It is always a challenge for me during traveling season to remember certain things: hotel room numbers, where I parked my car at the airport, what my rental car even looks like... Generally, I solve these potential problems by snapping a picture on my cell phone of whatever I need to remember. It works great. However, this past weekend in El Paso, I didn't.
For work, I have to fly into a location and move a bunch of stuff around, which usually involves me renting a standard minivan with stow and go seating (love that stow and go!). This time, at the El Paso airport, I rented a truck instead. When I got to the counter, the guy upgraded me to a gigantic truck- the kind that my husband is constantly drooling over. A Dodge Ram. It was huge and silver, there would be no issue with me forgetting what my rental car looked like!
From the airport, I drove 30 miles to Las Cruces, NM and set myself up in the Holiday Inn Express. The next day I made the obligatory trip to the Home Depot to purchase wood and supplies for the robot tournament. After dropping $300 on supplies, I pushed my flat bed cart over to my truck and opened the tailgate. I was surprised to find a few chunks of dirt in the bed- don't they clean theses things before people rent them? So I started loading in the lumber, I jumped up into the bed of the truck for more lift, and I happened to glance into the king cab. There was a shirt slung over the drivers seat: a men's flannel. Suddenly I realized this was NOT my truck! I panicked! I ducked down in the bed, then guiltily raised my head. I was looking for the owner- the guy who would undoubtedly be running wildly at me and yelling. I saw no one particularly interested in what I was doing, so I quickly jumped down and pulled the wood from the bed of the truck back onto my cart. I quickly backed away from the imposter rental truck. Then I started laughing. Hard.
When I backed away enough for a wider view, I could see that there were at least four big silver trucks parked in the lot. I had to hit the lock button on my key remote and listen for the beep before figuring out which truck was mine. Needless to say, I learned my lesson- know your rental car, or at least click the remote to double check!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Remember when you could check a bag for free...
...it wasn't that long ago. It was the golden age of flying. You could enter the airport, go up to the counter to hand off your biggest, heaviest suitcase filled with shampoo bottles and aerosol cans, answer a simple question ("No, this suitcase has not left my possession since I packed it."), and head to security with merely your computer bag or purse. Those were the days.
Now, since the historic airline bailout, all that is over. No more can you travel unencumbered through the airport, foot loose and fancy free. Airlines all across the board are trying to squeeze more money out of travelers any way they can. It can cost you $25 to check ONE bag ONE way, bringing your ticket price up by $50 (and, god forbid, you have more than one bag to check). This is a challenge for the casual traveler and a huge commitment for a traveling family- those fees add up. So, what do most travelers do to avoid this surcharge? They don't check bags. And boy, is that a hassle. With everybody carrying on everything the plane gets packed with luggage. The worst of it is, when flights are full, they make you check your rolly suitcase at the gate.
The process airlines have for checking bags planeside is contemptible. It infuriates me every time I have to do it. It's not so bad boarding the plane, you just leave your bag as you enter the plane and it gets whisked away. Once you land, however, everybody on the plane disembarks, then waits for their suitcases on the tiny jetbridge while others are try to exit through the crowd. It is obnoxious. Is this the best process airlines can come up with? It is a gigantic bottleneck in the jetbridge: people jockeying for the best position closest to the door, people squished up against the walls of the jetbridge, trying to keep an eye on the bags appearing by the packed door- 2 by 2. Last weekend there was even a wheelchair trying to make it to the plane through this huge logjam. How can this process be saving airlines any money? The suitcases still end up under the plane! And you've got to feel sorry for those guys who have to drag all those rolly suitcases up the jetbridge external stairs, two at a time. What about TSA security regulations- is it a good idea to have so many passengers standing unsupervised around that little door that leads directly to the tarmac? And are jetbridges even designed to hold that much weight???
Other than carrying on everything, though, there are two ways around this ridiculous checked bag fee. One solution is flying Southwest- no baggage fees ever. Seriously, fly Southwest.
The other option for working around the checked bag fee is to join a mileage program of your favorite airline and start earning enough miles for some sort of status. Then, after many many miles and that coveted status title , you can finally check your bags for free! If you yourself are not a frequent flyer with status but your traveling companion is, they can usually check your bags for free, as long as you are on the same reservation.
Or, you can bite the bullet, check the suitcase, and pay the $25 fee. After all... squeezing into the stall at the airport bathroom without having to wedge yourself between the toilet and your suitcase, that is priceless.
