Confessions of a Serial Swooper

Remember a few weeks ago I was freaking out because Husband was trying to plan a family vacation?  Yeah.  On an RV.  Destination unconfirmed.  Mosquito bites, skeevy campgrounds, whining children and gas-guzzling?  Confirmed.

Oh.  effing.  no.

Then, I read about houseboats for rent.  In Boston harbor.  A perfect combination of white trash adventure and first class views.   Cheaper than a hotel for our family of four, we could do Boston like tourists (Duck Boats even!) and treat ourselves and our kids to a little adventure.  I sold Husband on it.

We went last weekend.

How’d it go?  Mostly, it was better than expected.  But…not entirely.

Reasons why you SHOULD rent a houseboat.

#1. Financially, it really makes sense for a family with kids when stacked against the cost of a hotel.  We slept four of us on the boat on the first night and six (not comfortably) on the second night.  When Husband and I travel with the kids, we either have to get a suite (ridonkulous) or two adjoining rooms and the moron on the reservations line will never guarantee your rooms will actually adjoin.   “Oh, sure.  I’ll just show up and take my chances that my kids are placed somewhere near me.  Ever heard of Madeleine McCann, lady?!”  Ummm…no, thank you.

And so, if we’re all in one room it means that when it’s lights out for the two-year old, it’s lights out for everyone.  And I, for one, do not want to spend $200+ to sit in the dark at 7:30 pm.  No lights make it extremely difficult to properly pour my Chardonnay.

#2. It’s not an RV.

#3. BYOB and F.  It’s awesome to be able to bring your own supplies, stock the fridge and be done with the cost and planning of meals.   We had chicken and corn fired up on the gas grill the first night, pancakes for breakfast, went out to lunch then had ribs and pasta salad the second night.  Yum, yum and yummmmm.

#4. Did I mention?  It’s not an RV.

#5. Many comforts of home.   The boat was fully stocked with all the necessary kitchen items, a cooktop stove, a microwave, a flat screen TV with DVD player, WiFi, sheets, towels, aforementioned gas grill, AC, a toilet (more on that later), a shower (and that) and security (locks going into marina, locks on boat).   There was no point in which we said “I really wish this place had an …”, which is amazing.  Know how many of the above items we would have had on an RV?  Me either but probably not many.

#6.  Very close to home.  The very worst part of any vacation, to me, is the travel to and from.  What a freakin’ hassle.   (Talk to me later about our upcoming drive to the Outer Banks, which I am not looking forward to.) We left our hometown for the boat at about 4 pm and were “on vacation” at 4:45.  We left the boat at 8 am on Sunday, settled in at home and were on our own beach at 10 am.

So, that’s all good.  A decent review, no?

Welllllllll….there were a few GLITCHES.  ‘Course.

#1. Houseboats rock.  Like, a lot.  We were amazed at how it felt at times (mostly at night) like we were on the Time Bandit crossing the Bering Sea in 45-ft swells.  And, we were docked the whole time.  In a pretty quiet boatyard.  Weird.  I’m serious that it took me two days to stop feeling at least a little nauseous.  I’ve never been on a cruise but I imagine this is common for cruisers.  But for a houseboat?  That doesn’t go anywhere?  Hmm.

#2. Newly potty trained two-year olds in small quarters?  A little dicey.

#3. Ok, while on the charming subject of the potty.  (Sorry, but it has to be said.)  Somewhere around 18 hours in we started smelling something a little…odd.  Turns out, that smell?  Raw sewage.   Awesome.  We didn’t figure out that was the smell until we were joined by Passenger Five and Passenger Six who, obviously, added to the no-so-large holding tank under the boat.  No idea how often the sewage gets pumped but by 11 pm on Saturday evening, that small toilet let out a giant groan and quit on us.  Brother-in-law was its hapless victim and, after fighting a noble battle with towels and a scrub brush, waved the white flag and retreated to his bed.   The stench?   Holy lord.   And the situation was not helped by the fact that all the windows were closed tight as the AC circulated the stank like a floating poop tornado.

