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.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
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.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Cats take to the road.
Well, it's been a busy month, so I haven't had a lot of time to create unique and entertaining Travelbloggity posts. But, in keeping with my self-proclaimed travel guru status, I have traveled many many miles this past month, road-trip style. We moved to Pittsburgh from Bumpass, Virginia, (a seven hour drive one way), and we drove it no less than three times over the past three weeks. In trip number one, I single-handedly drove the Haunted Bus up to Pittsburgh to meet my husband for our closing. (Which went well except for when he crashed the bus into the gate as we were pulling into the storage facility.) Trip number two was with the huge rental truck, the van pulling the camper, our two girls, and a bunch of our stuff.
Trip number three was with the tiny rental truck, the van pulling the trailer, my husband, and the cats. (Luckily the kids weren't along for this road trip.) Since we have three cats, we thought it wise to separate them on the trip "for their own good." David got Sparky and Mufasa in the van, and I got to take Ross Perot, the most skittish of the trio, in the rented Penske. It was a long seven hour drive made even more difficult by the scaredy-cat who looked to me for physical protection the entire time. We started the journey sanely enough, with the cat locked up in a tiny little cat carrier, howling rhythmically. But, seven hours later, when we finally pulled into our new house, the cat carrier was splayed open on the floorboards, and Ross Perot was precariously perched across my shoulder blades, claws deep into my sweatshirt, feigning sleep. It was tough. Much of the time on the road I spent defending my personal space and trying to get Ross Perot to sit in the passenger seat like a civilized animal. The rest of the time I spent imagining "tips for successful travel with your cat" which would make a great blog entry. I thought I could easily come up with some positive, creative ways to simplify the process of moving a feline. But, unfortunately, between my husband and I, we were only able to come up with some "DO NOTs" for the next time we do a short road trip with cats. And, for anyone else's benefit, here they are:
1. DO NOT waste $30-$40 on a cat carrier unless you and the cat are committed to using it the whole ride.
2. DO NOT stuff cat number one and two into cat carriers right before cat number three's very eyes. He is not as dumb as he appears.
3. DO NOT bother with "litter box breaks" for traveling cats.
4. DO NOT bother with "feeding breaks" for traveling cats.
5. If your cat is a free-roamer in the car (see "DO NOT" rule number one), DO NOT open your window and slow down the vehicle as you approach your destination.
And, finally, number 6. DO NOT travel with cats unless it is absolutely necessary.
Trip number three was with the tiny rental truck, the van pulling the trailer, my husband, and the cats. (Luckily the kids weren't along for this road trip.) Since we have three cats, we thought it wise to separate them on the trip "for their own good." David got Sparky and Mufasa in the van, and I got to take Ross Perot, the most skittish of the trio, in the rented Penske. It was a long seven hour drive made even more difficult by the scaredy-cat who looked to me for physical protection the entire time. We started the journey sanely enough, with the cat locked up in a tiny little cat carrier, howling rhythmically. But, seven hours later, when we finally pulled into our new house, the cat carrier was splayed open on the floorboards, and Ross Perot was precariously perched across my shoulder blades, claws deep into my sweatshirt, feigning sleep. It was tough. Much of the time on the road I spent defending my personal space and trying to get Ross Perot to sit in the passenger seat like a civilized animal. The rest of the time I spent imagining "tips for successful travel with your cat" which would make a great blog entry. I thought I could easily come up with some positive, creative ways to simplify the process of moving a feline. But, unfortunately, between my husband and I, we were only able to come up with some "DO NOTs" for the next time we do a short road trip with cats. And, for anyone else's benefit, here they are:
1. DO NOT waste $30-$40 on a cat carrier unless you and the cat are committed to using it the whole ride.
2. DO NOT stuff cat number one and two into cat carriers right before cat number three's very eyes. He is not as dumb as he appears.
3. DO NOT bother with "litter box breaks" for traveling cats.
4. DO NOT bother with "feeding breaks" for traveling cats.
5. If your cat is a free-roamer in the car (see "DO NOT" rule number one), DO NOT open your window and slow down the vehicle as you approach your destination.
And, finally, number 6. DO NOT travel with cats unless it is absolutely necessary.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Where did I park?
I just returned from a three day business trip to OK. I flew, and parked my car in the economy parking lot(economy being $7 a day!). Here's a great tip for remembering where you parked your car at the airport:
Use your cell phone to take a picture of the numbered spot. Then, when you come back from your trip, no need to rack your brains trying to remember where you parked, just whip out the phone and look at the picture. It's a great solution for those who have cameras in their phones. However, I do not have a camera in my cell phone. So, here's what I do: in my contacts, I have an entry called "Parking." I just save the current parking spot number in one of the fields, and I can easily call it up when I'm back in town.
