My Disney Vacation, Part 1: The Bad News

I'll give you the bad news first.  And isn't there a saying about bad news always coming in threes?

Bad

About two weeks out from our trip I got an email from the brand new B Resort in Downtown Disney, that they would not be making their Grand Opening deadline, and my reservation that included sheets that had never been slept in and bunk beds for the kids and environmentally conscious amenities was transferred over to the Buena Vista Palace and Spa.  They even footed the daily resort fee for which I hadn't yet paid.

On a "Bad" scale of 1-10, this was about a 3.  Disappointing, but the Palace was nice.  People were friendly.  Came with its own character breakfast.  Nobody necessarily went out of their way, but I have no complaints.  (Okay, one complaint, but I've noticed it at other places...Why do nice hotels still have analog cable?  Most of the channels barely come in.  If it had been any other type of vacation that would have been a serious point deduction, but we pretty much all fell asleep as soon as we got in bed each night.)

Worse

3:30 pm flight on a Wednesday.  Picked Oldest up from school a little early under the premise that we had to drop Dad at the airport before heading to an orthodontist appointment.  Pulled into long-term parking at about 2:00 pm and delivered the surprise before rushing them in with their new carry-ons only to be told the flight was delayed. They needed Maintenance to check the seal on the cargo hold door.  Ended up leaving the airport a little after 5:00 pm.

On the "Bad" scale of 1-10, this was a 6.  Nobody likes flight delays, but I guess delayed is better than losing my luggage over Georgia (or worse).  The main problem was that on the original plan, we would have gotten checked into the hotel just in time for a late dinner and maybe a stroll around Downtown Disney.  The new plan didn't have us even landing until about 7:30 pm.

Absolute Worst

I had pre-ordered our rental car through Priceline.  Had a good rate at Avis for a mid-sized car.

I used to be an Avis Preferred Member, back in my E&Y days that had me commuting to Augusta, GA every week. I would arrive at the Atlanta airport on a Sunday evening and my car would be running in the parking lot.  One time they even gave me a cute little Mitsubishi Spider convertible that they had sitting on the lot.  Just handed me the keys and told me to enjoy.

Now I don't know how Avis at the Orlando airport treats its "preferred customers", but I can tell you that they treat the rest of us peons like shit.

First, I stood in line for roughly thirty minutes.  It seemed as though everyone in front of me must not have already had a reservation and were completing new paperwork and making all the decisions I had already made a month ago.  This was not the case.

What was really going on, was that each customer was getting a hard-sell on an upgrade.  When it was my turn, my associate wondered if I would like to get a Lincoln Navigator instead of my Jetta sedan.  It was normally $300/day, but he could get it for only $50/day more than what I was paying. (Doing the math, that's an extra $200 Avis would like to tack on to my Disney World vacation.)

"No, thank you."

"But you will be in Orlando for only four day.  Don't you want to ride around in luxury instead of squeezed into that tiny little Jetta?"

Um, not long ago, I OWNED a Jetta that I squeezed into with my family of four EVERY DAY, so no, a frickin' NAVIGATOR is not necessary.

"No, thank you.  I will take the car I reserved."

"Oh, well, let me see if I can get you an upgrade somewhere in between."  And before I could say another word, he was gone.  Disappearing to "check with his manager" on what deal he could swing me. After I lost approximately an equal amount of time to Daylight Savings, he returned to give me his offer, which I promptly, but politely refused.

"I would just like the car that I ordered, please."

When I also refused to pay for additional rental insurance (at this point, it was on principle), the rest of the transaction was completed with an attitude that I will generously call "cool".

I should also point out that all of the above conversation had to be repeated several times, because the associate refused to speak up over the general noise of the airport.  I can only assume this was to frustrate me enough that I would finally just agree to whatever he was mumbling.

I was then told to have a seat.  They would need to bring my car up and it would take approximately ten to fifteen minutes.  He would come get me when it was here.

Excuse me?  The car I pre-ordered and pre-paid to be ready for me when my flight was supposed to land at 6:00 pm, is now, at 8:00 pm (because I've already wasted a half hour with these people), not on the premises? What. The. Hell.