So, when you read that the boat sleeps six, I suggest you keep in mind that it actually sleeps four functional digestive systems and two severely constipated ones.

#4.   Mother nature can be a real precocious beeyatch.  It basically hasn’t rained all summer.  And, so, naturally, we arrived in a torrential rainstorm.  Lucky for us, it cleared later in the evening and we had a pretty good 36 hours or so afterwards.   But, be warned.  You will probably not enjoy your houseboat very much (despite the amenities) if you can’t sit on the decks, grill your steaks and enjoy the view.  It’s a crapshoot, of course.  But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Casa Cassiopeia

Kinda cute, isn’t she?

So, would we do it again?  I think so.  Under the right circumstances.  It’s definitely a good alternative to a hotel for a weekend in Boston (or one of Sleep Afloat’s other cities).

And, hey.  It sure beat the hell out of my image of the alternative vacation.

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She was twelve when they moved.

I imagine she was perfectly happy with her old life.  An only child probably showered with attention by her Mom and Dad, despite their very busy jobs.  She was, by all reports, precocious, studious (she even skipped third grade) and content.  Her Dad even had a little desk set up in his office for her so she could work away at his side while he signed papers and made conference calls and who knows what else.

They were likely happy.

Then, they moved.  And, everything changed.  Suddenly everyone noticed and everyone cared and everyone talked about not just the twelve-year old’s parents but about her.  The wildly curly hair.  The braces.  Her awkward teenage ways.  She was a bit of a nerd, no doubt about it.  And now she was a nerd on the cover of magazines.

Great.   ‘Cause that’s exactly what a geeky teenager in a new city with crazy hair and no friends wants…lots of attention.    Awesome.

Anyway…this was Chelsea, then.

The red velvet puffy dress was clearly helping her look.

I’d hide a little, too.

It didn’t matter what she looked like, anyway.  Not to her parents, certainly.  She was a child.  Twelve years old and thrust into a spotlight she never asked for.  Although, they weren’t doing her any favors dressing her in political t-shirts with freakin’ elephants on the chest.

Thanks for that, Mom & Dad.

She got used to it, though.  Grew up a little.  Matured.  Straightened her hair.  And then her Dad (shakes head)…oh, her Dad.  He blew it.  Or, actually, scratch that.  An intern ho “blew it” for him.   Can you imagine what was going through Chelsea’s mind when this all broke?  Gross, Dad. Apparently, Chelsea wasn’t the only one who liked to “work away” at the desk in Bill Clinton office.

I bet a lot of you wondered why the hell Hillary kept Bill around after all that ugly stuff went down.  I know I certainly did.  Sure, politics had something to do with it.  But, my feeling is that, well, they’re a little family — just two parents and their only child.  Three people who all needed each other.   Needed each other politically maybe, but needed each other emotionally as well.  Chelsea’s Dad needed his wife and his daughter when he was a big, stupid, horny moron in the White House.   And, that sucked for them.  I bet Chelsea felt so sorry for her Mom but, despite it all, she still loved her Dad.  Because even when your Dad acts like a jerk and disappoints a few people, if you’re his kid, you still love him.  And you’ll defend him.   That’s just the way it is.

She stood by him then and I bet she’d do it again tomorrow.

And then her Mom got the big idea to run for the Presidency herself.  Good idea, bad idea, either way.  Chelsea eventually said “go for it, Mom”.  And, even though it was basically her life’s mission to stay the hell out of the spotlight once they left Pennsylvania Avenue, she did a little stumping for her Mom, too.  Which made her all twitchy and nervous and she probably hated every second of it but, well…her Mom needed her.  ‘Nuff said.

Chelsea’s getting married in a few weeks.  To a guy named Marc.  Her Mom and Dad will be there by at her side as Chelsea starts a new chapter in her life.   She’ll be a wife.  And someday, maybe, a Mom.

I bet she’ll try to do a lot of things better than they did.   But, I also bet she can only hope to do other things half as well.

