Monday, June 22, 2009

Knee Deep!

In laundry, that is! I don't mean to complain. I did have four days of not having to do it. I didn't have to cook or clean either. Omaha was great in that respect. But the rest was, um, shall we say, A DISASTER! Okay, so now I'm complaining. But I'll try to keep it to a minimum. Thursday: When we arrived at The Carlisle Hotel, I thought to myself: It's just old. I'm sure the rooms are fine. When I waited in line for thirty minutes to check in because the front-desk employee was out having a smoke break, I thought to myself: I guess I'm not in any hurry. When said front-desk employee returned and looked up at me with a toothless smile, I thought to myself: Poor girl. She can't afford a dentist. When I crawled into bed and noticed a large brown stain on the sheets, I thought to myself: I'll just call housekeeping and ask for new sheets. When I went to make the call and couldn't because the phone had no cord, I thought to myself: I'll go down and ask for the sheets. Friday: When I went to make coffee in the little miniature coffee maker and couldn't because the pot had no handle, I thought to myself: I'll get some at the gas station. I can live with gas station coffee for a couple of days. When we got caught in a torrential downpour and our clothes were sopping wet, I thought to myself: At least I'm not sitting in the sweltering heat. When all of Friday's games got cancelled because of the rain, I thought to myself: There is an Irish Pub around the corner. When I went to dry our sopping wet clothes in the hotel laundry room and found the floor covered in two inches of water, I thought to myself: I'll hang them to dry and then go to the Irish Pub. Saturday: When nine people had to pile into my seven passenger vehicle because someone's husband had accidentally left her stranded at the hotel with no keys, I thought to myself: Well, if I get pulled over, I'm sure the jail cell will be nicer than the hotel room. When my son's Gatorade spilled in his bat bag and soaked his equipment with sticky purple liquid, I thought to myself: It's a hundred degrees and sunny. It'll dry out quickly. When Cameron's team lost their second game 17 to 1 (ouch!) and were out of the tournament, I thought to myself: Well, I guess we can go to the zoo tomorrow. Sunday: When we were checking out of the hotel, and our cooler on wheels tipped over covering the lobby floor with icy water and spewing pop cans, I thought to myself: I'll never see these people again. Besides, the floor could use a good mopping anyway. When my kids made me get on the sky ride at the zoo, I thought to myself: We're all going to die, but at least I'm facing my fears. When we were finally on the road back home, I thought to myself: I survived. See, it wasn't that bad. But then I looked down and saw this flashing warning signal on the dashboard. I had no idea what it was warning me about and thought to myself: At least I have On Star roadside assistance.

Okay, so I wasn't really thinking all of those positive thoughts, but if I told you what I was really thinking, my blog would probably get kicked off the Internet.

And one final thought: When I heard my son's bat hit the ball and watched it go right in the hole, I thought to myself: The Omaha Slumpbuster did live up to it's name. Cameron's hitting again. It was all worth it!


MeganRebekah said...

What an eventful weekend. Glad you survived to write about! :)

Katie Salidas said...

Sounds like quite a weekend.

Karen M. Peterson said...

That sounds just like almost every trip I've ever been on. Traveling with me is always an adventure of horrific proportions!

Thanks for stopping by my blog earlier and for letting me visit yours! I just might have to come back...

Deb said...

A big thumbs up for the slugger! Sounds like your trip had a bit of the good, the bad - and the ugly! Hope you at least got to drop into the Irish pub for a wee pint. Okay, now I'm scared - we're going away next weekend. Four days, four generations, one cabin, one cruddy looking forecast, and 30 miles of dirt road to the nearest hillbilly pub....

Susan R. Mills said...

I'm glad I survived too!
Yes, it was quite a weekend.
You are welcome any time! I love your "Not Me Monday" post!
Strange Fiction,
Yes, several of us made our way to the Irish Pub for a wee pint (or two). Don't be scared--you'll find your way down that 30 miles of dirt road if necessary, and the hillbillies will be quite welcoming!