traveling enough that while picking out the same aforementioned rug and it popped into my head to wonder which one he would like I immediately squelched the thought and decided that “She who is home with the kids gets to pick the rug.” Although I picked one I happen to know he’d like. So whatever. It’s brown. But it’s lovely. And soft. And if I can’t leave the house with the kids as much as I want, at least I can like the rug in front of my washing machine.
I don’t know that we’ll be going on that vacation either. I mean it’s the thought that counts so I’m sort of happy just getting offered a vacation. Because I'm stupidly low maintenance like that. But suitcases don’t pack themselves. For that matter, the suitcases don’t do the laundry when you get back either. I’m thinking sleeping late while he does all the laundry would be vacation enough for me. But who knows.
My least favorite thing about my husband being out of town isn’t even the “him out of town" part. I’d just like to get out and do things a little more often. When he’s gone I tend to spend my entire day either at home or at work with brief periods in my car in between. On the weekends, our big outing is usually the grocery store. And sometimes McDonald’s. Because M&M McFlurries are good motivational tools to keep everyone on track in the grocery store. Yesterday I tried to use them as a “let’s sit in the cart and eat one while Momma looks for blinds at Home Depot” tool. Let me tell you, no. Just no. Melting. Dripping. Sticky. No, no and more no.
I try really hard to leave the house with the kids more. I do. But sometimes things I enjoy without my kids end up being a lot less fun when they’re there. Like going to Target. Who doesn’t enjoy a nice trip to the Tar-jay? There’s always some new piece of crap you don’t need and they have it in like seven different colors with every single one more cute than the next. And don’t get me started on the little T-shirts for kids. Someone in my household gets a new T-shirt every time I go there. Yesterday it was pink with cherries. Upon purchasing it, I felt certain I could live to see another day now that I owned such cuteness.
Having said that, along the way to the checkout I wanted to kill someone. First, my 4 year old likes to find things she cannot live without. Yesterday it was a $30 Disney princess trashcan. Then there was some talking baby doll followed by a pink hula hoop. Thankfully she had already decided she wanted gummy bears. Faced with choosing between a hula hoop and gummy bears (which ironically cost roughly the same thanks to cheap labor in China), the hula hoop was second banana. Although she thinks we’re getting the hula hoop next time. Right. Except she won’t be there next time. Because how am I supposed to get my shop on when I’ve Sophie’s Choice going on everytime the kid spots something new. Seriously. The hula hoop and the gummy bears was an existential crisis for her. Yummy versus fun. What to do.
And her brother is busy running around the aisles. Literally running. Next time you wonder whose kid that is circling the rug aisles, don’t worry about where his mother is. She’s in the next aisle over. She can hear that kid charging right down the aisle the whole time. And there’s a fair amount of squealing going on. He's not lost. She knows right where he is. But she needs a new rug by her washing machine. Because the other one keeps sliding every time the dogs go out the door. And one of the dogs is claustrophobic and sliding rugs make him skittish. Because he’s a baby but don't tell her husband because he thinks the dog hung the moon.
I also noticed that my husband’s been traveling enough that while picking out the same aforementioned rug and it popped into my head to wonder which one he would like I immediately squelched the thought and decided that “She who is home with the kids gets to pick the rug.” Although I picked one I happen to know he’d like. So whatever. It’s brown. But it’s lovely. And soft. And if I can’t leave the house with the kids as much as I want, at least I can like the rug in front of my washing machine.
I don’t know that we’ll be going on that vacation either. I mean it’s the thought that counts so I’m sort of happy just getting offered a vacation. Because I'm stupidly low maintenance like that. But suitcases don’t pack themselves. For that matter, the suitcases don’t do the laundry when you get back either. I’m thinking sleeping late while he does all the laundry would be vacation enough for me. But who knows.
5.08.2008
I have fallen into a black hole of work related crap and my husband needs to stop getting on planes
I swear I’m alive. Seriously. Totally alive. Just swamped by life. I attribute this mainly to my husband traveling so much recently for work. Oh. My. Word. My. Husband. Has. Been. Traveling. So. Much. 8 days here. 3 days here. Pretty much anything that keeps my husband away from the house more than 14 hours stresses me out. So repeated travel for the last two months makes my head want to explode. I spend the entire time he’s gone treading water trying to keep my head above water. Then he comes back and I attempt to catch up and then he’s off again. Yikes doesn’t begin to cover it.
On top of that, work has been very hectic. The powers that be pulled several deadlines out of thin air and I’ve been spending all day everyday trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat. I think maybe I’m almost done. The rabbit will most likely be dead by the time I scrape it out of the hat but I guess I’ll meet the deadline. Whatever.
Normally, I have significantly more down time at work. Not “Let’s decoupage the walls and grind our own wheat” kind of time on my hands. But maybe “Hi how are you I love your sweater let’s do lunch” time on my hands. I look forward to returning to those days sometime soon. Certain coworkers are not helping me do this however. I don’t want to say they’re lazy and generally apathetic. Except, unfortunately, they are.
As a general rule, I don’t care if people are lazy and incompetent at work. I mean, it’s not a positive thing. But if I can’t really do anything about it, so be it. But if you are lazy and incompetent and you take credit for my work repeatedly, you are officially on my last nerve and I will not pretend I have any tolerance for you. I do not even care how high up the food chain you are. I refuse to smile and nod while you copy and paste my work without giving me credit. My husband says that’s how it goes. I say I don't pretend you're awesome if you're not.
My list of work related pet peeves currently includes:
1. People who forward my emails on as their own. You know. The people that delete your name and email information and then sign at the bottom like they wrote it. Or better yet. The people that copy and paste your writing into their reports. Um. Didn’t your boss tell you specifically to write it yourself? Since when does copy and pasting count as writing?
2. When people who forward on my emails as their own copy me on the email in which they have forwarded on my email as their own. Um. Wait. That sounds familiar. But my name’s not at the bottom? That’s odd.
3. People who conveniently forget to forward you their report which you discover later is because they cut and pasted your writing into their report and maybe just maybe they didn’t want you to see that. Um. Wait. Didn’t you tell me three times you’d send that to me? And didn’t your boss specifically tell you to send it to me too?
4. People who expect you to pretend you wrote something you didn’t write. Don’t tell me to go sell your load of crap to people and take credit for the crap. If you wrote the load of crap, I’m going to tell people you wrote it. Because that’s personal responsibility. You also don’t pay me enough to lie for you. Not that I’m the sort to lie but I’m just saying I’d need to be paid really well to even consider it.
5. People who write a load of crap and ask you to go sell it but don’t bother to take the time to understand how and why it’s a load of crap.
6. People whose goal in life is to just stay out of trouble. They don’t really care about getting ahead or fixing problems. Their whole goal is just to stay off their boss’ radar. If you need them to speak up and get something done for you, too bad. Because speaking up might put them on someone’s radar and that’s inconvenient. Nope. Not gonna to do it. Even if you asked me nicely 7 times in a row. Even if I told you I would. Because I was just saying that. What I’m really going to do is give you lame excuses while I drag my feet another two weeks until you corner me and demand an answer about whether or not I’m going to speak up or not. Although then I’ll just come right out and tell you I don’t want to because it might get me more work and then you won’t know what to say and then too bad for you because I’m still not going to do it. Ha ha. Sucks to be you.
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