Now, since the historic airline bailout, all that is over. No more can you travel unencumbered through the airport, foot loose and fancy free. Airlines all across the board are trying to squeeze more money out of travelers any way they can. It can cost you $25 to check ONE bag ONE way, bringing your ticket price up by $50 (and, god forbid, you have more than one bag to check). This is a challenge for the casual traveler and a huge commitment for a traveling family- those fees add up. So, what do most travelers do to avoid this surcharge? They don't check bags. And boy, is that a hassle. With everybody carrying on everything the plane gets packed with luggage. The worst of it is, when flights are full, they make you check your rolly suitcase at the gate.
The process airlines have for checking bags planeside is contemptible. It infuriates me every time I have to do it. It's not so bad boarding the plane, you just leave your bag as you enter the plane and it gets whisked away. Once you land, however, everybody on the plane disembarks, then waits for their suitcases on the tiny jetbridge while others are try to exit through the crowd. It is obnoxious. Is this the best process airlines can come up with? It is a gigantic bottleneck in the jetbridge: people jockeying for the best position closest to the door, people squished up against the walls of the jetbridge, trying to keep an eye on the bags appearing by the packed door- 2 by 2. Last weekend there was even a wheelchair trying to make it to the plane through this huge logjam. How can this process be saving airlines any money? The suitcases still end up under the plane! And you've got to feel sorry for those guys who have to drag all those rolly suitcases up the jetbridge external stairs, two at a time. What about TSA security regulations- is it a good idea to have so many passengers standing unsupervised around that little door that leads directly to the tarmac? And are jetbridges even designed to hold that much weight???
Other than carrying on everything, though, there are two ways around this ridiculous checked bag fee. One solution is flying Southwest- no baggage fees ever. Seriously, fly Southwest.
The other option for working around the checked bag fee is to join a mileage program of your favorite airline and start earning enough miles for some sort of status. Then, after many many miles and that coveted status title , you can finally check your bags for free! If you yourself are not a frequent flyer with status but your traveling companion is, they can usually check your bags for free, as long as you are on the same reservation.
Or, you can bite the bullet, check the suitcase, and pay the $25 fee. After all... squeezing into the stall at the airport bathroom without having to wedge yourself between the toilet and your suitcase, that is priceless.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Unprecedented. Me in First Class.
I am writing this sitting on a plane in Minneapolis. First Class. I am now one of those people sitting in a big cushy seat with two of my very own arm rests, my computer out on the tray table, working, while the second-class passengers filter in. I feel at home here. All I'm missing is my business suit (really, these faded jeans will just not do).
This is the first time I have been a first class passenger, and I am thrilled. I just ordered a diet coke from the flight attendant, who brought it out -on a tray- way before the plane left the runway, let alone reached its cruising altitude! Soda in one hand, complimentary bottle of water in the other hand, sitting with my blanket and pillow, this is the life.
How did I get so rich so suddenly you ask? I didn't. I've been slowly selling my soul to Delta, and here finally is my reward: a complimentary first class upgrade from Minneapolis to Denver. Is it worth it? Yes.
About two years ago I switched alliances from American Airlines to Delta for no other reason than American stopped giving pillows and started charging for peanuts. Since that time, I have switched over all of my hotel and car rental rewards programs to earn Delta Skymiles. I also earn miles by reading ads at Miles for Minutes and dining at restaurants through the Skymiles dining program. So now, no matter where I sleep, eat, or what car I drive, I am earning my Delta miles. And apparently I have earned silver medallion status… which, in layman’s terms means I can check up to 2 bags free of charge.
This unprecedented upgrade was unexpected, and I wonder if it will ever happen again. Perhaps not; I may have just had my one and only first class experience. Regardless, I am hereby re-committing myself to Delta, in appreciation of the pillow, the water, the Sun Chips, the wifi, and the Twix bar.
This is the first time I have been a first class passenger, and I am thrilled. I just ordered a diet coke from the flight attendant, who brought it out -on a tray- way before the plane left the runway, let alone reached its cruising altitude! Soda in one hand, complimentary bottle of water in the other hand, sitting with my blanket and pillow, this is the life.
How did I get so rich so suddenly you ask? I didn't. I've been slowly selling my soul to Delta, and here finally is my reward: a complimentary first class upgrade from Minneapolis to Denver. Is it worth it? Yes.
About two years ago I switched alliances from American Airlines to Delta for no other reason than American stopped giving pillows and started charging for peanuts. Since that time, I have switched over all of my hotel and car rental rewards programs to earn Delta Skymiles. I also earn miles by reading ads at Miles for Minutes and dining at restaurants through the Skymiles dining program. So now, no matter where I sleep, eat, or what car I drive, I am earning my Delta miles. And apparently I have earned silver medallion status… which, in layman’s terms means I can check up to 2 bags free of charge.