And, since she’s an only child, the time will come when her parents need her again.  Need their only child to help them up the stairs, need her to make some important decisions on their behalf, need her to not crumble in a heap on the floor when she faces the idea of losing one of them someday.  Both of them someday.   And, even though she’ll have Marc to support her, she’ll still be very much alone.  The only child.  And, that’s scary.

Believe me.

So, when she says “I do” (or buys that new house, or has that baby, or gets that job) she’ll know her parents are behind her smiling.  Supporting her.  Loving her.   As a team.

Love them, hate them…they’re a team.

“Ciao, haters.   I’m getting married!   Woot woot!”

_________

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Before I signed up to become 24-hour indentured servant to two little dictators, I worked in the world of advertising, PR and special events.  I have great respect for smart marketing, clever products and well-run functions.

I did a post not too long ago about a wine bag.  For the fashionable wine-aholic.   (Which I, of course, am NOT.  Because, I hate fashion.)

Well, I decided I’m putting my wine bag up on eBay and going for this new product instead.  They call it the “Wine Rack”.

Don’t judge me.   ‘Cause I’m thinking I’ll fill it with Capri Sun and let my kids suckle at the beach.  Good Mommy.

And speaking of clever marketing.   I think this is simply brilliant.

(Click and look at the copy.)

Clever, no?  Like we all needed another reason to love Lay’s potato chips.

And, lastly, today is the occasion of my 39th birthday.  Sigh. Probably in a fit of “face it, woman, you’re no Barbie” I recently decided to stop coloring my hair blonde and go back to my “natural” color.   Less maintenance, less cost, whatever.

I am what I am!   Hear me roar!   Word up, Helen Reddy!

So, my hair dresser decided to strip my hair of the 25 years of color layers and see what we would see…

Blonde-ish brown ala Aniston?

True brunette ala Vanessa Minnillo?

Ummm.  No.  Not so much.  Turns out my hair is very celebrity-like.

Unfortunately it’s very like THIS celebrity.

Yeah, well the hell with going natural.

Dye those follicles, woman, and quick.

I admit I always dug Sophia though.  Easily my favorite Golden Girl.   A classic Sophia quote from 1989:

[Sophia is unhappy that daughter Dorothy’s relationship with younger man, Eddie, is purely a physical one]
Dorothy Petrillo-Zbornak: Look, Ma, I am a grown woman and I have needs.
Sophia Petrillo: Needs! You need food. You need air. You need a better wrinkle cream. You don’t need sport nookie!

Sport nookie.

Ha.

—–Original Message—–
From: Swooper [mailto:swooper@me.com]
Sent: Friday, July 16, 2010 8:54 AM
To: Husband
Subject: Dry diaper overnight!

_____

From: Husband <husband@workemail.com>

Date: July 16, 2010 8:56:18 AM EDT

To: Swooper

Subject: RE: Dry diaper overnight!

Good for you!!

So, yeah.  Potty training.  Day four.  And, I run a lean, mean, potty training, boot camp machine.  Big Brother went through it in Connecticut and now Little Brother is locked up with me in Massachusetts.   We make virtually no plans for five straight weekdays and just hammer it out.  Underpants all day, mistakes or no mistakes.  Underpants, dude.  Get used to it.

Motivational sticker chart and Tootsie rolls in hand, I am the potty police and Little Brother is my inmate.

The good news is, Little Brother’s been a total superstar.  He’s doing great.  Two pee mistakes and one unfortunate…other kind.

The bad news, though, is that while he is my prisoner, I am his as well.  Meaning I have spent countless (countless!) hours with DJ Lance Rock, Candy Land and my washing machine.  Countless hours acting like I’ve just won Megabucks when four drops of urine hit the toilet water.  Countless hours sweating my a** off inside my house in this town of ocean breezes as the humidity level hovers around 149%.

I am Jack Torrance and this is my hotel.

S’ok, though.  Because there’s a light at the end of this “I’m about to go completely batshit if I spend another day stuck in my house” tunnel.  And the light means I will never. change. a. diaper. again.  Ever.

And, that’s pretty cool.