Riddle Me This...

During our foray to see Thomas the Train in Baltimore MD, we stayed at a hotel that had very good reviews and was in a good location.

The price was OK, but for Inner Harbor, that's pretty much what you pay.

We had an OK experience.  It wasn't a hotel I would seek out to stay in again, and it wasn't so bad that I checked out early and am still grossed out about (that story to be fully posted later once the credit card dispute is taken care of).

I wrote my unbiased good/bad review this weekend on TripAdvisor, as I do with nearly every property we stay in.  I heavily depend on TripAdvisor when looking for a new hotel, and I feel it is necessary that my opinion be posted along with those that I depended on.

I'm mouthy.

Within an hour of my post clearing their review, I was contacted via email by the Hotel Manager.

He was very apologetic...especially the part where the check out clerk kept saying Toddler Tween was 'pissed'  'really pissed'  'he's pissed isn't he?' because we were leaving and he wanted to go see Thomas again.

I was taken aback, but as my kid was yelling his lungs out in the atrium, I didn't ask to see her manager.

The other problem was the fact that we had reserved a two queen/1 bedroom suite and ended up with the teeny tiny 1 king/1 bedroom suite with a pullout sofa.

For my good/bad review...the manager is giving me a free weekend next year to try their property again.

Really?

Cause I am really having a fit with the property from last weekend that wanted us to be closer to nature and left the remnants of the dog and human that had slept in the bed there for me to find.  Boogers, hair, greasy body print and all.

I just want my second night refunded.  That's all...I'll pay for the first night.

But nope. 

Uhmmmm?  What?

Well...that's done

After an adventurous weekend complete with a bottle of ruined Augmentin, dirty sheets at our cabin retreat that resulted in the owners showing up at 10pm after I left a not-so-happy message on their 'emergency voice mail', and a new hotel that cost us out the nose but was fantastic...we are done.

The Husband has shipped off to his Mobilization Station...and then will head Over There.

Not being hugely pregnant and dealing with all that emotional drama...it was actually just a touch easier this time.

The Deployment Ceremony was formal and unemotional.  It was crowded and hot...and they got to spend the night with us that night.

Not like last time, when they marched them out and they were GONE.

I'm not saying it was the most fun thing in the world.

Nor something I ever want to do again.

But I did manage to NOT cry the entire drive home this go round.

And I did not sit in the parking lot with an entire roll of toilet paper in my hands like one wife.

But The Husband had to report at 5am this morning, and get on his way.

My tears started rolling at 6am when I realized it was time for me and Tween Toddler to depart the Armory.  The soldiers were getting rather busy.  We were in the way.

We needed to yank off the Band Aid...it was time.

So I sobbed all the way out the door as The Husband carried Tween Toddler to the truck.

Tween Toddler kept asking "Daddy are you not going home with us?"  "Daddy are you going to Drill?"  "Mommy...you are silly...why are you crying?"

We managed to get in the truck...say our goodbyes and I pulled out of the parking lot.

Two blocks away I get a phone call.

It's The Husband.

He has Tween Toddler's watch...

CRAAAAP.

So I have to do this freaking again.

Back we go...Tween Toddler is excited to see his watch...tells Daddy 'Thank You!' and proceeds to do as all Tween Toddler's do...find something else to holler about.

We say our goodbyes again...and we are out of there.

About an hour down the interstate, The Husband's bus passed us.

That was cool.

Date Night

So The Husband is SICK.

Like raging-cough-sneezing-fits-snot-snorting-oh-my-god-will-you-stop kind of SICK.

You know the kind...where you start looking at your spouse/child/co worker and willing them silenty to STOP THE COUGHING!    And then you want to start throwing something at them.  Then you sigh everytime they cough.  Finally it progresses to 'Really!?!' everytime they start up again.

He couldn't help it.

Having two parents that chain smoked really didn't set him up very well.

So sick...his Command sent him home early last week so that I could take him to the doctor..AGAIN.

I guess they couldn't take it anymore and got him away from them so that they could hear themselves during the briefings.
And we were at the clinic for two hours.

While he coughed...and coughed...and coughed...

Did I mention he was coughing?

I had a moment with the Physicians Assistant. 

Because she said it had to run its course...as he started hacking up another lung.