This unprecedented upgrade was unexpected, and I wonder if it will ever happen again. Perhaps not; I may have just had my one and only first class experience. Regardless, I am hereby re-committing myself to Delta, in appreciation of the pillow, the water, the Sun Chips, the wifi, and the Twix bar.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Long-Awaited Return of Travelbloggity
I apologize, loyal Travelbloggity reader (yes, I mean you , Dad) for neglecting you over the past months. I know you have missed my sweet and sexy how-to tips for the family traveler, as I have not been a faithful blogger. Not that I haven't been traveling, I have. Plenty. I just haven't been the inspired travel guru of blogs past; in fact, I have degraded to a rather sloppy traveler. Case in point? I actually checked luggage on my last trip.
But all that mediocre travel is past me now, and I promise to give this another try. I will clean up my act, streamline my security checkpoint process, try new things, and write about my successes and failures. It will be entertaining, if not enlightening, and I will start right now with this odd travel tip:
When expecting 12" of snow at the extended parking lot of your home airport, pull up your wiper blades and leave them erect. Not only is it amusing, but it makes clearing the accumulated snow off your windshield easier upon your return.
But all that mediocre travel is past me now, and I promise to give this another try. I will clean up my act, streamline my security checkpoint process, try new things, and write about my successes and failures. It will be entertaining, if not enlightening, and I will start right now with this odd travel tip:
When expecting 12" of snow at the extended parking lot of your home airport, pull up your wiper blades and leave them erect. Not only is it amusing, but it makes clearing the accumulated snow off your windshield easier upon your return.
Friday, August 21, 2009
3 girls under 6 and the public showers
Really, what is more fun that taking three little girls to the shower house at camp? They are tired, dirty, wet, and sandy from swimming at the "beach," and it has been days since their last sanitizing. Maybe I could have pulled off another day of leaving the kids in their swimsuits until bedtime, but that yellow diamond shaped sign at the lake is the tipping point. The sign reads, in layman's terms, "Shower immediately after swimming at this public beach. Oh, and don't open your mouth while under water."
So, off to the showers with my 4 and 5 year old daughters and their 4 year old cousin. My kids, when tired, do better in situations where they do not have to share anything: soap, water, physical space. So, I separate them, one kid per shower. I turn on all the showers, make stall assignments (based solely on the whim of one crabby four year old), and adjust the temperatures individually based on stated preferences (whining). Then, with all three kids under separate streams of lukewarm water, I discover that sharing one giant bottle of Johnson's baby shampoo will never work.
Luckily, since I have been reading Travelbloggity a lot lately, I have some plastic cups in the beach bag (see Family Road Trips. Bring Cups.). So, I rinse out the cheese popcorn crumbs from the snack cups, and pour a little shampoo into each. This solves the sharing issue and has a bonus of controlling how much shampoo the kids go through. (Hand Madeleine a bottle of shampoo, and she will use the bottle of shampoo.) With the showers under control and the shampoo issue solved, I have the easy task of standing outside the stalls shouting occasional directions like, "Don't forget to wash your hair!" and, "Make sure you rinse the sand out of ALL of your cracks."
It goes pretty well until its time to get out and get dressed. I could use about four more arms for that challenge.
So, off to the showers with my 4 and 5 year old daughters and their 4 year old cousin. My kids, when tired, do better in situations where they do not have to share anything: soap, water, physical space. So, I separate them, one kid per shower. I turn on all the showers, make stall assignments (based solely on the whim of one crabby four year old), and adjust the temperatures individually based on stated preferences (whining). Then, with all three kids under separate streams of lukewarm water, I discover that sharing one giant bottle of Johnson's baby shampoo will never work.
Luckily, since I have been reading Travelbloggity a lot lately, I have some plastic cups in the beach bag (see Family Road Trips. Bring Cups.). So, I rinse out the cheese popcorn crumbs from the snack cups, and pour a little shampoo into each. This solves the sharing issue and has a bonus of controlling how much shampoo the kids go through. (Hand Madeleine a bottle of shampoo, and she will use the bottle of shampoo.) With the showers under control and the shampoo issue solved, I have the easy task of standing outside the stalls shouting occasional directions like, "Don't forget to wash your hair!" and, "Make sure you rinse the sand out of ALL of your cracks."
It goes pretty well until its time to get out and get dressed. I could use about four more arms for that challenge.
Monday, July 13, 2009
The GPS fearlessly leads.