The trick with this tip is to make sure you delete the old parking spot number!
Use your cell phone to take a picture of the numbered spot. Then, when you come back from your trip, no need to rack your brains trying to remember where you parked, just whip out the phone and look at the picture. It's a great solution for those who have cameras in their phones. However, I do not have a camera in my cell phone. So, here's what I do: in my contacts, I have an entry called "Parking." I just save the current parking spot number in one of the fields, and I can easily call it up when I'm back in town.
The trick with this tip is to make sure you delete the old parking spot number!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
"Hold the Mail"
I just got back from an impromptu 7 days out of town. I started out to Virginia Beach to see my folks for one maybe two nights. I shot out of town with the kids and not even a car potty, since the drive is only 2 1/2 hours. They napped, so it was no big deal. The next day, however, I got a call from my husband who is working in Pittsburgh. He went into the hospital. So, instead of returning home to check the mail and feed the cats before going to Pittsburgh, I just shoved the girls into the car and we headed staight from Virginia Beach on an eight hour road trip, woefully un-prepared.
Luckily, I packed my computer. So, having a wireless DSL card, I found some videos online for the kiddies to watch. (I always have an inverter in the car, so I can plug in my computer.) That helped. And somehow we made it without too much fussing.
When we got there, I realized I was in for more that a one-night visit to a husband in the ER. He was going to be there all weekend. At least. So, I called a friend to dump more dry food for the cats (they are pretty independent, thanks to that cat door). Then I went to usps.com where you can electronically request the post office to hold your mail. Now that is handy, and something everyone should know. If you are ever suddenly out of town for over three days, you can make this online request and it saves you getting a neighbor to come out daily and empty your mailbox.
Luckily, I am back home now, with all my junk mail delivered in one lump sum. Husband is doing fine and back at work in Pittsburgh. Now I have to concentrate on packing for the big move...
Luckily, I packed my computer. So, having a wireless DSL card, I found some videos online for the kiddies to watch. (I always have an inverter in the car, so I can plug in my computer.) That helped. And somehow we made it without too much fussing.
When we got there, I realized I was in for more that a one-night visit to a husband in the ER. He was going to be there all weekend. At least. So, I called a friend to dump more dry food for the cats (they are pretty independent, thanks to that cat door). Then I went to usps.com where you can electronically request the post office to hold your mail. Now that is handy, and something everyone should know. If you are ever suddenly out of town for over three days, you can make this online request and it saves you getting a neighbor to come out daily and empty your mailbox.
Luckily, I am back home now, with all my junk mail delivered in one lump sum. Husband is doing fine and back at work in Pittsburgh. Now I have to concentrate on packing for the big move...
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Receipts.
I travel on business a little more than I travel for pleasure. Sometimes the two intermingle, as I tend to bring a daughter or two with me if the destination holds some draw. But, since my work doesn't pay for the kiddies, I have to keep receipts separate, or sort through them all after the fact. And, let me tell you, that takes forever. So, my simple solution is this: while traveling, I always get a receipt. If the receipt is for something that is non-work related, I fold it in half and put in in the billfold section of my wallet. But, if the receipt is work-related or reimbursable, I fold it lengthwise in half before stuffing it in the same billfold. Then, when I return from traveling, I pull out all my receipts and separate them into the business fold and the non-business fold (aka "the pleasure fold"). It simplifies things a bit.
However, there are times when getting a receipt is tough, or just slips my mind completely. On a business trip to the Middle East last year, I had such a situation when I shelled out 30 bucks to a cab driver and then had no proof of the act. But I turned it in on my travel report anyway, I mean, thirty dollars is thirty dollars! In order to reimburse me for the out of pocket expense, my boss asked me to write an explanation of the missing receipt. She had no idea what she was in for!
The aforementioned "written explanation for the missing receipt" is below. (A little exposition before you read: I produce robot tournaments, and I travel to a number of them in far away places. I coordinate with the local planners to make sure that they have everything we need for a successful tournament. If we don't, the buck stops here. So, obviously, I have my priorities.)
