My Fall Day

13 days a month of Octobers

Crunchy red with cold sky

Button clasped in parallel

Crisp bite of lullaby

Not Being There.

It was 9:54 last evening when the phone rang.  I saw the unrecognizable name on the caller ID and chose to ignore it disturbed by the fact that someone unknown was calling so late.  Seconds later my cell phone rang.  That familiar feeling of panic set in.  I knew it wasn’t good.

“Kristy, it’s Becky from Camp Needlepoint,” she said in a hurried voice.  Immediately, I chill ran through me from head to toe.  Before she could say another word, I began to tear.  “Yes,” I said quietly fearing the worst.  “He’s okay, but we’re at the ER.  I’m here with the head Endocrinologist that’s staying with us this week.  We need you to talk to admitting so he can be seen.”

“What’s wrong,” I whimper.  “He’s got a really bad stomach ache.  He blood sugar is in range, so we’re hoping it’s nothing serious.” 

She handed the phone to the woman who had to speak with me about admitting Eli.  She had to ensure that I would allow my son to be treated.  After the formalities, she indicated that the Endocrinologist would call me as soon as they got word.

After I hung up the phone, pain ran through my veins.  Paralyzed with fear, the same fear and panic that struck me when he was first diagnosed with Type 1.  At that time, I was stranded on an airplane in Atlanta – not there with him.  This time, he was in Wisconsin and I at home – again not being there.  Not being there for him when he needed me most.  Needing his Mom.

Less than 15 minutes later, the Endo called and mentioned that Eli was being checked by the ER Doctor.  He brought Eli to the ER as his symptoms were not normal.  Eli was holding the side of his abdomen in severe pain.  He just didn’t seem like the kind of kid that would complain.  He wanted to ensure it wasn’t appendicitis.  He would call back when he knew more.

Waiting.  Fearing.  Sobbing for my son.  It was unbearable.  Not being there. 

An hour later, the call of relief came.  No serious issues, just a very bad tummy ache.  They gave him some meds and took him back to camp.  In true Eli style, he demanded to spend the night with his friends in the cabin – not the medical cabin.

So my littlest angel is better today.  A blessing.  A miracle. 

But, my fear of not being there for him burns in my soul.  I’m not sure how to recover.

Away at Camp. A Mother's Journey Continues.

One of the most gut wrenching pieces of writing I’ve ever created was A Mother’s Journey, written two years ago when we sent Eli off to Camp Needlepoint just one year after his diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes.  It was a cathartic piece as it made me come to terms with the emotions I’d been ignoring for so long.  Yet, the pain flowed through my fingers as I took my sorrow and anger out on the small keyboard.  Even now, when I read the short story, I’m taken back to that dark time in my life.  As a mother, I’ve come along way since then yet the journey continues.

The weather Sunday afternoon was strange.  Gray clouds smothered the sky while the thick muggy air couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to be hot or cold.  The rain threatened to break like a fever but the stubborn atmosphere wouldn’t allow it.  The three of us sat quiet in the packed SUV.  It contained a week’s worth of camp goods and medical supplies.  This would be our third trip to Camp Needlepoint to drop off Eli.

I’m not sure if it was the stack of buttermilk pancakes that Eli insisted on consuming at IHOP before we made our way to Wisconsin, but he was unusually quiet.  I stared ahead gazing out of the window holding back the tears.  There was no reason to cry.  I’d been here before.  Camp means freedom.  A week away from checking blood sugars eight times a day, no insulin reservoir changes, not having to wake up in the middle of the night to check on him and no counting carbs.

Freedom also means letting go.  And that’s the hard part. 

Eli is still a child and not quite ready to take on the full range of responsibility to managing his disease.  This year he has come so far.  He made it through the first year of middle school, learning how to maneuver more than one primary teacher and navigating the lunchtime diabetic routine.  In true Eli fashion, he charmed his way into the hearts of the adults and students making sure to take full advantage of his ‘diabetic hall pass’.  

Just two weeks ago, he had his first overnight at a friend’s house.  Although he’d asked Mom dozens of times prior, this time Dad made me let him go. Thanks to technology, our diabetic routine happened virtually.  All went well.

So why do I sit here alone weeping?  Longing for the control to ensure my son’s okay.  He’s surrounded by dozens of other diabetics, doctors and nurses.  He’s having the time of his life.  The sun is shining bright today and although he is not with me, I can see it shining brightly in his blue eyes.

I weep because I know he will come back stronger and more independent.  A step closer to a more normal life.  I weep because there will be a day when he won’t need me as much, and I’ll have to let go.  I weep because I know the worry as a mother will never cease.