Saturday I spent the day in my minivan driving from Virginia Beach to Pittsburgh with four, count them, four kids. It took 11 hours. 11 long, hot, whiny hours. According to Mandy, my GPS, it should have only taken 8 hours, but I am too cheap to buy the traffic updates. So, how was I to know that both I-64 AND I-95 would be so packed on a Saturday afternoon? I had faith that Mandy would maneuver me out of it and get us home, safe and happy, within her projected 8 hour time frame.
And this is what I learned... bring a map.
And this is what I learned... bring a map.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Home sweet home.
It has been a crazy two months since my last post. This weekend was my first one at home in over seven weeks. It was lovely. I mowed the lawn, went to some yard sales, and the kids played across the street; it was so suburban and peaceful. Already I am itching to be on the move again.
Just one more weekend here and then I'm heading to Michigan with the girls.
Just one more weekend here and then I'm heading to Michigan with the girls.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Good Travelers in the Big City
I recently spent two weekends in a row in New York City. I brought my 4 year-old Madeleine with me weekend #1, for personal travel. I brought my 5 year old Emilie weekend #2, for business. My husband wisely stayed away from all of this travel. Doing New York is great fun. Doing New York with kids is not as great, but still rewarding.
For one thing, with young children, you have to go to bed earlier and miss out on the big city nightlife. But, if your kid is a good traveler, as I insist mine will eventually be, she can sleep anywhere. "Good travelers can sleep anywhere," is a mantra of mine. Weekend #1 is a good case in point. Maddie and I went to a college friend's wedding in Brooklyn. It was a nice outdoor ceremony on a beach near the Brooklyn Bridge, and the reception was a few blocks away at a restaurant/bar. The bride and groom had reserved a private room and had, unfortunately, provided an open bar for guests. My daughter was one of the few kids there, but definitely the most well adjusted to rolling with the punches. Even though it was approaching her bedtime, she soon adapted, got herself a Shirley Temple, and danced with anyone who asked. She was the belle of the ball, bride notwithstanding. Meanwhile, I was having tons of fun, tons of drinks, and time was flying. It was way past bedtime, hers and mine. Maddie was asleep on a couch next to the dance floor, oblivious to 30-somethings singing along to Violent Femmes.
It was blessed freedom for awhile, but eventually I became even too tired for the YMCA. With the help of a sober college friend, we got on the right subway, which dumped us out at the doorstep of our hotel. We wandered in around 2am. I softly closed the door, picked up the girl, and tried to sneak her into bed. However, she was suddenly wide awake and she was hungry (having eaten only cheese, crackers and about 6 marachino cherries). So, since we were in the city that never sleeps, I ordered up some door pizza, and we sat on the king bed watching Iron Chef and eating New York Style Pizza, in New York! It was awesome, and I thought "What a wonderful time we are having on our travels, mother and daughter, I am a great Mom." Then I drifted off to sleep and awoke hours later with a disastrous hangover and a crabby kid.
She shook me awake and complained, "I'm hungry, Mom." It was 10:00am, so I could see her point. I, however, was not going to be eating for awhile, and definitely not drinking again. I had a pounding headache and no desire to walk anywhere to find a quaint little bakery for breakfast. So, without dragging myself out of bed, I pointed at the pizza box on the floor, amid our pile of discarded party dresses, and grunted. "Mom, that's pizza!" Madeleine laughed, "we can't have pizza for breakfast." I grunted again. "But it's cold, Mom," she complained. And then I found my reserve voice and my reserve patience and came up with, "Good travelers try new things for breakfast." The good travelers line always works when it has to do with sleeping, but before then I never thought to use it in any other context. It didn't let me down. Madeleine smiled, jumped off the bed, grabbed the pizza box, and put it between us on the bed. She got back in under the covers, grabbed a slice, and said, "Can I have the remote?" Breakfast solved.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Gambling across state lines.
I got a great tip from a mother of two teenagers. She has been traveling road-trip style with them since they were babies. (Talk about Travel Queen, they have visited 48 of the 50 states, and will complete their US State tour by the time her oldest is a senior in high school!) Anyway, she gave me an idea that I will use when my kids get a little older.
When traveling across states on a road trip, stop at each new state and purchase your kids a scratch off lottery ticket or two. (You can decide among your family what to do with the winnings!) The kids will have a collection of scratch offs from each state, and it will give them something to look forward to when you cross a state line.
When traveling across states on a road trip, stop at each new state and purchase your kids a scratch off lottery ticket or two. (You can decide among your family what to do with the winnings!) The kids will have a collection of scratch offs from each state, and it will give them something to look forward to when you cross a state line.
Monday, March 30, 2009
The elusive airline voucher finally attained.
I have been a heavy traveler now for about seven years. In all of that time, and all of those flights, I have never successfully attained a voucher from an airline. And, believe me, I have tried. These past two weeks, however, my luck has finally turned. I hit the jackpot!