I simmered in my chair with my two hungry children and not-on-his-ideal-vacation husband.  For the full fifteen minutes and then some.  My associate had not moved from the desk.  I walked back up and stood to the side not looking forward to the glares I would get from other customers if I appeared to be "cutting" in line.

A couple who's associate had just walked away turned to me and said, "You don't want this guy.  He keeps trying to upgrade us instead of giving us our car.  If I were you, I'd talk to the man with the radio.  He seems to be the only one allowed to make decisions."

So I sauntered down to the All Powerful and asked for my car.  Curiously, he didn't even know I was waiting for my car.  AP wondered who was helping me, and as I pointed the associate out, he magically walked down and handed my contract over.  Oh...I guess my car is ready now and after loosely interpreting the insufficient directions to get to said car we were finally on our way.  We ate dinner at 9:30 pm.  That was BEFORE we checked into the hotel.

On the "Bad" scale of 1-10, this hit the limit.  And because no one even had the decency to APOLOGIZE to me for my wait, I would actually push it up to 11.

Rest assured the rest of our vacation was phenomenal, if a little haphazard.  But all the goodwill that Avis had worked up with me over my many years of business travel, completely evaporated after that excruciating hour in Orlando.  Congratulations, I would prefer to walk barefoot on hot tar while carrying both my children on my back than drive one of your cars again.

Donde esta el bano?

OR Norcross Vacation 2012– Part 1

A note about the title. I was trying to think of how to say “Where are you from?” but my college German overrode my high school Spanish. And while I tried several times to transport my brain to Mr. Volzer’s (Aye Carramba!) first period classroom, I did not attempt to Google it.
All I could come up with was “Donde esta el bano?” which I learned from watching 80’s sitcoms.

Specifically, an episode of Who’s the Boss? where Tony is trying to teach the family useful phrases en route to some resort in Mexico. Obviously, Angela scoffs at this. She is a high-powered female business executive with no need for conversational Spanish. Until you see their airport taxi pulling into the resort and Angela jumping from the car and running to the first person she sees.

“Donde….esta…….?”

“EL BANO, Angela, EL BANO!” Tony is just so damn helpful.

In related news, thanks to Dora, my kids said “Gracias” to the café worker in Mexico. See, Dad, television is NOT why the Japanese are ahead of us.

I have a point.

It’s not about Spanish.

Several times on the cruise we were asked where we were from. Of these times, at least 50% of the questions come from people who were obviously not from the US. (Including the cutest older Australian couple, who loved our kids.)

However, my standard, non-thinking response was always “Ohio”. This makes me cringe and the reasons are twofold.

First off, ever notice in TV shows when the main characters run into out-of-towners that seem just a little off – maybe they are stuck in the 80s, or maybe they are naïve, or maybe they lack basic vocabulary skills – they always end up saying they are from Ohio. Why all the hate for Ohio? What about Idaho? Or Iowa? What about KANSAS!? I know there are some hick people out there.

More importantly, perhaps, why should I expect someone from a different country to know Ohio? I don’t even know all the provinces in CANADA for god’s sake, and there’s not that many of them.

Don’t ask me to tell you what all the countries in Eastern Europe and Africa are. I could probably guess the majority of South America. Brazil’s the big one, right? (Hmmm, maybe television IS the reason the Japanese are ahead of us.)

The point being, after I say it, I feel like a complete douche bag Ugly American. What do mean you don’t know where Ohio is? Don’t you watch Glee or reruns of The Drew Carey Show?

Not that any of them admitted to not knowing where Ohio was, by the way. I should probably give them credit for having moderately superior geography skills than me. I mean, they are the ones speaking two languages without relying on Who’s the Boss? trivia.

Speaking of being lost…did I mention we lost our kids on the cruise? I guess if you are going to give your kids a practical survival scenario for getting lost, a cruise ship is the place to do it.  They can’t get far, kidnapping is out of the question, and the clientele that can afford the cruise are less likely to be homicidal maniacs (or maybe more likely, not sure).

Anyway…we were up on Deck 16. Nana and Papa had already headed back to the room and everyone else was gathering their things. Morgan told us she had to go down to 15 for her flip flops.

I keep gathering our things and look up to notice Zoe is no longer standing next to us. I look down and see Morgan picking up her flip flops, but no Zoe. Okay…walk quickly towards the doors that lead to the elevator lobby and reach them just as she pops back out.

