Vacation, You’ve Changed

February 28, 2012

Earlier this week, P and I celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary.  I’m a lucky gal — I got one of the very, very good ones.  One of the true keepers.

{No, I’m not asleep at the altar here. Just camera-shy.}

I feel like we look so young in our wedding pictures.  I’m going to go ahead and blame my kids for aging us so rapidly.  At this rate, I will soon be as unrecognizable as Nick Nolte was at the Oscars.  {Was it just me, or did he look like Kenny Rogers? It’s kind of a bad day when the Mug Shot Nick Nolte looks better than the Real Nick Nolte.}

Anyway, it was right about now, seven years ago, when we arrived here for our honeymoon.  The moment when our jaws dropped in awe.

Tahiti.  The end of the Earth.  The most magnificent place I’ve ever seen.

That’s our room in the photo.  I’d love to go back someday, but it’s never going to fucking happen highly unlikely — at least before our kids go to college.  Or even during.  Oh, but maybe after they’re done and we scrap all of our retirement savings.  OK, so that’s only, what, 19 years from now?

I mention the honeymoon not only because it’s on my mind around our anniversary, but also because there is some irony as I pack for a very different vacation — the four of us are off to Florida in a few days.  And I can’t help but think about the striking similarities in the preparation process for the two trips.  Here, have a look.

 

In Flight Essentials

–Tahiti Honeymoon:  A pile of mindless magazines (Us Weekly, People, Real Simple [pre-boycott], etc.).  iPod with favorite songs.  Mental list of in-flight movies to see.  Cute summer shoes to change into upon arrival.

–Fordeville Takes Florida:  iPad loaded up exclusively with various kids’ movies, shows and games.  Separate bag with Arsenal of Distractions {toys and books for kids, perhaps some tiny liquor bottles for parents}.  Full change of clothes for each of us in the event of producing (kids) or catching (parents) in-flight vomit.

 

Clothing

–Tahiti Honeymoon:  Bikinis, nice sundresses, stylish beach wear.

–Fordeville Takes Florida:  Mom Bathing Suit {one-piece, suitable for chasing slippery small children in the water without wardrobe malfunction}, sensible hat and SPF 6,000 for a party of four.

 

Packing  & Prep

–Tahiti Honeymoon:   For 14 days and two of us — one large suitcase.  Total packing time:  28 minutes.  Total time to get through airport security:  43 seconds.

–Fordeville Takes Florida:  For eight days and four of us — two checked suitcases, three carry-on bags, a car seat and a stroller.  Total packing time:  1.5 days.  Total time to get through airport security:  16 minutes and one lost shoe.

 

Ground Transportation

–Tahiti Honeymoon:  Lovely town car sent by the resort, followed by private boat and helicopter transfer.

–Fordeville Takes Florida:  Massively crowded airport shuttle, standing room only, with post-flight-vomit kids and aforementioned luggage items.  Retrieve mini van from rental lot.  Install two car seats.

 

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not complaining about going on vacation.  Once all the prep is done and we get past the inevitable Travel Vomit, I’ll be glad for the change of scenery.  It may not be the end of the Earth this time, but anyplace that sells ice cream in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s head is more than OK by me.

Just don’t tell the girl in the wedding photo that I said this — she’d never believe it.

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed Under: Family, Places Near and Far 7 Comments

Reunited

February 23, 2012

On the second day of the 26th week, the God of Endless Home Renovations bestowed an incredible gift upon us.

A fully functional, newly installed (again) washing machine and dryer.  It was like a mirage before my weary eyes.

No more trips to the wash and fold {farewell, Bruce, and thanks for the great origami laundry folding — maybe we’ll have you over for Christmas}.

No more threats of catheters for the kids.

No more bans on markers.  Or condiments {ketchup for all!}.

Once the installation was complete, I proceeded to go batshit crazy and washed every possible piece of clothing, bedding and linens I could get my hands on.  In my giddy haze, I even considered doing some of those TV commercial experiments where people spill the red wine on the white shirt just to test the detergent.  For kicks.  I mean, the red wine was handy.

I know it will wear off, this laundry buzz.  But, come on, six months was a long time to go without it.  Especially relative to the initial five week timetable.  I think I might apply for the next season of Survivor.

So.  Is the project finished?

No.

{Profane rant directed at General Contractor omitted for the sake of common decency. Or maybe litigation.}

But almost.  It’s so close, I can taste it.  Or maybe that’s just the effect of the wine fridge being installed.

For now, I’m focusing on this small miracle — my shiny new laundry machines are home at last.

So can I get an Amen?