Last weekend, on my way back from Grand Rapids, my flight from Detroit to Pittsburgh was oversold on Northwest. They announced a need for volunteers to give up their seat for a $300 voucher. Problem was, they wanted the volunteers to fly into Latrobe, which is a tiny little airport about 60 miles south of Pittsburgh. My car, not surprisingly, was parked in Pittsburgh, so I needed to end up there. I also needed that $300 voucher. (Okay, well, "wanted" is a better word. I did not really need it.) Anyway, I jumped on the web and got a quote to rent a car from the ONE rental agency in the Latrobe airport. $92 to rent one way. So, armed with this knowledge, I approached the counter agents again, as they were getting frantic. It was the end of boarding and many people were standing around trying to get in on the flight... I told them what it would cost me to rent a car and I asked for a $400 voucher. "No problem," she said, so quickly that I thought maybe I could have bargained for even more. But I was satisfied, and I took my $400 voucher and my flight to the beautiful Latrobe airport, where they have two gates and one TSA agent. I had a lovely drive back to the Pittsburgh, and was about two hours late arriving home. I considered myself lucky.
And then, the unprecedented happened. On my very next flight, I lucked out again! This was on Thursday, my flight to San Jose through Dallas on American. My first flight was overbooked, and they were offering $200 vouchers. I was planning on trying the negotiating thing again, so I went up to the desk to ask how much later I would be getting into San Jose if they could get me on another flight. And, to my surprise, rerouted, I would arrive two hours earlier than originally scheduled. Having no bargaining leg to stand on, and still feeling quite lucky, I took the buy out and headed over to my other flight, $200 voucher in hand.
On the tarmac, I called my husband and left a message, "Hey, honey, check your vacation days, we're going to Florida!" Of course, I will be flying American with one kid and he will be flying Northwest with the other kid, but, by golly, we are going to Disneyland!
Last weekend, on my way back from Grand Rapids, my flight from Detroit to Pittsburgh was oversold on Northwest. They announced a need for volunteers to give up their seat for a $300 voucher. Problem was, they wanted the volunteers to fly into Latrobe, which is a tiny little airport about 60 miles south of Pittsburgh. My car, not surprisingly, was parked in Pittsburgh, so I needed to end up there. I also needed that $300 voucher. (Okay, well, "wanted" is a better word. I did not really need it.) Anyway, I jumped on the web and got a quote to rent a car from the ONE rental agency in the Latrobe airport. $92 to rent one way. So, armed with this knowledge, I approached the counter agents again, as they were getting frantic. It was the end of boarding and many people were standing around trying to get in on the flight... I told them what it would cost me to rent a car and I asked for a $400 voucher. "No problem," she said, so quickly that I thought maybe I could have bargained for even more. But I was satisfied, and I took my $400 voucher and my flight to the beautiful Latrobe airport, where they have two gates and one TSA agent. I had a lovely drive back to the Pittsburgh, and was about two hours late arriving home. I considered myself lucky.
And then, the unprecedented happened. On my very next flight, I lucked out again! This was on Thursday, my flight to San Jose through Dallas on American. My first flight was overbooked, and they were offering $200 vouchers. I was planning on trying the negotiating thing again, so I went up to the desk to ask how much later I would be getting into San Jose if they could get me on another flight. And, to my surprise, rerouted, I would arrive two hours earlier than originally scheduled. Having no bargaining leg to stand on, and still feeling quite lucky, I took the buy out and headed over to my other flight, $200 voucher in hand.
On the tarmac, I called my husband and left a message, "Hey, honey, check your vacation days, we're going to Florida!" Of course, I will be flying American with one kid and he will be flying Northwest with the other kid, but, by golly, we are going to Disneyland!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
It's fun when you run into someone you know on the road...
I am staying at the Holiday Inn Express in Grandville, MI. The hotel is booked solid, mostly families with school-age boys. Unfortunately, not one of them is a smart, nerdy Botball kid (or a "Botballer" as they like to refer to themselves.) There is either some regional sporting event in town, or the tourism business is bigger than I expected in Grandville. Maybe its the new Rivertown Mall just down the road. It does have a Kohls actually IN the mall.