Fortunately, Uncle J had come out of the restroom right as she was walking by and asked her where she was going. She informed him that she was following Morgan, but he didn’t see Morgan anywhere, so brought Zoe back with him. Phew.

Look back over the edge again. No Morgan. Jesus Christ!

Honestly, my first thought was that she went back to the room. From Day 1, they had figured out what floor our room was on, which door it was, and how to use their Sea Pass to get in. Unfortunately, her Sea Pass was still in my beach bag, so I wasn’t sure what she would do once she got there and no one let her in.

Scott headed back to the room, while the rest of us did random sweeps around the two decks. What felt like an hour later, Scott shows back up with Morgan in tow. She had gone to the room and was working her way back down the hall when he found her.

Yeah, new rule. Sea Pass on, unless you are IN the pool.

And speaking of worst case scenario…a man missing his leg goes by while we are lounging one morning.

Zoe: Why is his leg missing?
Nana: Maybe he had an accident or was sick.
Zoe: No, I think he was in a shark tank and it got bit off.

To be continued….

Dirty Cups, Volume 376

I have to postpone my "Adult Truth Tuesday" because this tea party has made a mess of the cups.

Home Sweet Home

Best part about coming home from vacation? Feels like we live in a mansion. And for those of you who packed in to our spring beer tasting party like sardines, you know that is not the case.

First of all, we had a GREAT vacation and the villa was VERY nice....it was also the size of our living room. The whole thing. The size of our living room. I’m pretty sure I’m not exaggerating.

It really didn’t turn out to be much of a problem, but it was a slight shock to the system. I will say whoever took the pictures for the online listing is a genius!

Worst part about coming home from vacation? Still finding sand everywhere.

Girls were exceptional on the twelve hour ride home. Just to recap for your viewing pleasure: The Pacifier, Tinkerbell, Beauty and the Beast, and The Black Cauldron. (Zoe’s favorite part of The Pacifier? When the little girl tells Vin Diesel he has big boobs. Cracks her shit up!)

Week From Hell

Monday
*First day back to work (plus it was my new hire’s first day – I’m sure I made a great first impression).
*Elementary school Room Parent meeting. Only one other mom showed up for Morgan’s classroom and neither of us want to be the stinking room parent.
*Early Childhood PTA Budget Review. Perhaps one glass of wine too many? Nah.

Tuesday
*School supply shopping…nothing like waiting till the last minute. P.S. Why don’t they make pre-sharpened No.2 pencils? I have a blister from sharpening the requested TWENTY FOUR pencils. P.P.S. What the hell do you need a clean athletic sock for? I cannot wrap my head around that one.
*1st grade “open house”. Please refer to last year’s post at this time to understand how much it is NOT an open house. But at least we learned from our mistake. We weren’t even the last ones there. We’re improving! (Note: Still no volunteers for Room Parent. Finally, the mom that was at the meeting with me broke down and took it. For the record, it was easier to get two Lice Checkers than one Room Parent.)

Wednesday
*School clothes and lunch box shopping. Morgan has also requested if she could have “like a high school bag, not a backpack”, meaning she wants a messenger bag. WTF? Currently under debate, because there is absolutely nothing wrong with her backpack from last year. I mean, they don’t actually carry books in it, so it’s not like it’s worn out.
*Early Childhood PTA Board Meeting. We get to tell everyone the results of the FOUR HOUR budget meeting.

Thursday
*First day of school. I guess this really isn’t a tough day for me. I’m taking the day off so I can be at the bus stop at pick up and drop off. And I’ll spend the rest of the time alone with Zoe…so maybe it IS the toughest day for me.

The weekend cannot come fast enough. So I will leave you with this after all...

Adult Truth #9
I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

Kalahari

20 days till Christmas...7 days till "Cousin's Christmas" which I volunteered to host...a television to run electrical to and mount above a fireplace...cookies to bake....presents to shop for...might as well go to Kalahari for the weekend.

A month ago, friends of ours asked if we were interested in sharing a suite at this indoor water park for a night and we knew the girls would love it, so we agreed.

