A long overdue update (pun intended) ...

So it's been wayyyy too long since I've updated this blog. You see, I've been wasting time doing things like working, child rearing, and housekeeping. UGH. Also, I've joined Facebook, the biggest time-sucking vortex on the net.

If anyone can tell me how to cram more than 24 hours into a single day, I'm all in. :O

The location is no longer secret ...

Photographed this while visiting my friend Pam in NC {waving wildly, "HI PAM!"}. My brother claims the real estate taxes in Gotham City were just getting too ridonkulous.

"I didn't mean to make the waitress cry, really!"

Last week I took the kiddos out for a day at the zoo. We had a great time; it was one of the few beautiful days we’ve had in recent weeks, and we loved seeing the animals, who seemed just as happy about the sunshine and warmth. On the way home, I decided to take the kiddos out for a late lunch to a local restaurant that is known for their yummy ice cream. Mmmmmm. But, since the restaurant is in close proximity to the zoo, it was, well, a zoo. Lots of little creatures about, just no furry ones.

So we had to wait for a bit, which my kids said they didn’t mind. In the waiting area, there were a few adults and more than a half-dozen small children. It was pure pandemonium. But there was also an older couple waiting just ahead of us—let’s just say they appeared to be well past retirement age. The gentleman admired my son’s well-loved Red Sox cap and shook his hand for being a fellow fan. He then jokingly admonished that we should not acknowledge his wife, who was a dreaded Yankees fan. :O We continued to chat for a bit, about the usual things … kids, grandkids, great grandkids, and how time flies.

And all the while, I’m looking around at the infants in car seats. The toddlers barely walking. A couple of pre-schoolers. My own kids. And this elderly couple. And I’m thinking, “Wow, I truly can’t believe my babies are *already* as big as they are. Before I know it, the retired couple heading out for a late lunch on a weekday will be DH and I.”

Soon, the couple was seated. A few minutes later, we were seated in the booth across from them.

I enjoyed the company of my children, who were acting especially silly that day. We ate and talked about the animals at the zoo and laughed and ate some more. I found myself occasionally glancing aside at the couple, seeing my distant future in their actions. Eating, talking, enjoying each other’s company. There was just something about the way they looked at each other. It was apparent that they didn’t feel the need to fill the air with a constant stream of conversation; after all those years together, they could easily speak volumes with merely a glance.

I’m not sure exactly what compelled me to do what I did, but before I knew it I found myself motioning to a waitress walking by.

“Excuse me, but do you see that couple across from me?”

“Um, yes …”

“Can you do me a favor, and bring me their check? Make sure they get whatever they want, just tell them they’ve been taken care of but please don’t say by whom.”

“Okay, I’ll let their waitress know.”

A few minutes later, another waitress slipped me their bill. I stuck around a bit while my children, both of whom are notoriously slow eaters, finished their lunches. When the couple asked for their check, I witnessed the waitress try to explain to them that they were “all set.” It took a few minutes, but she finally got the message across that they, indeed, did not have to pay for their lunch that day. I saw the gentleman glance around the room, and even look in my direction, but after the waitress refused to give me up, the couple begrudgingly left the restaurant.

Their waitress had tears in her eyes when she came to my table so I could pay the check. I didn’t mean to make the waitress cry, really. But I have to confess, I was holding back a few of my own. Who knew a random act of kindness could make the giver feel so good?

And the ice cream? Well, let’s just say it never tasted so sweet.

“The Thirty-One Hour Vacation, or, There’s No Place Like Home”

So, I recently vowed to never start a blog, one reason being I never had any real –life tales that I felt were somehow “blog-worthy”. You know, the ones that are just so absurd, so Seinfeld-ian in nature that they can’t possibly have *really* happened.

Until now.

First, let me start by giving you some background: this was a long-planned, long-anticipated, and long-saved for (read: pricey) vacation. For months, whenever I felt stressed, I visited the website of the lovely Inn we would be staying at and just imagined myself amongst the wildflowers and lush rolling hills that were sure to be the site of a perfect week spent with my loving family.

Second, let me quantify that surely none of the above was technically possible, since, being *me* and all, I bring that certain element of occasional bad luck into the picture.

Third, let me quote one of my favorite comedic writers, Dave Barry, in saying:

“I am not making this up.”