Eh hmmm...uhm...this is our third time here...in three weeks.

Really don't want to see you EVERY Friday...sooooo....

Here goes:

We don't have time for course running sweetheart...he needs a steroid, and an inhaler, and some Azythromycin...please and thank you.
Oh yeah...and some Mega Make This Guy Stop Coughing Cough Medicine.
And then I smiled.
Cause I was sick of hearing him hack.

And he leaves in a few days...and I don't want to be annoyed with him over the COUGHING.

Then we had a date...because my parents were watching The Tween Toddler for the evening while I hauled Mucous Boy all over the place.

We ate Taco Bell while sitting in the parking lot waiting on his prescriptions.

It was kinda fun and really nice.

And a lot more expensive than it used to be.

I remember a Soft Taco Supreme being 89 cents.

That sucker is like $1.67 now!

So for a Chicken Gordita, a Soft Taco Supreme (cause he hadn't eaten in four days and really wasn't hungry but I made him eat so he could get doped up in the pharmacy parking lot once they were through putting stickers on the boxes of medicines they pulled off the shelf)...and two drinks...it was almost $10!

Hell...are you kidding?

But it was a nice date...at 10pm...in the Pharmacy parking lot.

And he coughed...

Where's My Village?

I’m not a huge fan of Hillary Clinton…but she made a point a number of years ago when she wrote her book “It takes a Village”

I’d like to ask…Where is my damned village?

The Husband is getting ready to leave for Over There.

I’m going to be alone with The Toddler (almost a Preschooler…he’s kind of a Toddler Tween now) and I am schlepping him on a stupid long commute every morning, and schlepping him on a stupid long commute every evening.

And slinging crap food on the table…with the TV turned on…while I run around like a mad woman feeding Dog and Cat…and doing laundry…and keeping a slight semblance of order.

Then we go to bed...well Toddler Tween does...I don't.  

Hell…I had to hire a housekeeper to keep up with my own freaking life.

We’re all tired.

And I don’t think it was meant to be like this.

When our Warriors go off to battle…the Women and Children and Old would be left behind to tend to the Village, take care of things…TOGETHER.

I’m alone in my house, with the Toddler Tween…the Dog…the Cat…

I don’t have any one to field the kid so that I can cook…

I don’t have any one to field the kid so that I can forage…alone…in silence…

I don’t have any one to share in raising my child.

Except The Husband…whom by the way…is LEAVING.

And I get that is how the modern family is supposed to work…but I think we jumped off the Village Train a little fast.

I would have made a heck of a mid wife…doctor…gardener chick…

I want to go home right now and poke something in the dirt and watch it grow.

I’ve brought bags of lettuce and arugula and parsley and dill and mustard greens in to the co workers this week.

See?

This is what I am SUPPOSED to do.

Not what I AM doing.

My primordial instincts are telling me so.

I am NOT supposed to be sitting behind a desk all day.   

ALL DAMN DAY.

I’m exhausted…I’m stressed…my freaking neck hurts.

Best Friend is along with me…and I quote “As long as I am going to continue to retain water for a trek across the desert, and grow hair all over my body to keep warm…then give me the Village and shove this shit”

Cause I am tired.

We are all tired…

And I feel like something is missing.

I need to find my Happy.

But Happy doesn’t pay the mortgage, or electric bill.

I need to find it though.

Yeah…I get the wonders of Modern Medicine.  And I am glad to have given birth during an era of which most women survive childbirth. 

And the whole typhoid thing scares the beejeebers out of me.

And the infant mortality rate…

We are modern people now.

We can have a Village with modern amenities right?

I’m sure I can find a pile of over stressed working women and men willing to trade in their commute and suits and heels for some Village Life.

My requirements…running water, flush toilets, electricity…close to good shopping and fine dining (didn’t say we were going all primitive here) and some sanity.

That’s all.

Who’s with me?

Cause I think we missed something here…about two generations ago.

Don't get me wrong though...I will keep shaving my legs...Village or no.

Thomas the Tank Engine...oh the joy of Marketing

The Husband and I have been planning this HUGE trip to Baltimore MD to do the whole Day Out With Thomas adventure.

Insert yet another Thomas Marketing Ploy here.

But we knew The Toddler would love it…and we had never been to Baltimore…so why not?