Travel to Doha, Qatar: Elizabeth Whitewolf’s written explanation of the missing receipt
Qatar is a small country with a desert climate, surrounded on three sides by the Persian Gulf. It has few fresh water resources and, thus, should have an ample reserve of plumbing supplies; however, there seem to be no 1" PVC cross pieces anywhere inside the country. The local planner had searched in vein for the three cross pieces needed to complete the Botball regulation game board, but they were nowhere to be found in the entire country, and he refused to cross into Saudi Arabia for the cause. So, we eventually decided that I would smuggle the needed PVC pieces in my checked luggage. Otherwise, there would be no robot tournament.
I bought three 1" PVC cross pieces, packed them tightly between my sandals and my Botball ladies polo, and headed to the Richmond airport for my Wednesday night flight. But somewhere between leaving the house and my arrival at the airport, the outgoing flight became dangerously delayed. I would have missed my connection, so United thoughtfully rebooked me for the following morning: an American flight and then two British Air flights all the way to Doha. I would arrive a mere 18 hours after my scheduled arrival. All I had to do was show up at 9am in the morning...except the following morning did not go as planned.
Hours after arriving at the Richmond airport, I found myself stranded in Chicago O’Hare International Airport, abandoned by both American Airlines and British Air, who refused to take me any further because of “United’s re-booking error.” As far as I could tell, the "re-booking error" boiled down to this, United had failed to notify the Queen's airline of the re-booking. The beautiful British Air counter rep was not impressed with my printed paper ticket issued by United, and she would not let me board the overbooked flight. In a flawless British accent and much pomp, she turned me away. So I had to try to convince the ticket agent at American and then United that I was Wronged. (And, of course, both airlines were housed in different terminals.) I indeed had a paid ticket to Qatar, and I was already hours past my original arrival time in Doha, but nobody seemed able to help me. After telling my story twice to smiling ticket agents and three times to unfortunate standers-by, it dawned on me that my luggage, being mute and without opposable thumbs, had an even lesser chance of making it to our final destination than I did. So once I sorted out my mess and got booked on a flight to London (thanks to United who finally fessed up), I turned my efforts to my luggage. After all, there were important PVC pieces in there which we couldn't do without in Qatar.
I visited the luggage claim desk at American and my story about the inevitable loss of my suitcase was met with a blank stare. Twice. So I made my way to the United luggage claim desk and got much of the same stare but with a hint of mockery. At that point I chalked my suitcase up as gone. It was not going to make it. Thinking only of the Botball tournament, I went immediately outside and hailed a cab. “Get me to the nearest hardware store!” I demanded, and I watched as the meter climbed steadily… 5 dollars…7 dollars…12 dollars... We finally arrived at an Ace Hardware and I ran inside, “I’ll only be a minute,” I said to the driver. And it was true. I found those PVC pieces in no time flat. Returning to the cab the meter was at 14 dollars, and we sped back to the airport. In retrospect, I realize that maybe I should have stopped at a Wal-Mart store on the way back; you know, for clothes or toiletries, or anything else that would no doubt go missing with my suitcase. But, my mind was focused on work , and at least I had that handled, so when we pulled up to the terminal, I handed the driver thirty dollars in cash (the meter read $24). I slammed the door and checked my watch. I still had time, about an hour even, but I had no receipt. I turned and cried to the rapidly receding taxi, “Wait! Please! My receipt...” I even whole-heartdly ran a few paces after it, but with no sign of brake lights, I gave up. I sighed, and walked in to the airport to begin another 17 hours of air travel.
However, there are times when getting a receipt is tough, or just slips my mind completely. On a business trip to the Middle East last year, I had such a situation when I shelled out 30 bucks to a cab driver and then had no proof of the act. But I turned it in on my travel report anyway, I mean, thirty dollars is thirty dollars! In order to reimburse me for the out of pocket expense, my boss asked me to write an explanation of the missing receipt. She had no idea what she was in for!
The aforementioned "written explanation for the missing receipt" is below. (A little exposition before you read: I produce robot tournaments, and I travel to a number of them in far away places. I coordinate with the local planners to make sure that they have everything we need for a successful tournament. If we don't, the buck stops here. So, obviously, I have my priorities.)
Travel to Doha, Qatar: Elizabeth Whitewolf’s written explanation of the missing receipt
Qatar is a small country with a desert climate, surrounded on three sides by the Persian Gulf. It has few fresh water resources and, thus, should have an ample reserve of plumbing supplies; however, there seem to be no 1" PVC cross pieces anywhere inside the country. The local planner had searched in vein for the three cross pieces needed to complete the Botball regulation game board, but they were nowhere to be found in the entire country, and he refused to cross into Saudi Arabia for the cause. So, we eventually decided that I would smuggle the needed PVC pieces in my checked luggage. Otherwise, there would be no robot tournament.