So, after a 3-hour drive, we arrive at a picture-perfect New England Inn, surrounded by green mountains and blooming flora and fauna. My DH, DS, DD, and I hop out of the car onto the gravel parking area and just take in the fresh air. Aaaaaaah. Lovely. We are walking towards the office of the Inn when we are stopped by a guest:

“Hi, I just want to let you know that there is a raccoon acting erratically, he’s right around the corner. The innkeepers are aware of it, but I just wanted you to be aware.”

Okay, if you know anything at all about raccoons, you know that they aren’t generally “people animals”, but they are “party animals”, i.e. up-all-night, sleep-all-day kind of creatures. Erratic “daytime-in-the-populated-areas” type of behavior is usually a bad sign.

Now that we consider ourselves duly warned, we step into the office to check in.

“Oh, Mr. B. You’re in the X suite. We’re afraid it suffered some water damage in a torrential downpour we had last night; the brunt of the damage was in the bedroom where the children usually would sleep. Rest assured, we’ve been in there all day and have a dehumidifier and a fan running, but have also reserved a couple of rooms at the motel down the street if you do not feel comfortable staying in the suite here. Unfortunately, all of our other rooms are fully booked for the week. Why don’t I show you the property, and then you can go check out your suite?”

So, the receptionist walks us through the office area, into a small sitting room (where freshly-baked chocolate-chip cookies have just been offered, YUM). After snagging a cookie (or, ahem, two) we walk through a door to a large, glassed-in playroom, with stunning views of the aforementioned lush rolling hills and mountains.

“Oh, it looks like the game warden is here, why don’t I show you the downstairs game area now?”

BLAM!

THUD.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something drop from the tree and into the tall grass below, which begins to rustle furiously.

BLAM!

Amazingly, the grass has stopped rustling now.

“Oh-KAY, who wants to see the downstairs? Great!”

So we’ve been here less than 10 minutes, and my kids narrowly missed seeing a woodland creature (sick as it apparently was) blasted out of a tree not a half-dozen feet from the other side of the playroom window where they are standing.

I should have seen this for the omen it was, but was distracted by the “Wow, I assure you, this has never happened before. The game warden told us to shoot the animal ourselves, but we don’t have a gun, so he came to do the job himself.”

Hmmmmmmmm. (On an unrelated note, to again quote Dave Barry, The Dead Raccoons "would be an excellent name for a rock band".)

So, after our brief tour (during which my kiddos were blissfully unaware anything was amiss), we go to see our reserved suite. We walk in, and all seems fine: a large living area, with a picture window overlooking the scenic vista, and a dining table. A large bathroom. A large master bedroom with another picture window. A kitchenette. And the kids bedroom, complete with a pair of twin beds with matching white coverlets. And a large dehumidifier blocking the doorway. In front of a large fan. And a slightly moldy odor. Ick.

Upon further inspection, the carpet wasn’t just dampened; it was saturated. No way the kids could walk on it without shoes (preferably hip boots). Hmmmmmmm. To make a long story short, we decided to make do, since it technically wasn’t the inn’s fault, it was Mother Nature’s. Let’s give the fans a few hours to do their stuff and see what gives.

We enjoyed the rest of the afternoon checking out the extensive property. We admired the grazing cows. We petted the horses in the barn. We checked out the basketball court, tennis court, batting cage, and heated outdoor pool. The kiddos loved the beautiful playground area just steps from the front door of our suite. It was a small piece of New England at its very best, and we intended to take full advantage of it.

Until we returned to our suite later that evening.

The moldy smell had multiplied tenfold. Even with the windows open and the fans blowing full blast, the odor was starting to drift into the other parts of the suite. We approached the front desk to again inquire about our options, but they were grim. The motel rooms we were offered paled in comparison to the luxurious surroundings we had set our sights on way back in the dead of a brutal winter. (Did I mention that this place was, ahem, pricey?) If we took the motel rooms, we would have to spend our time driving back and forth each day to take advantage of the Inn’s amenities, which sort of defeated the purpose of *staying* at the Inn in the first place. Ugh. After inquiring, we were assured that the innkeeper would be there first thing in the morning and we could talk to him then.

