A right good waste of a day

11 01 2009

You know why I like the weekend? Because of all that sleeping in I get to do, that’s why.

OH NO WAIT, I must be mistaken, because I’m preeetty sure the boys got us up earlier today than they do on weekdays, to the tune of 6am YEAHTHAT’SRIGHT. Not only was it still dark out when I heard them conversing in their room about cars and Superman and The Big Brother’s Guide to Manipulating Your Parents (due out in the Fall of ’09, look for it!), but it was still dark out 20 minutes later when I finally relented and grumpily got out of bed. Not because I’m a sucker or anything, but you know that conversing? About Superman, specifically? A closer listen told me they were talking about a Superman clock, which, coincidentally, Ethan owns: it sits on the windowsill (we have freakishly wide windowsills in this house), and usually goes unnoticed, kind of like a stack of Sunday newspapers that’ve been ignored so long they become part of the room’s decor. But in my groggy, grumpy (and sick! have I mentioned I am sick? yes, it’s just a cold but I don’t do well with sick, and just a cold leaves me moany and pathetic and couch-ridden, so what?) head I somehow became convinced that Ethan had disobeyed Bedroom Rule #1 (Never Put Anything In Your Brother’s Crib, Ever), and that as I lay there like a selfish lump of parent, trying desperately to ignore my children (no one was like, crying or punching or anything) and get just a teeny tiny bit more sleep, Oliver was channeling Silar (pre-head-splitting, psycho killer days) and methodically taking apart the Superman alarm clock.

And then ingesting the little parts, cogs and all.

That’s what finally drove me huffily out of bed. (He hadn’t, of course. And neither had Ethan; the clock sat in it’s neglected little spot, as always. No rules had been broken. You know, except for that one about NOT WAKING UP BEFORE DAWN.)

And then it was STILL dark after we’d gone potty, changed someone’s diaper, and trudged out to the kitchen for some Cheerios. Still dark when I made the tea I didn’t get to finish because someone hasn’t learned to use utensils yet *AHEM* (dude, you can wave your hand in front of your nose to indicate “stinky poo poo” I think you can put a spoon in your mouth… I’m just sayin’).

After breakfast we retreated to the boys’ room so they could fight with each other bond over blocks (again, I say: Dudes, there are 473 blocks! What is so special about the one your brother is holding? They are ALL THE SAME.), while Jeff and I did a little research. I got it into my head that we need a little alone time. And I… I would benefit from a little time away from the kids. (Wherever did I get this zany notion? ONLY DJ LANCE KNOWS.) So we thought maybe a night at a bed & breakfast, someplace no more than an hour or two away, would be a good idea.

Two and a half hours later, and we realized there are a few problems with this idea. One, most places we could find require a minimum 2-night stay. Which, okay, fine, but that doubles our cost. (I am a math whiz!) (Actually, that’s not true; I’m more of a typing whiz, as evidenced by the fact that I totally first typed that I am a “mith” whiz.) Also, all there is within an hour or two of where we live is DC and the Shenandoah Valley. And while I don’t have a problem retreating to the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains for a night (er, I mean TWO nights, don’t I?) to live amongst the mountain men of Virginia, the majority of bed & breakfasts (as is the case all over the country, not just in the mountains) that I found are run out of big, turret-ey Victorian homes, with rooms that are painted one of three colors (hunter green, grandma’s lipstick mauve, or sunshine daisy honeybee yellow), are given one of three names (Miss Eleanor’s Room, The JeffersonWashingtonGrantMadisonHoover Suite, Ivory and Lace), and feature reeeally old furniture and claw-foot tubs (that they try to convince you is antique! authentic! and just as they lived in the 19th century!, but all I see is old stuff that just looks like it smells old, and wondering who else slept in these sheets is not my idea of a retreat. I’m sure that most of them do not smell old, they are not nearly as yucky as they seem in my head; perhaps it is the (poor) photography I witnessed on most of their very outdated websites not doing them justice. Victorian is nice, if that’s what you’re after, but who says that because I want to stay at a b&b, I have to also want to sleep in Miss Eleanor’s bedroom with its pink carpet and lacy curtains and cross-stitch-covered walls?