I bought three 1" PVC cross pieces, packed them tightly between my sandals and my Botball ladies polo, and headed to the Richmond airport for my Wednesday night flight. But somewhere between leaving the house and my arrival at the airport, the outgoing flight became dangerously delayed. I would have missed my connection, so United thoughtfully rebooked me for the following morning: an American flight and then two British Air flights all the way to Doha. I would arrive a mere 18 hours after my scheduled arrival. All I had to do was show up at 9am in the morning...except the following morning did not go as planned.
Hours after arriving at the Richmond airport, I found myself stranded in Chicago O’Hare International Airport, abandoned by both American Airlines and British Air, who refused to take me any further because of “United’s re-booking error.” As far as I could tell, the "re-booking error" boiled down to this, United had failed to notify the Queen's airline of the re-booking. The beautiful British Air counter rep was not impressed with my printed paper ticket issued by United, and she would not let me board the overbooked flight. In a flawless British accent and much pomp, she turned me away. So I had to try to convince the ticket agent at American and then United that I was Wronged. (And, of course, both airlines were housed in different terminals.) I indeed had a paid ticket to Qatar, and I was already hours past my original arrival time in Doha, but nobody seemed able to help me. After telling my story twice to smiling ticket agents and three times to unfortunate standers-by, it dawned on me that my luggage, being mute and without opposable thumbs, had an even lesser chance of making it to our final destination than I did. So once I sorted out my mess and got booked on a flight to London (thanks to United who finally fessed up), I turned my efforts to my luggage. After all, there were important PVC pieces in there which we couldn't do without in Qatar.
I visited the luggage claim desk at American and my story about the inevitable loss of my suitcase was met with a blank stare. Twice. So I made my way to the United luggage claim desk and got much of the same stare but with a hint of mockery. At that point I chalked my suitcase up as gone. It was not going to make it. Thinking only of the Botball tournament, I went immediately outside and hailed a cab. “Get me to the nearest hardware store!” I demanded, and I watched as the meter climbed steadily… 5 dollars…7 dollars…12 dollars... We finally arrived at an Ace Hardware and I ran inside, “I’ll only be a minute,” I said to the driver. And it was true. I found those PVC pieces in no time flat. Returning to the cab the meter was at 14 dollars, and we sped back to the airport. In retrospect, I realize that maybe I should have stopped at a Wal-Mart store on the way back; you know, for clothes or toiletries, or anything else that would no doubt go missing with my suitcase. But, my mind was focused on work , and at least I had that handled, so when we pulled up to the terminal, I handed the driver thirty dollars in cash (the meter read $24). I slammed the door and checked my watch. I still had time, about an hour even, but I had no receipt. I turned and cried to the rapidly receding taxi, “Wait! Please! My receipt...” I even whole-heartdly ran a few paces after it, but with no sign of brake lights, I gave up. I sighed, and walked in to the airport to begin another 17 hours of air travel.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
30 days in a Motel...
Our family is moving to Pittsburgh in mid October. Meanwhile, my husband is actually working there without a house. So I found him the cheapest accommodations I could, Motel 6. While investigating Motel 6, I discovered that it indeed is the most inexpensive chain of motels around. And, there is a great feature on their website that I will certainly take advantage of, being such a cheapskate. There is a roadtrip planner, which maps out your route and lists all the Motel 6's along the way. The map is interactive, and it also lists driving directions underneath. How cool is that?
Click here for the Motel 6 roadtrip planner. It is perfect for the budget traveler. The room we got in Pittsburgh is only $39 a night, and they advertise rooms as low as $22 a night. How can you go wrong with Motel 6, after all, they'll "leave the light on for ya."
Click here for the Motel 6 roadtrip planner. It is perfect for the budget traveler. The room we got in Pittsburgh is only $39 a night, and they advertise rooms as low as $22 a night. How can you go wrong with Motel 6, after all, they'll "leave the light on for ya."
Monday, August 25, 2008
The foldy stool.
My kids are just a little too short to reach the sinks at most hotels and camp grounds, not to mention all of the rest stops in between. I found a little plastic stool that folds completely flat at a hardware store. It cost about $12, and I bring it along when we travel, sometimes in my suitcase and sometimes in the car. It was especially helpful at camp last week because it doubled as a chair. In hotels, I just set it up in the bathroom and then I don't have to help with the teeth brushing and the hand washing.
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