We purchased the tickets TWO DAYS before The Husband got the notice of this Deployment.

Guess which weekend he wasn’t going to be available…

Go ahead...bet you can't guess.

You guessed it…the weekend we had just freaking purchased.

So I called, and begged them to change our tickets.

Pulled the whole 'military family' card...

And those lovely people did…without much hassle at all.

Thank you!

We didn’t tell The Toddler at all…it was a BIG SURPRISE.

This past Wednesday I told him that the Surprise was going to knock his socks off…

He proceeded to chew that over a moment then informed me ‘Mom…I wanna keep my socks and shoes on for my Surprise’

All righty then…

On Friday, we drove north…I hate our GPS.

It kept wanting to take us out ‘unnamed roads’. 

Yeah…I want to go on an ‘unnamed road’ in an unfamiliar area.  No.

I know Baltimore is north of me…via I-95 N…we’re good.

Arrived at hotel without much drama…checked in…got in room…settled in. 

Toddler proceeds to have fit of all fits to keep from going to bed.  He actually fell asleep while I was reading him a story. 

He was tired.

We all slept in thankfully.

We wandered around The Inner Harbor area…which I find to be a tad overrated but I am not huge into chain restaurants and bars.  The shops were not on our side of the water, and we have the same ones back home anyway.

The ships were cool…the Aquarium (for the three hours we were there in ONE section) was pretty amazing.  My son was the most thrilled by the diver in the tanks cleaning the windows. 

$70 in admission tickets later, he is still talking about the girl diver getting her regulator hose hung on a rock. 

His daycare teacher heard about that FIRST this morning.

Then it was time to head back to the Hotel to get to Thomas.

The Toddler was beside himself with joy…not really.

Until we gave him the stuff we had ordered with the tickets.  His engineers hat, his Thomas Train Whistle, his Thomas badge on a rope (whatever that is called).

Out the door we went…to the B&O Railroad Museum.

And we arrived…and there were a million gazillion little boys with their hats, and whistles, and Thomas stuff…

Then THOMAS rolled by! 

The Toddler knew then what having his socks knocked off meant…and I got all choked up.

Yes…I did.  I’m a sicko like that.  I like seeing my kid thrilled…and he was THRILLED.

I waved like an idiot on crack as the conductor rolled by…and it was AWESOME.

We checked in…and started our fun.

Sir Tophamm Hatt was the first stop.  SCORE.  We only waited a few minutes in line. 

The Toddler stood nicely next to the poor guy in that big fat suit with the solid head (The Toddler noticed that he wasn’t real…but that occurred to him much later in the day).  While in line, I got to talking to the nice gentleman that was keeping the line in order.  Apparently, the day before…Sir Tophamm Hatt passed out. 

And had to be wheeled out by the EMTs.

In front of all the kids.

One…I hate that I missed that.

Two…I’m glad that I missed that.

Three…WOW.

Explain that one to your two or three year old.

Once he posed for his photo…we went and found other fun.

The model train yard…

The bounce houses…

The pony rides….

The petting zoo…

The train tablesssssss....yes...tablessssssss.  All covered up with the Under Four Foot barely producing Testesterone Crowd.

Everything was awesome.  Lots to do...lots to see...a comfort station for changing diapers and feeding the babies.  

The staff was super friendly and helpful...and very kind. 

And each one took the time to make The Toddler feel super special.

Then there was the store…the Thomas Threw Up Over Here Store.

But I was really impressed.

They didn’t gouge on the merchandise.  I paid what I would have paid at Target or Toys R Us.

However, I was not in any need for Thomas The Train hand sanitzer…nor was I needing a Thomas the Train ice pack.

The Toddler picked out Diesel 10 as his prize.

We get outside…he opens Diesel 10…Diesel 10’s claw doesn’t extend.

Duh…I could have told you that…but to a three year old…that has been so good all day…this was the breaking point.

So back into the Thomas Threw Up Over Here Store to buy another train.

The Husband is a Sucker.

He bought a boat instead…Bulstrode I think.  I have no idea.  Swear…they put the character in ONE show and make a whole marketing theme on that ONE character.

He was happy.

We milled around a bit more…and then it was time to RIDE THOMAS.

Goodie.

A few things here:

One….when standing in line, and a family asks me to take their picture, I do the best I can.