Dear Mr Toaster Oven

Dear Mr. Toaster Oven,

 It didn’t take long for me to notice you sitting there so stately on the shelf at the big box discount store. Although I’ve dreamt of your ability to simplify my life many times, I’ve often passed you without a glance. But this time, there was something that made me pause. Could it have been the lonely pizza roll left on the bottom of the oven that ignited the most recent kitchen fire? Perhaps it was the portrayal of the sexy meals made in glorified toaster oven on The Real Housewives of NYC. I’m not sure, but somehow you wound up in my cart tucked next to 12 pack of toilet tissue.

 I proudly removed you from the packaging, cleared off a space on the already cluttered small counter and announced your arrival to our family. Promptly, the three men entered our small kitchen. There was cautiousness about them. One sigh. One look of curiosity. It was obvious that the three men thought of you just as another kitchen gadget to be soon forgotten. Tucked away with the George Foreman grill, quesadilla maker, juicer, panama sandwich maker and various crock pots. But no! You are different. My partner in every day cuisine.

 Mr. Toaster Oven, it’s been 30 days since we’ve been together. We survived the four dozen chocolate chip cookie power-baking marathon for the basement full of 12 year-old boys. You’ve taught a 16-year-old food the value of frozen food aisle of Costco. Best of all, we’ve made a month of meals without activating the smoke alarm.

 We will have years of meals together. And although I’m not a sexy Real Housewife of NYC, I can cook like one now.

Marlins Park - Worth the trip.

To date, our family has visited 13 Major League stadiums.  Only 5 more to go to complete our MLB bucket list.  Visiting the Miami Marlins stadium was a high priority for Eli as he has a soft spot in his heart for nearly all Miami teams.  

We made our way via crazy taxi to the Marlins Park two hours pre-game to ensure that we could get a prime spot for batting practice.  Eli has mastered the art of batting practice ball retrieval.   Arrive early, park yourself in the best outfield spot directly adjacent to the outfielders so they can hear your “over here” chant and dress in full game garb.  For some reason, the combination never fails.  Eli walked away with an official MLB baseball – one of many obtained at various ballparks.  (It didn’t hurt that Mom flirted with the Philly outfielder.  Yes – I’m a desperate mom.)

Our seats were fantastic - directly behind home plate.  We were surrounded by Philly fans, which made our cheers for the Marlins even more satisfying.  Best yet, the Marlins won the game and Eli’s favorite play Giancarlo Stanton hit an amazing home run.

It took us nearly an hour and several cab dispatch calls to find a taxi that would take us back to South Beach.  It was a great lesson in patience and persistence for my young man.  Never did he get frustrated or feel we were stranded.

All in all, the game was a highlight of the trip.

Life is a Fairy Tale

Once upon a time…

Is that the way I really look at life?  Well, Eli thinks so.  On day three of our Miami vacation, Eli laid it on me.  He asked, “Mom, why do you see life as a fairy tale?”  Completely taken aback by his comment I asked back, “Why do you think that?”  He paused and looked around the café and said,   “Because, you are always looking for the story in everything.”  At that point I realized that he is right.  I’m a dreamer.  And dreamers, dream.  They have characters in their head just waiting to come out to make reality out of nothing…simple things, magical things.

Sitting at the small table, munching on our Greek salad and three egg omelet, I had been commenting on a middle aged couple that was seated outside of the restaurant.  I was telling Eli their story when he interrupted me with his question.  Their life wasn’t a fairy tale…at least not in my head and the way that I played out loud their pain to my young son. 

Later, he stopped me again as I let out a sigh on our walk through the quaint two block neighborhood of Espanola Way.  The shops were simple and charming.  The street lined with beautiful trees and strategically placed flower baskets.  The smells of Latin food filled my soul as I stopped to remember this moment with my young son. 

And even though Eli was right that I am a dreamer and I sometimes see life as a fairy tale.  It was a fairy tale that afternoon.  As we pretended we were native Italians eating a grand lunch at the charming restaurant, for that moment I’ll always remember sitting with him sipping a glass of Prosecco, munching on the best pizza I’ve ever eaten and enjoying his company, and most of all our laughter.  Pure reality.

Trouble in South Beach

A few months ago Eli reminded me that this year he was to celebrate his Golden Birthday in October.  He also reminded me of a promise I made to him many years ago.   I would take him on a special Golden Birthday trip.  This included a long weekend anywhere in the continental US.  The location of his choice.  To my surprise the 12 year old had been planning his special trip for some time.  The location choice was easy.  He wanted to either see a Miami Dolphins or Miami Marlins game.  With the inaugural season of Marlins Park, the choice between the two nearly made itself.  So research on where and when started soon after.