Saturday morning, Scott got an oil change in his car, ran to Home Depot for electrical boxes and to Dick's for a new swim suit, because for some reason he didn't want to wear his triathlon Speedo around the park.

Meanwhile, I packed suitcases, cleaned up the house (although my dog-sitting brother could probably argue on the cleanliness factor), grabbed snacks from Walgreens and bought a Christmas tree.

Yes...bought a Christmas tree. I have to get that thing in the house by Wednesday to have it decorated in time.

So we managed to get on the road by 1:30 and Kalahari is about an hour away.

I had forgotten the girls' flip flops, so I forced them to put their shoes on with their bathing suits, because we had what felt like a mile walk to the actual water park portion of the hotel, including passing through a major Chuck E Cheese-type game area. Of course Morgan wasted no time pointing out all the other people walking through the hotel barefoot. I throw up a little in my mouth just thinking about that.

And I don't know why I was also so disturbed about the number of people walking through the hotel in nothing but a wet bathing suit, when on the other side of the doorway everyone was walking around in wet bathing suits, but I was.

Two observations:

(1) The eight of us may have been the only people in all of Kalahari that didn't have a single tattoo.

(2) I apparently do not need to be so self-conscious of my slightly squishy tummy. (But I will keep it safely tucked inside my completely average full-piece tank swimsuit, thankyouverymuch.)

I was actually a little worried about my rudeness rage, which is only slightly less sensitive than my road rage. I thought for sure I would be at my strangling-point by at least an hour in, but it never even bubbled.

I don't know if it was because all the parents were slightly buzzed with alcohol (although I only saw one lady visibly drunk and it was when we went back down to the game room after dinner) or everyone was just happy to let life guards watch their kids for a few hours.

A note on the life guards: None of them looked any older than 16 and at least 50% of them looked like they had no desire to jump in and save someone, and I am trusting them with my life?

Either way, everyone pretty much kept to themselves so I have no good blog fodder. Damnit.

Oh, except that Jen and I scared the crap out of ourselves on the slides. We had let the guys take control of all four kids while we tried a slide on our own. We decided on the enclosed pair of slides where we would each take off from a separate one and come out somewhat together. But neither of us had considered how fast, or how dark it was.

I think if it had lasted any longer I might have had an actual panic attack. Yes, I am a wimp. (Did I ever tell you my skiing story?)

Otherwise...completely uneventful...in a good way. I highly recommend it.

See, Jen, I made it the whole blog without mentioning how many times you fell and/or dropped your baby!

Paid Time Off - Part Two

No, you didn’t miss Part One. I’ll get back to it.

Total sidebar with no bearing on the following narrative: Turns out I wore my underwear inside-out today. This is what happens when you get dressed in the dark after having slept squished between your 5-year-old and your husband without access to a pillow for the last half of the night. Now back to the regularly scheduled blog.

Notice I didn’t use the term “vacation”. I did not go on “vacation” this year. I had Paid Time Off (PTO) from the bank. Most of which was spent at home alone with the girls (hence no “vacation”), but we did go to Chicago this past weekend.

Yes, we took our two little girls to the bustling city of Chicago, known for its shopping, tallest building, art museum, universities, and…beluga whales.

Let us not make the mistake of thinking we were going there with anything other than the sole purpose of watching those white “canaries of the sea.” Considering all the hype I gave it, it was destined to fail miserably, but for once in my life, I actually came through.

Beluga’s were a hit and the highlight of the trip, although I was a little concerned when I saw what they had to measure up to once we got to the hotel.

“Hey, there’s a bathtub if we get dirty! And a garbage can!! Our own bed!” Those are actual quotes, by the way. I’m not making that up. And the best, “This is better than our house!”

Thanks, Fairfield Inn and Suites.

Other than the belugas, there was no real plan, so Friday afternoon (after Zoe’s third change of clothes from spilling beverages in her car seat) we walked the Navy Pier, which did not impress the girls, because it was A.) too warm and B.) we had to walk there (except Zoe who enjoyed the lap of luxury in her Jeep stroller the whole trip).

We decided to go to Chinatown for dinner. Kids like chicken and rice (don't they?) and we figured there would be lots of interesting things to look at. It wasn’t until we got on the subway that I vaguely remember my Fodor’s Top 10 telling me to stay away from the South Loop in the evening.