I count to three...I line up the photo...I do good.

Why in the hell can’t any one give me the same damned courtesy?

Why do I always get the half assed attempt at someone attempting to take a photo when I have put plenty of effort in theirs?

Really?

Because seriously…it took us five different attempts at a photo…and it still sucks.

We are standing in FRONT of Thomas…yes, we want THOMAS in the PHOTO.

Damn.

But I digress.

We usher into the train…

We sit down.

We wait.

We wait.

Then we start slowly backing up and they start playing Thomas music.

And we back up for ten minutes.

Past junk, some more junk…oh look, there some junk with graffiti painted on it.

People standing by tracks…

More junk…

More odd people….

More odd people probably getting ready to tag some more junk when we are out of eye sight.

Then the train pulls forward….

Past junk, some more junk…oh look, freshly graffittied junk.

Here is where they could have done ONE small thing and made this a lot more fun, and distracted us all from the ‘view’.

Sing alongs! 

If you are going to play the music…have a sing a long…its easy...invite the kids to sing along.

Do some trivia for the kids to answer (shout at).

Some interaction.

Cause this was a snoozer.

The kid behind us went to sleep.

His parents spent $60 on tickets, for him to doze off.

Uh huh.

But our Toddler LOVED it.

So much he had to be carried off…because he didn’t want to leave.

He screamed…he kicked…he pouted…he sat down.

He threw himself across the bench in front of Thomas and refused to have his photo taken…

I took it anyway.

On his sixteenth birthday, I’m going to share everyone his tail sticking up in the air in front of Thomas the Tank Engine…having a meltdown.

And I had to laugh….it was just too funny.

My poor child…

Housekeeeeping!

Today was the start of something new and wonderful.

A beautiful relationship that I would love to see go on and on for years.

A combination of sweet utter wonder and thrill...and the tingle of a new love.

I will sacrifice and give all that I can give to keep the thrill.

I hired a Housekeeper.

Oh yes I did.

And she freaking  rocks!

I admit I was nervous. 

It was all I could do last night to not clean the house. 

I didn't want her judging me.

But as I spent my evening chasing The Toddler, wiping up after the Dog, chasing the Toddler, wiping up after the Dog...etc...I lost time to get anything done.

So this morning, I frantically emptied my dish drainer...swiped the countertop down, loaded my dirty towels in the washer and started the dishwasher...and threw The Toddlers clutter into a few bins.  Plus, I made sure I moved the Mater pillow to the futon so that she wouldn't change the pillowcase by accident.

It was just going to have to do.

I'm sure she has seen worse.

So all day, I kept wondering...

Is she done?

Did she judge my mess?

Did she roll her eyes at the kibbles of dog food that are always in the floor, no matter what I do?

Would I even notice that she had been there?

I pull in the drive...The Toddler informs me that the house is still dirty.

No kidding...the power wash guy isn't coming until next week...and we have a white house...plus pollen and mold from winter...you can imagine.  It's kind of yellow/green/white right now.  It's just gross.

We open the door, and I knew in an instant that the Cleaning Fairy really does exist.

She does.

And she rocks.

My house was beautifully clean.

And my counters were clean and organized.

My kitchen sink was shining like new!

The floors were grit, dog food, crumb free.

Even the pillows had been fluffed on the couch.

The ceiling fan had no special Halloween decorations hanging from it.

My sheets and The Toddler's sheets were neatly pillowcased and waiting in the laundry room.

Our beds were made with little turned down corners.

And she had made fans out of the ends of the toilet paper in all the bathrooms.

Now how damn neat is that!

So now to figure out how to keep this in my budget after The Husband gets back from his Big Adventure next year.  I gotta work this out!

Cause this freaking ROCKS!

Learning a lesson

The Toddler is three and a half.

And has grandparents, parents, friends and neighbors that spoil him rotten.

To curb some of the gift giving, we do 'no present' birthday parties.  It works out super well for us.

At Christmas, I desperately try to reign in the gift giving, and will hold shipped presents for after the holiday...but still tell the sender 'he loved it!'  He gets the present eventually...usually mid January or so.

My parents LOVE to send packages...all the time.  Usually cute shirts or something like that.  Once, my mom sent an entire priority mail box full of white underwear for him...that she had unpackaged to pack easier, and they were all the wrong size...like WAY too small.   And there was nothing I could do about it, but hand them down to The Husband's co worker for his son.   At least they were brand new!