South Beach with a 12 year-old boy?  In July?  Was I nuts?  No way…I was up for the adventure.  Nothing is more important to me than sucking every moment that I can from my boy’s childhood and making memories that will last a lifetime for them.  One on one time with each boy is extremely important for Jon and I.  So while I’m in South Beach with Miami, Jon will be on a road trip to Cedar Point in Ohio with three sixteen year old young men.  Good luck to yah, honey!

A few things that good moms need to prepare for in South Beach:

1. Have the topless beach talk with your kid.  Although we were lucky not have been exposed by this while on the beach, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared for the conversation.
2. Do your research on hotel spots.  Ocean Drive hotels are far too small, don’t have pools and a bit ‘cheesy spring break’ atmosphere.  Plus, you won’t get the pristine ocean access that you’d expect.  We stayed at the Kimpton Surfcomber Boutique Hotel.  It was spectacular.  Not too many rooms, but large enough for two people.  The pool and cabanas are lovely and the access to the white sand beach is right out the back door.
3. Watch your teenage girls on the beach.  I’ve been blessed with two boys.  If I had a teen aged daughter, I’d keep her out of South Beach.  A tall, dark and handsome club promoter sought out the two 18 year old pretty girls next to us on the beach, took their cell phone numbers and ensured he would get them into the club at 1:00 am – even if they were not 21.  Of course, they were instructed to wear short dresses and high heels.  Very scary and they fell for it.
4. Know your way around town.  Find your hot spots to visit before you go.  (Art Deco, Espinola Way, Lincoln Road Mall and Ocean Drive.)  Your feet and taxi budget will thank you.  Don’t bother with a rental car as parking is in short supply and expensive.  You’ll spend far more on parking fees than your rental car.  Take a cab!
5.  Gratuity is included in your bill.  Don’t make the mistake of paying your tip twice.  You’ll notice that service in most restaurants isn’t that great.

Luckily, we had no trouble in South Beach…but some adventure.  More to come.

The Hotel Modern. Don't let the name fool you.

New Orleans has been on my list of places to visit for years. For some reason it never surfaced to the top while planning vacations. It's also surprising that the hundreds of cities I've traveled to for business, New Orleans and I never crossed paths. So when asked to attend a conference this week in NOLA that old familiar excitement of work travel returned.

With work travel comes long, exhausting hours. This trip was no exception. But I was determined to find a few hours to explore this grand city. I didn't have to look far for an adventure...one was waiting for me as I arrived at the hotel. It should have been apparent when the cab driver had never heard of The Hotel Modern, it wasn't in the Hotel Snob worthy category. Yet after waking at 4:00 am for a two connection flight, setting up the exhibit hall display and a pair of shoes that made my feet swell like watermelons I was just ready for a nice meal and a warm bed.

The Hotel Modern has a snazzy ring to it, but ironically lacked the modern amenities that its name implies. Such amenities as an iron or a coffee pot, two basic items required of the business traveler. The hotel does come equipped with a squawking parrot that greets you in the lobby, a dark entry lit with candles and a chair to sit in while the attendant goes into the back room to retrieve your room key. There is no registration desk. The friendly manager did provide me with a nice glass of white wine during my 15 minute wait for the room key to arrive.

"Your room is located on the third floor," stated the obnoxiously snide young man. As I walked away attempting to balance my luggage, laptop bag and glass of wine (apparently the Hotel Modern doesn't have bell men), the young man smirked, "It's in building B, follow the signs." The door to the all black elevator closed and I took a deep breath when I selected floor three.

There were no signs for building B and the hallway ended before my room number. Looking disgusted now the poor housekeeper looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Without saying a word she pointed to a gray door in a dark hallway that had a red exit sign lit above it. Slowly, I opened the heavy door, still attempting to juggle my belongs to find an gloomy open court yard that led to two sterile gray buildings. “I have to walk outside to get to my room?” I thought. Too tired to go and complain I ventured my way into the 80-degree 10x10 hotel room that was hot, musty and dark. Not a place for a business woman traveling alone.

Knowing that there were no other rooms left in this city, I decided not to let my persona “Hotel Snob” take over and find a better room, I just crashed on the small bed to take a long, hot nap. Note to self. Next time I will do my homework.

Johnny Cool – Yah Man…Coolest Jamaican Driver

When our cruise ship Freedom of the Seas pulled into the pier at Falmouth, Jamaica we didn’t quite feel like we were in the beautiful country that we visited just three years ago. We spent a week at the Beaches resort in Negril that was unanimously voted as ‘the best family vacation ever’ by our two boys.

