Vacations with kids: an oxymoron?

We just returned from a quick spring break  jaunt to New Orleans, so I need a quick therapeutic Mom rant. Hear me out fellow parents, before you judge me.

Mommy, you're the best for buying us voodoo dolls!!!

It FEELS like the right thing to do. Take your kids with you for a little vacation. We’ll all have fun. We’ll get to spend some quality bonding time together. We’ll make memories that last a lifetime. Right. The reality is this: Prepare yourself for the onslaught of whiney questions. How far away is this place? When are we stopping at McDonald’s because I’m tired of Cajun food? Is it ever going to stop raining?

The answer to all these questions is: Zip it!

Or prepare yourself for whiney proclamations. I’m bored! He’s touching me! I didn’t fart! (Even though we all know it was you.) This city smells weird! (Could be because of all the farting going on.)

Just remind yourself that there WILL be whiney questions/proclamations throughout the vacation, starting from the instant you pull out of your driveway (if not earlier) until you step through your front door. That way you don’t set yourself up for failure, in high hopes that it will be an exciting vacation filled with nothing but happy memories of cooperative kids who think you are the best mom ever for planning this little getaway. I call this your much-needed reality check.

Truth is I’m exhausted. I now need a vacation from my kid vacation. I’m sure after a good night’s sleep, my kid vacation hangover will be a distant memory and I’ll be planning our next family getaway. Ah yes, time really DOES heal wounds.

My Own Obessions: Public Restrooms and Prison Sinks

I can’t help myself. Lately I have become mildly fixated on the public bathroom experience. I know, it’s sort of twisted to WANT to look closely at anything in a public restroom. We all want to just get in, get out, and get on with our lives. But I like to find ways to amuse myself, just to keep life from getting too serious.And thanks to the advent of  the iPhone (aka my Crack), it’s become so darn easy to snap a quick photo of the oddities I come across during mundane, mindless activities such as using a public restroom. 

As Brad has often wondered as I come out of a bathroom giddy over the ‘prison sink’ (as I have dubbed them) that I just encountered, how are people not wondering what’s wrong with this lady who is snapping photos in the bathroom? Apparently a man taking pics in the men’s bathroom could not get away with this. Unless he wants to get his ass kicked.

So far, no one has punched me for taking photos. And apparently my obsession is catching on, as Brad himself and another male friend who shall remain anonymous are posting pics to Facebook for my ‘Bathroom Collection’. How precious!!! And neither of them has gotten their ass kicked…not once!

Without further ado, I give you some favorites from my Bathroom Collection. Ooh, I sound so fancy! My own collection. Like the Jaclyn Smith Kmart collection. Or the Cindy Crawford Rooms To Go furniture collection.

This Prison sink is at the Georgia Welcome Center…what next? Prison toilets, where we all share a tinkle drain? Say it ain’t so…

In my travels, I have found the prison sink to be popular at state line welcome centers.

Wow. This was one complicated toilet we encountered at a Chattanooga brew pub. Never before have I been intimidated by the simple act of flushing a toilet!

Dang! I was planning on practicing my swan dive…

New Orleans loves them some super-powered hand dryers! These suckers will rip your skin clean off.

Holiday Rant – Air Travel. I Gotta Do It.

Move over knitting lady and moron man, Alli needs to look out the window.

I don’t fly much. Four, maybe five times a year. Yet somehow I am on “the list” at a certain regional airport here in Mobile that shall go unnamed for fear of retaliation. Yeah, yeah, so we do have just the one itty bitty airport here in Mobile and I’m sure the TSA Nazis will crack my cryptic code.

I know, I know. These TSA “security” (and I do use the word security loosely here) people are just doing their jobs. Get off their backs. Blah blah blah. Well this is my rant so leave me be. Let me bitch about them so I can feel better. Until the next time I have to fly.

They see me coming up the airport escalator, and said escaltor works about 70% of the time, and they prepare themselves for my arsenal. Whether it’s my Colgate Wisp travel toothbrush or my white noise machine (yes I sleep with one of those things…get off my back!), they are convinced somewhere, somehow, I am packing TNT. Get out the swab wands…cuz we sure got to check Allison’s luggage for dynamite, or perhaps just the makings for dynamite, not real sure, but by God she is carrying something that we need to swab!

Last week’s incident involved an unpacking of my suitcase, which included touching my undies. ACK. And for you pervs out there, it was a lady who insisted on all this hooey, NOT some disgusting hornball man who just wanted to touch a lady’s underthings. “And would you like me to repack your suitcase, or would YOU like to?” she had the nerve to ask me. And yet you have to smile and look pleased that they are woman-handling your personal property lest you end up in airport jail. “Oh, no thank you, I’LL do it!”  As if she just did me a favor, like she brought me a second glass of chardonnay, I must smile and not look pissed as hell that my entire suitcase is unpacked for all of West Mobile to see. Drama.

And OH, did I mention the knitting needles?! I don’t think I did. I had the pleasure of sitting in row 948 in the back of the plane from Orlando to DFW last month, and sat next to a knitting lady and moron man who hogged the arm rests. More on you, moron man, in a minute. The knitting lady whips out these huuuuuuge metal knitting needles with points on them surely sharp enough to slice open the jugular of anyone who crosses her path. Me being me, I ask her how in the heck she got past security with those things, when I was asked to remove the business cards from my back pockets during my “randomly selected” full body scan (apparently my TSA Orlando peeps hate me too). I guess business cards could produce a nasty paper cut to a flight attendant. Knitting lady says she’s never gotten stopped or questioned about her knitting needles, and yes she has ones bigger and pointier than these, in the 10 years since she started knitting. And she travels weekly, that’s right, every week. “But, I travel with the yarn in my bag too, so they must figure I really do knit.” Now THAT is a good tip for anyone planning to hijack a plane. Just pack yarn with your daggers, I mean knitting needles, and no worries from TSA. It’s the Colgate Wisp or Allison’s shoes that may contain enough TNT to bring down the plane.

Moron man, I’m talking to you. I feel compelled to inform you people who get stuck with the middle seats (yeah, you suck, sorry), you do NOT own both arm rests! You must share. Or else Alli will slowly push on your elbow until you relent. But I’ll do it with a smile. Cuz I don’t want to end up in airport jail.