Anyway, this morning, I did my 20 minutes in the workout center, which is an old broom closet with two treadmills, one ellipse machine, and one mirrored wall to make it appear spacious. On my way to my room, I walked through the lobby area filled with families enjoying the continental breakfast which is cleverly marketed as a "stay smart breakfast"; the difference being sticky buns and sausage circles under orange warming lights added to the standard fare. I passed on the breakfast and decided to get a cup of coffee. I stood behind two other people, who were taking their time with the coffee bar, deciding between caffeinated or decaffeinated. (I think the confusion stemmed from the fact that there was one urn clearly marked decaffeinated coffee and yet two others had the ambiguous label "European Blend.") As I patiently waited behind the debaters, I looked around the crowded room and spotted Cheryl. She was standing by herself looking through the glass wall into the pool area. Mostly I was struck dumb, what the heck was my cousin doing here? And, where exactly was here? I couldn't remember which random city I was staying in at the moment... "Pittsburgh? no. Oklahoma? no. Michigan? ah, ha! That's it! Grandville, MI!" Then I started working through the reasons Cheryl would be in Grandville. I conceived no reason her employer, the Cleveland Browns, would send her here, so I decided it must be that mall. Then I thought, still staring open mouthed at her, "But, would she fly here? Drive? From Cleveland, it must have been like 5 hours. Hmm... totally driveable." I guess it kind of made sense that my cousin would be staying at the Holiday Inn Express, shopping at the Rivertown Mall with her family. I stared a little longer, just to confirm it was her, and it was. No doubt. I wondered what I should say to her.
Finally the folks in front of me had poured their coffee and were finishing up their creamer debate. They moved towards the sweetening station, to determine between packets of sugar, Sweet-n-Low, or Equal. This was going to take awhile. So I took advantage of the space left in front of the urns and grabbed a half cup of coffee (Eurpoean Blend for me).
I spontaneously decided I'd surprise her, and I imagined the reunion scene in front of all these strangers. That would be something to remember! So, with cup in hand, I turned, ready to shock my cousin. "Cheryl!" I called from across the room. A few people turned my way, but not her. I figured she was trying to get her husband Chris's attention from the pool. "Hey, cousin! Cheryl!" I called again, louder this time, and nearly everyone paused in their chewing to look at me. Everyone except her, of course. Either that wasn't my cousin Cheryl, or she was hard of hearing. And I just knew it was her. So I abandoned my calls and, ignoring the strange looks people were giving me, I walked around a few tables until I was standing just about ten feet away from her, further along the glass wall. I figured I would look for Chris, too, to give him a surprise. I didn't see him in the tiny little pool, nor their son Garrett. But I kept looking, just like her, expecting them to emerge any second from the sea of bodies pressed into the small pool. Then, suddenly she turned to me and said casually, "Hey, what are you doing here?" I smiled and turned, trying to think of a casual, funny response, when she added, "I thought you were in the pool." Then a young, taller-than-Garrett-boy stepped around me and up to her. She hugged him. He did not have a swimsuit on, nor was he wet; but worse, he wasn't even Garrett. And, therefore, by extension, this wasn't my cousin Cheryl! I turned and fled. Headed straight to my room without looking back.
Back in my room, I felt like a fool. Obviously this woman was not my cousin, and I must have imagined the resemblance. It was all in my head, and I made an ass of myself. I put it out of my mind, and packed up my suitcase. At the checkout counter, I saw Cheryl again, talking with a group of women at one of the tables. The room was empty this time, except for these five women. Again I stared unabashed because it was undoubtedly her, my cousin. Why was she ignoring me this way? She made me feel ridiculous! Worked up, I marched to the group at the table, and they all stared at me, their conversation petering out with a, "that's exactly what I told him, too, Laura..." This last piece coming from another woman directed at Cheryl. Then in silence, Cheryl/Laura met my eyes. Not even a spark of recognition in them, just confusion. And suddenly I felt ridiculous. I mumbled, "Oh, hey, um, yeah.." to the expectant group, "breakfast is over, then..." And I turned to walk away, through the front door, and into my car, astonished once more. That Cheryl, she is a good actress.
Anyway, this morning, I did my 20 minutes in the workout center, which is an old broom closet with two treadmills, one ellipse machine, and one mirrored wall to make it appear spacious. On my way to my room, I walked through the lobby area filled with families enjoying the continental breakfast which is cleverly marketed as a "stay smart breakfast"; the difference being sticky buns and sausage circles under orange warming lights added to the standard fare. I passed on the breakfast and decided to get a cup of coffee. I stood behind two other people, who were taking their time with the coffee bar, deciding between caffeinated or decaffeinated. (I think the confusion stemmed from the fact that there was one urn clearly marked decaffeinated coffee and yet two others had the ambiguous label "European Blend.") As I patiently waited behind the debaters, I looked around the crowded room and spotted Cheryl. She was standing by herself looking through the glass wall into the pool area. Mostly I was struck dumb, what the heck was my cousin doing here? And, where exactly was here? I couldn't remember which random city I was staying in at the moment... "Pittsburgh? no. Oklahoma? no. Michigan? ah, ha! That's it! Grandville, MI!" Then I started working through the reasons Cheryl would be in Grandville. I conceived no reason her employer, the Cleveland Browns, would send her here, so I decided it must be that mall. Then I thought, still staring open mouthed at her, "But, would she fly here? Drive? From Cleveland, it must have been like 5 hours. Hmm... totally driveable." I guess it kind of made sense that my cousin would be staying at the Holiday Inn Express, shopping at the Rivertown Mall with her family. I stared a little longer, just to confirm it was her, and it was. No doubt. I wondered what I should say to her.