So, we decided to keep the fans running all night and close the door to the offending room, opting to put our kiddos up in the living room instead. DD took the pull-out couch, and DS took the rollaway cot. Since my kids are a bit younger, they were in bed by 8, leaving my DH and I sequestered to the master bedroom for the duration. It was now dark and quiet in the rest of the suite, and we intended to keep it that way, especially since DD can be a real bear if she is short on ZZZZs. (Heck, if you know her, she can be a real bear for any of a number of reasons, some of which even *we* are unsure of, but we never need the added “lack-of-sleep” factor). At least we had the Sunday paper to keep us busy, but my DH was so exhausted from it all that he was snoozing by 10pm. Being the night owl I am, I was up reading for a couple of more hours before I *tried* to doze off myself.

12:30 a.m. Still can’t sleep. I pop a Tylenol PM to help me on my way to dreamland.

1:00 a.m. BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. The water bucket to the dehumidifier is full. Dammit, I’m on vacation, so *I’m* not emptying it. I pull the plug.

1:30 a.m. Still wired. I pop a second Tylenol PM.

2:15 a.m. I’m just drifting off when I hear a faint knocking on the door. It’s DD, who has also woken up her brother. She can’t sleep. I’m still not sure why waking up *everybody else* is the solution, but manage to get them both back to bed.

3:00 a.m. or so. I finally drift off.

7:30 a.m. Alarm goes off so we can get a YUMMY homemade breakfast, one that *I* do not have to cook. Kiddos are up anyways, so I don’t really have a choice.

The vista outside our window is stunning. Horses grazing nearby. Cows in distant fields. A low mist overhanging the mountains. But after stewing all night in a relatively enclosed environment, the second bedroom is *really* ripe now. The smell is somewhere between moldy basement and wet dog. And the carpet is *still* wet.

This is not good.

We arrive at the main Inn for breakfast. {Insert yummy smell-o-vision here}. The innkeeper himself is serving coffee, and comes to our table to introduce himself, apparently not knowing that we are the family staying in “that room”.

“Good morning! Coffee? How was your night last night?”

I was very kind (after all, it wasn’t really his fault), but did let him know that our kids had to stay in the living room, and that their room was “uninhabitable.”

“Oh. Well, why don’t you enjoy your breakfast, and we’ll be down to check it out.”

So, we did enjoy breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, followed by a large caffeine chaser. MMMMM.

After dropping off the kiddos at the Inn’s special “award-winning” morning program, DH and I go back to our suite. The facilities manager and his assistant stop by shortly after. As soon as he walks through the front door of our suite, he can smell it. Walking to the back of the suite, he opens the second bedroom door. His assistant practically starts to gag.

“Well, you certainly can’t stay HERE!”

No kidding. Regardless of what is going to happen, we know we can’t stay in this suite, so we had already started gathering clothes and toys, which took an amazingly short amount of time to strew themselves about.

The receptionist comes up with some options. We can stay in a 1-room suite, meant for honeymooners. Lovely I’m sure, if we didn’t have the 2 kids to cram in with us. :P

The innkeeper comes up with another option. We can be shuffled to the Spa down the street for 2 nights, across the road to adjoining rooms for 1 night, and to another (dry) suite for the last 2 nights.

So, essentially, we would spend the rare 2 hours each morning we had to ourselves while the kids were at the award-winning program, packing and moving all of our stuff to a different location. UGH.

After some hemming and hawing, we decided that wasn’t our idea of a relaxing vacation at all, and having run out of options, we were going to pack it all in the car and go *HOME*. The kids were wonderful after we explained the situation to them (they had been pretty much clueless the entire time---ahhh, youth). We’d go home and play tourist in our own backyard, doing all the nearby things we’ve always meant to do but never got around to. Plus, the weather outlook for the week wasn’t looking too good up North. Might as well pack it in. So we did. The innkeeper was very gracious upon hearing the news that we were checking out, comping our previous night’s stay, and sending us home with a certificate for a FREE 3-night stay with their compliments. (Again, did I mention that this place was pricey?) We promptly booked a return visit for Labor Day weekend, hoping for better luck the second time around. Now that we are on board, and the innkeepers are on board, we can only hope that Mother Nature cooperates.

So after a restless, smelly, and somewhat sleepless night, we made the 3-hour drive back home. Our entire vacation from start to finish? 31 hours.

The raccoon had it easy. :P