Actually, it was fine. Our main problem was, once we got there, we had no idea where we should eat, so we wandered around aimlessly. Never good for the child we are forcing to walk.

And because we are ignorant, everything looks like a Chinese restaurant until you get up close and realize it’s a grocery or a jeweler or salon. By the time we stopped, everyone was starved.

Guess what…kids are not as fond of chicken and rice when it comes fried with peas and other vegetables. On the other hand, my sesame chicken, despite the fact that it was in a sauce the color of nothing known to the natural world, was a big hit. In fact Morgan proclaimed loudly that she “likes China food.”

On Saturday, the hotel scored big again because they had powdered donuts in their continental breakfast. Then an equally fascinating bus ride to the Museum Campus (if all else fails, throw a kid on public transportation, it's like the Emerald City to them).

We got there pretty early, plus we had the aforementioned Jeep, which meant we got to use the side entrance and didn't end up in the ungodly lines that even the Will Call people had to stand in. And I luckily knew from looking on line that I could cut the 4-D experience out and save $4 dollars a ticket from the lowest price they had posted on the wall. Take that, Shedd!

We spent almost three hours there with no melt downs and only $30 in souvenirs, mostly related to...beluga whales (and one sea lion for Zoe).

Here's the synopsis of the rest of the trip. Potbelly's lunch (awesome PB&J). Subway and long walk to Lincoln Park Zoo (finally something that's free!).

Ride on the endangered species carousel (and there may be a new seal obsession in the family).

Playing on the beach (while watching weird people wade into water - 15 degrees colder than Lake Erie - fully clothed - wtf?).

Even longer walk back to hotel (sneaking past the huge Disney store). Bath (see below). Chicago-style pizza delivered to the room by 9 pm (which is actually 10 pm in Cleveland, so can't be good for the girls' digestion). In the car by 9 the next morning.

"Bath Story" by Morgan

I'm going to make another Jaws movie, but I will have to wait until I'm grown up, because I'm going to need a lot of people to help me and I can't talk to strangers until I'm grown up. And this time there will be five people that get eaten, because it will be the fifth Jaws movie.

This is why Zoe refuses to get in the tub.

Author's Note: Seriously, blogger friends, how can I get my much-loved negative space when I post photos in my blog. It ALWAYS screws it up.

Washington DC - Day 3

Scott’s race wave goes off at 7:21 a.m.! He has me set the alarm for 4:00 a.m.! He calls me at 5:30 a.m. to read him something off an envelope - I may have read him the label on my shampoo. Wake up call is at 6:00 a.m.! (Yes, this is a vacation.) Morgan sleeps through all of this. For continental breakfast number two, she chooses only a sprinkled donut at first, but then she can’t take her eyes off my eggs, so she fills up. Always eat eggs when someone else is making them.

Thankfully, we are taking a taxi down to the race. As instructed by Scott, I tell our driver to get us as close to the Korean memorial as possible. He drops us off on the Vietnam side of the mall but closer to Washington than Lincoln. In other words, nowhere near Korea. Thanks, man.

We knew we missed their swim, so we set out to find a spot on the bike path. We managed to find a curb very close to where they would be dismounting their bikes, and were settled in by the time the first biker was coming in. I had no idea if we were going to be able to spot them. There were times when twenty bikes all came at the same time. We did, however, get to watch asinine people almost get run over as they crossed right in front of athletes traveling at speeds up to 35 mph, so that was fun.

I spotted Scott about 2 nano-seconds before he passed us, but he says he heard us cheer. Now all we had to do was wait for Phil. Michelle was fairly adamant that he would be behind Scott despite starting ahead of him. We continue to wait as Paige and Morgan wreak havoc on the snacks and Morgan wears out her whining privileges.

Finally, we decided there was no way it took Phil this long and we must have missed him, so we make our way to the finish line. I had estimated that we got there right about when Scott was going to cross. Turns out, I was probably right; because twenty minutes after we got there I had a call on my cell. Scott was finished, and had already retrieved his possessions from the transition area – including Phil. Turns out, Scott had caught up to Phil – almost at the exact place that we had been watching. So while we were yelling for Scott, we had totally missed Phil bike by at the same time.