 

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Filed Under: Project Colonial, That Which Drives Me Crazy 12 Comments

Hibachi PTSD

February 21, 2012

Today, I regret to inform all of you that I must officially withdraw my name from consideration for Mother of the Year.

Sad but true.

The reason? No, not the profanity I use with my General Contractor (there is a loop hole clause for that, you know).  No, not the introduction of Entenmanns Chocolate Pop ‘Ems to my kids (this is a rite of passage).

No, no.  My application withdrawal shall be filed under the category of Hibachi Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, hereafter known as HPTSD.

In my quest for a fun change of scenery on the 298th third day of Winter Break, I remembered I had an unused Groupon for a hibachi place near our house.  Then I learned that it was Kids Eat Free Night.  And there was a FourSquare promotion there as well.  Extreme Couponers have nothing on my iPhone and me.

iCouponing aside, I figured my kids would marvel at the fun hibachi displays that the chefs put on.  You know, a little knife-throwing.  Some fire.  Tossing food into patrons’ mouths. It’s not unlike how we eat at home.

Plus, they have a big bar at this place.  Just saying.

I had all good intentions.  New experience for the kids.  Booze for the parents.  Fried rice for all!

What could be bad about this?

Let me count the ways…

First, never go somewhere during Kids Eat Free Night.  Ever.  I can’t believe I made such a rookie mistake.  The noise level was just beyond anything the human ear can tolerate.  My kids had their hands glued to their ears.  My kids.  Thought it was too noisy.  Oh, the irony.

Also? It turns out that the knife tossing and fire display was not entertainment as much as, shall we say, abject terror for my kids.  I won’t post a photo of them because it’s plain mean and they’ll kill me when they are old enough to read this. But I found this one of other people’s kids, which I think gives you a fair indication.

 

So there were my kids.  Both ears covered, while whining and cowering down at the base of their chairs.  The chef, having zero experience with either kids or humanity in general, then goes for the big guns and starts the hibachi game of “catch this piece of food in your mouth.”  Cute for those who understand.  But my kids, unfortunately, thought they were being assaulted with steaming hot shrimp and chicken.  More screaming.

“No fire!”

“Don’t throw that food at me!”

“It’s soooo loud in heeeeere!”

“Fire!  Fire!  Noooo!”

I mentioned they had a big bar, right?

And just when we felt we had managed them through this trauma — the birthday songs began.

Have you seen the hibachi approach to birthdays?  It’s usually over the top.  Here, it involved a disco light, loud music (more noise, yay!), and an employee with a big light-up hat who grabbed the guest of honor by the arms, and yelled “Banzai!” repeatedly.  The birthday boy in the restaurant seemed to enjoy this.  Most of the patrons smiled and clapped. And even yelled “Banzai!” in unison.

Not my kids — this was the last straw.  They were horrified.  They thought this boy was being attacked.

“Why is that man grabbing the boy by the arms?  He’s screaming at him!  What’s happening?  It’s so loud.  Is there going to be more fire?”

Another drink for Mom and Dad, please.

When the trauma was over, we left the place with the kids still covering their ears and asking to be carried out. When we got in the car, my son asked — no, begged us — if he behaved all the time to never, ever bring him here for his birthday.

So much for something new.

Oh, and the biggest mystery?  They didn’t like fried rice.  Clearly, I’ve done something wrong.

Happy Winter Break, folks.  Let Day 299 Four begin.  Next stop:  Indoor bouncy castle place.  Since I’m already out of the running for Mother of the Year — why not?

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Family, Food & Drink, Places Near and Far 13 Comments

Catalog Life

February 15, 2012

If only real life could be like the Pottery Barn Kids catalog.  I’ve mentioned this before when venting some pent-up rage against the PBK bed that is bigger than my first Manhattan apartment.  But it doesn’t end there.  If you take a broader view, it might be nice to just slip into a day in the life of the PBK Catalog Family.  If you don’t vomit first.

Take this simple display, for example.  I have about 104 issues with this, but for the purposes of your sanity and my potential ongoing readership, I’ve narrowed it down to just a few highlights.

{Image: Pottery Barn Kids}

1.  The Family Schedule.  Here, what you can’t see clearly, because I didn’t enlarge the image enough, is the To Do List for the day.  It lists groceries, dentist, vet appointment, art project, conferences and family time.  PBK Catalog Mom clearly has her act together.  My list, not printed on blue construction paper du’jour, but instead maybe on a dirty paper towel or crumpled Post It, goes more like this:  return long overdue school forms, stock up on caffeine, re-hash latest episode of Revenge via texting, yell at General Contractor, cruise Pinterest and decide what the hell to make for dinner.  Family time?  But of course.  As long as kids fighting over the last chocolate cookie counts.