Lately, The Toddler is picking up on  the concept of 'prizes' and packages in the mail.

The last one that my parents, sent...in February around Valentines Day...he wanted Rocky so bad he could taste it.  For those of you not familiar with Thomas the Train and the racket they have going on in marketing, Rocky is the big ass maintenance train thing that costs a ridiculous amount of money.

My mom had no idea who Rocky was...she sent some new shirts.

The Toddler cried.

I tried to explain how that wasn't very nice and you should say Thank You anyway.

Yeah...that didn't fly.

He wanted Rocky.

Big Fit ensued.

We explained some more...he cried some more.  I called my mom and told her not to send any more packages for a while...

And by the way...The Easter Bunny is bringing Rocky...thanks to his friend Ebay.

Sooooo...received another package from my parents yesterday.

The Toddler was ALL kinds of worked up that Diesel was in this box.

Uhm...I'm doubting it.  (Diesel is another marketing ploy)

So I explained...'probably not...Nana sent you some really neat Thomas shirts'.

Oh hell.

What a fit!  There were so many tears, and hiccups, and gasps, and squalls....it was rather embarrassing.  He sat in Time Out to see if that would calm him down.  He got up from Time Out and shook the box to check.  He threw the Easter Bunny card my mom had packed.  His tail landed in Time Out again.

What a show!

I was appalled.

And really embarrassed at the whole debacle.

I got tired of talking and trying to make it less of an ordeal...I just walked into the kitchen and finished dishing out dinner.

He kept screaming.

So about fifteen minutes into the tantrum...I decided to teach him a lesson that I was taught.

He had to pick out toys to give up to another boy or girl since he was being so incredibly rude and ungrateful.

Yes...I know he is three.  Time to start learning some lessons I guess...

So after much deliberation, more tears and wailing, he is giving three of his big floor puzzles to daycare today for the other children to play with.

And he stopped crying.

And he called Nana and Pawpaw to tell them Thank You and that he liked the shirts.  But he did manage to throw in that he really wanted a toy in that box.  We made a little progress.

I felt a little better...and somewhat proud when he told my mom "Thank You Nana"

I explained the story about my birthday when I was six...and The Toddler was rather upset about it.  And told Nana he was going to buy me a girl present since I didn't have any.

Oh kay.

Background here:  When I was six...I had a big birthday party.  My parents didn't have a lot of money, and for mom to throw a big birthday at an actual restaurant for my class was a HUGE deal.

One Little Girl, that lived up the holler (or street for those that don't know what a holler is) was a good friend of mine.  She was VERY poor.  I mean DIRT POOR.    I lived in a trailer, she lived in a shack kind of poor.  She liked coming to my house because my mom just let her eat whatever she wanted. I remember her eating an entire bag of oranges one time at a sleepover... Looking back.  It was really sad.

So many layers of sad...that I can't even go into here.

I had no idea...I was six.

When it came time to open presents, I turned into a little bitch.

I received two of the same Barbie...and I made a scene.

I received something else that I didn't care for, and I made a scene.

Then, I proceeded to count my presents and realized someone hadn't brought me a present.

It was that Little Girl.

So I called her out...in front of EVERYONE at the party.

My mom was appalled.

Little Girl cried.

I was not nice at all.

So when we got home...I went to get into my presents, and my mom proceeded to teach me the greatest lesson of all.

I had to pack all, but one, of my presents up and we took them up the road to the Little Girl's house.

And I had to apologize, and give her my presents.

I will NEVER EVER EVER forget that.

So it's time to start teaching about being thankful, and not pitching a fit about not getting the toy you want.

I really don't want to have to repeat my mother's lesson on him.

And this is going to take a while.  Tantrums will ensue.  Life will go on.

Cause, Thirty years later, I VIVIDLY remember it....and how ashamed I was.  And the look on my mom's face.  And I remember her hand, reaching over mine, and taking the Barbie and putting it in the bag to take to Little Girl.  And I cried. 

And the fact that I did not get another birthday party until I was Ten kind of set it home.  And then, it was a family cookout at our house followed by the worst stomach virus I have ever had.

Sweet huh?