So the purpose for our trip had come to an end, but I still hadn’t gotten Morgan to the Natural History museum. Since the guys had to wait before they could take their bikes out of transition, I decided that I would walk her there and then meet them at the hotel. L’ Enfante might be the biggest jack ass ever. How in the hell does it take so long to walk what looks like five blocks on my map? Okay, so maybe he wasn’t around anymore when they started erecting monuments and museums, but I need a scapegoat, and that goat has Frenchy’s name on it.

Guess what? Morgan doesn’t want to see dinosaurs. In fact, she barely got excited about the whale, but she did enjoy the large mammal exhibit and I was able to get my commemorative magnet for my fridge, so not a total loss. Just a long uphill battle back to the hotel and we are homeward bound.

Morals of this story:

If your child is between riding in a stroller and walking on their own for 20 miles, do not take them to DC.

If you disregard the first moral and take them anyway, choose the bulky all-terrain Jeep stroller with shock suspension instead of borrowing the light umbrella stroller that is three inches too short for you stand up straight while you push it and has wheels the size of Eggo waffles.

If there is a choice between using a roundabout or just having an intersection, choose the intersection. The world has enough statues and fountains.

Never under estimate how much joy a tunnel through a mountain can bring.

Washington DC - Day 2

Saturday morning and Morgan is further impressed by the continental breakfast. She gets scrambled eggs but passes on the sausage patty. Then we both pass on what I can only guess was some type of hash brown with ketchup mixed into it. I was not willing to investigate further. No matter…there are donuts with pink frosting, so we are good to go.

Since the Paige is a late sleeper (lucky bastards), and since Phil and Michelle got in the day before and already did a quick tour, we head out on our own to see what there is to see, before we get down to triathlon business.

Despite the mob scene of protesters near Pennsylvania Avenue and Morgan’s own protests against getting out of the stroller to take pictures – as evidenced by her happy expression in several photos – we manage to see the White House and the Washington Monument. And with only one wrong turn and a block of backtracking, we move towards the World War II Memorial.

Turns out, Morgan loves fountains. She is up and out of the stroller, setting up photo shoots. Thank God. Potential disaster number 3 averted. It’s going on 10:30 a.m. – a good hour and a half after we left the hotel, but a majority of that time was just getting down the hill. Now I can see the Lincoln Memorial. My goal destination is within my grasp.

Phil calls and they are going to take the Metro to the zoo. No problem, we will walk up to visit Abe and then head for the Metro ourselves. We can even take in the Korean War Memorial on the way. As I take pictures of the life-like statues, I turn to find a family of Japanese tourists taking pictures, as well. Except they are taking pictures of Morgan sitting in her stroller. WTF? They smile and nod their heads as they thank us (I think). Scott and I are wondering if the photos will show up on some anti-American site. “Look how lazy American kids are. They get pushed around in little buggies all day.” We will never know.

By the time we get to the steps of Lincoln a good forty minutes have passed. And another half hour to walk to the closest Metro (according to an information booth worker, but it just doesn’t seem right). Then another fifteen minutes to figure out how and what pass to buy, then there’s the ride and the walk to the zoo from the station. Just in time to meet our friends as they head back to the hotel.

Scott has to join them, because he and Phil need to get to the triathlon briefing and swim practice if they want to be allowed to race on Sunday. (Incidentally, their briefing is filled with West Pointers. How is that for intimidating competition?) However, Morgan has perked up again - perhaps because she sees potential in the large gift shop we have just passed. So we head out on our own. Three hours later (okay, maybe it only seemed like three) and we have seen just about everything. And of course a gift is purchased before we leave.

Morgan actually falls asleep the second we leave the zoo and I manage to get her on and off the Metro before I have to wake her because I can’t find an elevator. I anticipate rebellion, but there is none. Not even when I go the wrong way on Dupont Circle and have to cut back through the center (Damn that Frenchy). Potential disaster number 4 averted.

We have agreed to go back to the hotel and take a little rest, but of course housekeeping is currently in our room. Really? We were gone for six hours! What are the chances? We eventually make it in and Morgan zones out to some Cartoon Network (No Noggin! Yippee!) I tentatively ask her if she wants to go see the dinosaurs and a big whale in a museum. She is up for it.