2 a & b.  The PBK Catalog Kids.  I just can’t take it.  Look how sweet, how participatory in life they are.  The curious minds.  The organization.  Ready to tackle the sunshiny day ahead with their undoubtedly well-balanced, color-coded lunches packed away.  Come.  On.  Who has time for this pointing and Family Q&A Session when surely you are running 10 minutes late for school again, and nobody can find their left shoe?  What?  Oh, that’s just my house?

3.  The “Read” List.  Let’s get all the classics up there, right?  Here, it’s Us Weekly.  And Twitter.

4.  Let’s not miss our Sunday 1pm hike!  Does that also count as Family Time?  Is that why the kids are pointing?  Maybe they feel duped.  Or confused.  Or perhaps resentful of their mother’s Type A over-scheduling that is depriving them of a childhood.  And, where, pray tell, is the PBK hiking backpack and canteen set?  These kids can’t just venture out into the woods without being fully outfitted and monogrammed.

5.  Ugh, the Project Basket.  What’s in there?  Loom materials?  Calculus flashcards?  In my house, that basket would be labeled Small Annoying Toy Pieces From China That Don’t Seem To Fit With Anything And Then Multiply Overnight.

 

Maybe I should seek out other catalogs.  Hanna Andersson is out, ever since I saw the matching family pajama concept.  Does the Land End Family look more realistic?  I’m open to suggestions.  Because the PBK Catalog Family is clearly bringing out the worst in me.  And if they move onto my block, I will not invite them over.  Ever.  Or at least not until I get my kids all monogrammed and ready.

 

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Family, That Which Drives Me Crazy 15 Comments

A Brief Affair

February 8, 2012

Yesterday, I was so excited to have one of my posts featured over at Aiming Low — a humor site about promoting the mediocrity in all of us.  If you’re not already a fan, please go check it out.

You may have seen that post before.  It was about — you guessed it — the Fordeville laundry drama.  Or lack thereof.  Day 170 with no machines, incidentally.  For those of you keeping count at home.

BUT.  Get this.

Who knew that the folks over at Aiming Low had such amazing super powers?  Because here’s what happened.  My post ran on their site and then, within 24 hours, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

 

All hooked up.  Fully operational.  Ready.  To.  Go.

{Cue angels singing.  Or smelling salts.  Or, where the hell did I put that fabric softener back in August?}

BUT WAIT.  Not so fast.  Get this.

Before you send me champagne or some lovely lavender-scented congratulatory detergent, I’ll tell you that my joy was short-lived.  No, not short-lived as much as killed — by way of the We Have a New Basement Problem files.

The whole laundry room has to be reconfigured.

Translation:  My machines will soon be disconnected.

What?

Yeah.

I won’t bore you with the whole story, but the short version is this:  It wasn’t until the machines were installed that we noticed our mason had graciously jutted our new foundation out about six inches from the wall.  Six inches that we didn’t really have.  Six inches that he never told us about.

Yes, that’s right.  Six inches of error stands between me and Laundry Nirvana.  Because, in the current configuration, I am basically squeezed out of the laundry room.  So my machines fit — barely — but I’m standing outside the door.  Which doesn’t really work.  Especially, on a more urgent note, with no place to rest my glass of wine.  Now, we must rip up the wall to move the plumbing around, in order to hook the machines up to a different spot.

That’s OK — things were getting boring around here with progress, smooth sailing and the like.  It was throwing us off of our game.

So, for now, I’m treating my beautiful new machines kind of like going on a fabulous first date and then finding out the guy is temporarily moving out of the country or being shipped off to war.  I like my new machines, a lot.  We spent a fabulous first evening together.  But I fear getting too attached too soon.  I want to buy them nice things like cabinetry and high-efficiency detergent, but I don’t want to move too quickly.  I don’t want to be left in tears when they are suddenly pulled away from me sometime this week — all before we really got to know each other.

Such a brief love affair.  Such heartbreak.

We almost had it all.

But if you love someone, set them free.

{I’m on a Lite FM heartbreak ballad roll.  One more? OK…}

Take a look at me now — there’s just an empty space.

{I couldn’t resist.  End of Lite FM melodramatic references.}

Anyway, I just hope I can let my guard down when they come back to me and we move forward with our life together.  Day 170, you were lovely to behold.  This was no one-night stand.

Oh — and if anyone has seen my mason (because we sure as hell haven’t), can you tell him that I’d like a word?  Thanks.

 

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Filed Under: Project Colonial, That Which Drives Me Crazy 8 Comments