Finally the folks in front of me had poured their coffee and were finishing up their creamer debate. They moved towards the sweetening station, to determine between packets of sugar, Sweet-n-Low, or Equal. This was going to take awhile. So I took advantage of the space left in front of the urns and grabbed a half cup of coffee (Eurpoean Blend for me).
I spontaneously decided I'd surprise her, and I imagined the reunion scene in front of all these strangers. That would be something to remember! So, with cup in hand, I turned, ready to shock my cousin. "Cheryl!" I called from across the room. A few people turned my way, but not her. I figured she was trying to get her husband Chris's attention from the pool. "Hey, cousin! Cheryl!" I called again, louder this time, and nearly everyone paused in their chewing to look at me. Everyone except her, of course. Either that wasn't my cousin Cheryl, or she was hard of hearing. And I just knew it was her. So I abandoned my calls and, ignoring the strange looks people were giving me, I walked around a few tables until I was standing just about ten feet away from her, further along the glass wall. I figured I would look for Chris, too, to give him a surprise. I didn't see him in the tiny little pool, nor their son Garrett. But I kept looking, just like her, expecting them to emerge any second from the sea of bodies pressed into the small pool. Then, suddenly she turned to me and said casually, "Hey, what are you doing here?" I smiled and turned, trying to think of a casual, funny response, when she added, "I thought you were in the pool." Then a young, taller-than-Garrett-boy stepped around me and up to her. She hugged him. He did not have a swimsuit on, nor was he wet; but worse, he wasn't even Garrett. And, therefore, by extension, this wasn't my cousin Cheryl! I turned and fled. Headed straight to my room without looking back.
Back in my room, I felt like a fool. Obviously this woman was not my cousin, and I must have imagined the resemblance. It was all in my head, and I made an ass of myself. I put it out of my mind, and packed up my suitcase. At the checkout counter, I saw Cheryl again, talking with a group of women at one of the tables. The room was empty this time, except for these five women. Again I stared unabashed because it was undoubtedly her, my cousin. Why was she ignoring me this way? She made me feel ridiculous! Worked up, I marched to the group at the table, and they all stared at me, their conversation petering out with a, "that's exactly what I told him, too, Laura..." This last piece coming from another woman directed at Cheryl. Then in silence, Cheryl/Laura met my eyes. Not even a spark of recognition in them, just confusion. And suddenly I felt ridiculous. I mumbled, "Oh, hey, um, yeah.." to the expectant group, "breakfast is over, then..." And I turned to walk away, through the front door, and into my car, astonished once more. That Cheryl, she is a good actress.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Travel Queen... Schmravel queen...
I have been across the US many times over, with kids, with husband, with coworkers, and alone. I have developed some helpful travel habits along the way and I am always searching for new ones. Moreover, I really enjoy traveling, especially with the family. So I have kind of dubbed myself "travel queen," (somewhat in jest and in private only). I admit that I do not travel as much as some people, but when it comes to my kids, I definitely consider myself well-traveled, sometimes even the "travel queen." So imagine my surprise when I was slapped in the face with the cold, hard truth last Wednesday at 5:40am. I am, indeed, NOT the travel queen. I know this because I saw the real travel queen up close and in person, with her royal travel family. I was in awe. I first spied them in the parking shuttle across from me, this cute little family. They had gotten out of their parked car and onto the shuttle bus: a young father, mother, and a little 8 or 9 month old boy. The father carried the little boy and the mother carried her medium sized purse/diaper bag and one suitcase. Yes, ONE suitcase. It wasn't one of those huge suitcases that you have to weigh in the bathroom after you are done packing to make sure you are under the 50 pound limit, either. It was a small, carry-on suitcase, and not stuffed to burst. I looked back and forth between them trying to comprehend the situation- two grown adults and a baby traveling with one, ONE suitcase. I stared openly in fascination and awe. I wanted to speak to them, confirm that they were real, but my jaw hung open and I was completely tongue-tied. How could I, a mere travel serf speak to the royal family of travel? I imagined myself engaging them in conversation, they looked friendly enough (even at 5:40am)... "Hello, what a beautiful little boy, and so well behaved this early in the morning. I couldn't help noticing that your entire family is traveling with only one suitcase, and a small one at that. I admire your preparation and confidence, you obviously know a lot more about traveling with babies than I do. But, really, I can't help wondering where is the rest of your luggage? Where are the baby toys for the plane and the extra diapers and the books, the chewy snacks for air pressure changes, the frozen snacks, the portable DVD player with headsets and your computer and extra changes of clothes and your swimsuits, just in case, and your toiletries and ear plugs and stroller and pack-n-play and carseat?? Where on earth are you going that you only need ONE bag? ONE LOUSY BAG? What is in there anyway?!?"