Oh, yes, and did I mention that the average rate was approximately $250/night? Who knew modern/unrustic and cheap do not go hand in hand? $500 just for two nights of alone time… while tempting… very tempting… is just not in our budget. And that doesn’t even cover the fancy dinner. Or the travel. Or the massage. (I can dream, can I not?)

One other snag in the plan: our kids. They can’t be trusted alone together in the wee (DARK) hours of morning for a few moments while I fight for five more minutes of sleep. I think it’s safe to say they can’t be trusted alone for 2 nights? Which leaves me here: Hey, if you’re reading this Mom… whatchya doin’ next month sometime? Fancy a trip down south for some Super Fun Oma/grandboy bonding time? Huh? Do ya? Well, have I got a deal for you! Well, IF we find someplace to escape to, that is. Which, as it looks, is doubtful. Very doubtful.

We finally gave up after a while of making fun of the inns and their hokeyness (no offense to you, if you are an inn-owner; if I weren’t such an immature paranoid grown-up kid, I’m sure I would LOVE to stay in Miss Eleanor’s bedroom…). Anyway, my cold and I were not doing well, as I had put down my laptop in favor of two extra layers of blankets (I already had on sweats, a long-sleeved tee, a hooded sweatshirt, and a furry-hooded coat), my pillow and some good, old fashioned wallowing. Just ask Jeff, as it is he who fetched me said layers and pillow, followed by 7-up. There is something about a fizzy drink when I’m sick, I just don’t what. While it does nothing to quell my symptoms, it does bring me comfort.

I pretty much remained there the rest of the day. I am, in fact, still here now, at 11:30, surrounded by wadded up, crusty tissues, breathing through my wide-open mouth (is it not enough that I can’t breath, MUST I give myself chapped lips as well??), snotty and sinus-ey. We wasted the day away, and got not one single thing accomplished off the list: find and book b&b, put away decorations, pick up messy house, fold laundry, wash dishes, vacuum boys’ room… the list, it goes on. So to make my pathetic, congested self feel better, here is a list of what I did do:

*baked blondies with Ethan that came out AWFUL but we nibbled at anyway and will probably be paying for tomorrow, as it seems they were a bit underdone

*watched Ollie push a little stool around the house as if he were driving it, complete with vroom-ey car noises to make it more real

*read a stack of books with Ethan

*sat around the fire together

*added “Woody” (he of Toy Story fame, Oliver’s most favorite toy) to Ollie’s growing vocabulary (“mama,” “dada,” “uh oh,” “bye bye,” and “wow”)

*taught Oliver to point out where one’s eyes and nose are on command

*snuggled on the couch

*worked on Ethan’s story (not the Manipulating Your Parents one; an actual one, to be posted about at a later date)

*stifled (unsuccessfully) my laughter when Ethan, in response to a firm scolding, called Jeff a (and I am quoting here, I could NOT make this up) “blithering boob.” Yeah, YOU try not to laugh at that. Go ahead. I guarantee you will laugh your stuffy nose right out onto your sleeve.

Alright, it was an unproductive day. But maybe not an entirely wasted one. Maybe we’ll waste tomorrow, too.



3 responses

11 01 2009
Ethan's Oma

I’m sorry you don’t feel good honey. I JUST got over whatever it was I got when I came back after Thanksgiving. Sounds like a nice day to me though ( other than being sick of course )—watching ollie push the stool around, snuggling with my boys by the fireplace, etc. And of course, I would come watch them….though I still do kinda drive with my fingers crossed that I don’t break down again. I had to laugh when you mentioned about not knowing who might have slept in those beds, all I could think of was when you and Jeff stayed at that awful place in Portugal and you slept on top of him the whole night so you wouldn’t have to touch the bed !!

11 01 2009

Why don’t you look into a nice hotel? You may be able to squeeze in a massage. Most of your descriptions of a B & B are what my in-laws’ B & B has. The green and mauve are two of the bedrooms (the rooms are named after wines) and the yellow (we call it the McDonald’s room) is the dining room. There is also old (antique) furniture and a claw-foot tub.

Good luck and find something!

11 01 2009

I am sorry you are sick Caley, hopfully the boys won’t get it. Sometimes I don’t know what’s worse, you being sick or having to put up with three sick kids. Yes that’s right I included Jeff in the catagory because husbands can be such babies when they are sick. he he I am also totally with you on the clear soda when being sick, it is the best even though I won’t touch the stuff any other time.

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