Setting myself up for failure, I convince her to walk instead of ride in the stroller, to give my arms a rest. It’s only a little after four and the museums are open until 5:30. I decide we can run in to the American History museum and see the Ruby Slippers before checking out a larger portion of the Natural History museum.

Why does everything take five times as long as you think? We got her picture with Dorothy’s shoes and had to head back up the hill. Granted, at least fifteen minutes of that trip was spent debating the merits of purchasing a ruby slipper snow globe the size of a thimble and the manufacturing cost of a penny, being sold for $12. Mommy won, via compromise, but no meltdown, so considered a great success. Potential disaster number 5 averted.

In case you are wondering, it takes twice as long to walk up a hill than it does to walk down it. Daddy is in charge of the stroller for our walk to dinner. Morgan asks to go to sleep by eight and I’m in bed a little after nine. Right after I find out from my mother that the devil’s spawn is eating like a champion and wrapping everyone within a three-foot radius around her little finger.

Washington DC - Day 1

I’ve decided to start my blogging career with our trip with Washington DC for Scott to compete in The Nation’s Triathlon. We decided to take Morgan (4) with us. But as a result of a two-hour scream-fest driving home from Columbus this summer, we opted to leave our Zoe (1) with my parents.

This trip could have been the poster child for disaster – short time frame, traveling with a 4-year-old, said 4-year-old has a cold, potential for drowning in Potomac - and yet I have nothing of cataclysmic proportion to report.

Our trip starts off with a stop at the local deli for lunch, where Morgan asks if she can have the veggie tray with carrots, celery and broccoli. This is not my child. Then, when given the option of turkey, ham, or bologna sandwich, she chooses roast beef. Okay…and we’re off.

Roast beef sandwich finished, she asks for her veggies and is suddenly skeptical of the broccoli that she had only moments before been wildly asserting she loved. I make the mistake of saying “Looks good!” to which I am offered a piece to “try.” So I do. Yeah, still don’t like broccoli, but please give me props for not gagging, spitting it out into the glove compartment, and/or vomiting into my bag of chips. “Mmm.” Morgan takes one bite, also realizes it is nasty, and takes a swig of her chocolate milk. Still my child. She does finish the baby carrots, though. So maybe I won’t have to pump her too full of Flinstone vitamins in her youth.

Not only does Morgan not nap, she doesn’t even ask for a movie until we are an hour and a half out of DC. I can’t tell you what we did for the other four and a half hours to entertain her. She did remove just about every activity I had packed in her tote. And I vaguely remember some singing - her not me. Of course the Pennsylvania turnpike tunnel had her rapt attention for the entire sixty seconds it takes to complete. The only major problem was that I forgot her headphones, so she had to use my ear buds. Kids don’t like to stick things in their ears unless they are specifically told not to.

So we have entered the greater DC area and here’s where I see potential problem number two. The Mapquest directions indicate we will be proceeding to a “roundabout.” This will clearly add thirty minutes to our drive time. And though we did miss our “exit” on the first time around, we quickly compensate and only lose fifteen minutes – a decisive victory over the city planner (who I'm pretty sure was French so will hereafter be referred to as "Frenchy").

Since Morgan doesn’t remember the first vacation we took her on to Hilton Head at age 1, she considers this her first hotel stay. We have a small “suite” so here’s a quick run down on what impresses her: the appliances (“We can put things in the refrigerator! And here’s a dishwasher, so we can wash our dishes!”); the beds (“I have a bed and you and Daddy have a bed!”); the desk (“We can put Daddy’s computer here!”), etc. Now that we have had a complete inventory of the room contents, it’s time to settle in. Everything that was in her travel tote gets a spot on “her” bed.

And that is Day 1.

We stroll around town with our friends (Phil, Michelle and daughter Paige) to have a late dinner and are back in the hotel just a bit past primetime television. I get Morgan hooked up with a new movie and manage to watch the repeat of the Glee episode I missed on Wednesday. Bonus!

I call home to find out the devil’s spawn, AKA my darling Zoe, has been a complete angel for Nana and Papa – including standing in line with them for an hour at a funeral home. Of course she did.

I’m in bed a little after ten.