Instead of speaking, however, I rationalized. Obviously the father and son were taking mommy to the airport and seeing her off, which is why they parked the car. And they parked in extended parking only because they weren't savvy enough to know the difference between hourly and long-term rates. Yes, that was it. I mollified myself with the thought that after daddy and baby waved bye-bye to mommy, they would ride back in the same shuttle and have to pay $7.25 for parking. I even smiled a little to myself. I dragged my bulging suitcase off the shuttle, checked in and shuffled through security. Moments later, while being patted down by the female TSA guard (avoid baggy sweatshirts in the security line), I saw them again. All three members of the beautiful family breezing through the airport, yards past the security checkpoint, home-printed boarding passes in hand. The prince was once again in the arms of the king as the queen walked briskly beside them, rolling the royal suitcase.
Instead of speaking, however, I rationalized. Obviously the father and son were taking mommy to the airport and seeing her off, which is why they parked the car. And they parked in extended parking only because they weren't savvy enough to know the difference between hourly and long-term rates. Yes, that was it. I mollified myself with the thought that after daddy and baby waved bye-bye to mommy, they would ride back in the same shuttle and have to pay $7.25 for parking. I even smiled a little to myself. I dragged my bulging suitcase off the shuttle, checked in and shuffled through security. Moments later, while being patted down by the female TSA guard (avoid baggy sweatshirts in the security line), I saw them again. All three members of the beautiful family breezing through the airport, yards past the security checkpoint, home-printed boarding passes in hand. The prince was once again in the arms of the king as the queen walked briskly beside them, rolling the royal suitcase.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Poor Man's Bose
Bose makes a great set of noise-canceling headphones. If you have $200 to spend, I recommend buying one for plane trips. They do a great job canceling out the low-end noise, so you can hear movies and music better in flight. However, if you're monitarily challenged, try the poor man's noise canceling headphones. They work fairly well (about the same as a low-end noise canceling headphone, like JVC) and are cheap and easy: a pair of regular headphones (not the earbud types) combined with earplugs.
I always travel with earplugs, and I wear them on planes. It really cuts out the engine noise of the plane, but you can still hear voices (which is not really what I am after. I wish I could cut out that chatty lady who invariably sits behind me with her best girlfriend from work on their way to an exciting girls weekend where they have a reservation at a really exciting hotel and they are in the process of making extremely exciting plans for their girls nights out.) Anyway, with earplugs in, nobody talks to me on the plane and it is a little quieter. And combined with regular earphones, it makes a good poor man's Bose.
I always travel with earplugs, and I wear them on planes. It really cuts out the engine noise of the plane, but you can still hear voices (which is not really what I am after. I wish I could cut out that chatty lady who invariably sits behind me with her best girlfriend from work on their way to an exciting girls weekend where they have a reservation at a really exciting hotel and they are in the process of making extremely exciting plans for their girls nights out.) Anyway, with earplugs in, nobody talks to me on the plane and it is a little quieter. And combined with regular earphones, it makes a good poor man's Bose.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Speaking of freezing it... plane trips!
How do you get a Go-gurt through airport security? Freeze-it. I have also been known to freeze bottles of milk, juice boxes, and regular yogurts to take as snacks on the plane. If it's frozen, it's not a liquid.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Freeze-It on the road
We just returned from a family road trip to and from Richmond, VA (about 7 hours each way). The day before we left, I was preparing for the trip, getting out the car toy box, packing snacks, and freezing foods. Yes, freezing foods. It is a great way to pack refrigerated stuff without having to haul a cooler with ice. When we travel long distances or go camping, I freeze everything I can think of. Juice boxes are a given. But I also freeze Gogurt, string cheese, hotdogs, sliced oranges, grapes, almost any kids snack can be frozen. I also pack some un-frozen versions in case someone wants a snack right up front. But some kids will think frozen Go-Gurts are a "road trip treat." I know mine do.
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