Falmouth isn’t the Jamaica we remembered. We immediately missed the white sand beaches, the friendly Jamaican people and the authentic jerk grub. Falmouth is obviously a small corporate built ‘cruise-ship’ town with little charm and local flavor.

Once off the ship, we decided to bypass the barrage of ‘ship sponsored’ shopping venues in search of ‘our Jamaica’. The Jamaican people tell you if you’ve been to Jamaica, you are officially Jamaican. This is exactly what native, LeRoy Brown told us when he pulled our small family aside to present us with a variety of site seeing options for a nominal cost. Was his tactics on the up and up? I don’t know…but we liked him. We decided to forgo the typical excursions and tourist traps that were also available through the ship in search of a private tour of the ‘real Jamaica’. LeRoy obliged and personally escorted us two blocks down the street to a disserted church parking lot.

He opened the door to a gray van and introduced us to his brother, Johnny Green. My Jon, introduced himself to LeRoy Brown and Johnny Green as ‘Jon Gray’. So with Brown, Green and Gray we thought it was a perfect match. Nothing to fear. Jon Gray negotiated with LeRoy Brown and we were off to our private tour of Jamaica.

Within the first five minutes of our drive we learned about Johnny Green, his family, his work life and his passion for music. He has a DJ business ‘on the side’ and loudly turned up his wide range of Reggae music for us to enjoy. “We go to the Beach, Man. Get something to eat, Man. And go shopping, Man,” he told us. “No problem, Man.”

It was a national holiday for Jamaica so the beach was packed with natives enjoying their ‘fun day’ in the sun. This wasn’t the tourist beach – and we loved that. Hundreds of Jamaicans enjoyed the blue waters of Montego Bay dressed in their white tee-shirts. Johnny told us to find a seat in the restaurant and order a drink and the jerk chicken while he parked the van. Apparently Johnny knew the owner of the restaurant as they fed him well for free while his out of place tourists spent their American money.

After a wonderful meal and several Pina Colladas (with Appleton Rum) Johnny took us to the ‘real shopping’ of Jamaica. We passed the tourist traps such as Margaritaville and giggled as we passed by the suckers that paid far too much money for their commercial adventure. Deep in the heart of Montego Bay, Johnny parked the van and told us, “Here is where you shop, Man.” It wasn’t exactly what we had in mind, but the store was clearly stocked with the typical knock-off items and trinkets that our boys were looking to find.

As we walked toward the store, the owners unlocked the door and let us in. It felt a bit creepy, until we were greeted by none other than our friend, LeRoy Brown, who we left back in Falmouth. LeRoy let us know that he had made special arrangements with the owner to provide us with the best deals in Jamaica, Man. The boys looked at me as if we were in some kind of strange movie. I whispered to them and smiled, “things work a bit differently in other countries.” They wasted no time and began to rifle through the knock-offs in search of some cheap Oakley sunglasses.

We left the store with our trinkets and some cash for the driver (thanks to LeRoy’s buddy the store owner – we didn’t have enough cash with us for the adventure – and Johnny didn’t take plastic). But we had one more stop to make – the petro station to gas up the van and let Jon Gray use the facilities. As the van was being filled, Johnny Cool told Jon Gray to ask the station owner for the restroom key. “What you need to do, Man? Go pee, Man?” asked the owner. “Ok, Man. I’ll show you the bathroom,” he went on. He took Jon behind the station to a tree and said, “You go there, Man. It’s the Jamaican way. No problem, Man.”

So off we went back to the ship. We thank Johnny Cool for his stories, singing, adventure and laughs.

Here is a bit of flavor of Johnny’s experience. (Video we found on YouTube)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0C-JPBzBsq0

New Fashioned Christmas Vacation: Survival Tips for Traveling with Teens.

We just arrived home from our Grayson family Christmas. It was a fantastic time and I enjoyed every minute with my two boys and husband. Traveling with teens can be a challenge, so I’m going to share some insight from this 10 day trip with a 12 and 15 year old.

Survival tips for traveling with teens:

Avoid the iFight. It’s only natural as parents to find the urge to require your son or daughter to leave their iStuff (pods, pads and other devices) at home. Vacations are for ‘disconnecting’ right? Not in the mind of a 15 year old. Letting go can be stressful for an adult and even more so for a teen. Picking this battle is a lose/lose. It’s not worth it!

Phones don’t float. The cell phone is a teen appendage. Even without service, they will continue to have the device in their hand or on their person. Beware of swim trunks with pockets. It takes only a ten minute dip in the ocean to strip all of the knowledge from a ‘smart’ phone. Tried and true tricks of drying the phone out with a bag of rice, blow drying with cool air or leaving in the sun will not work. We learned the hard way. Check those shorts!!

Elect them Chief Information Officer. Teens love information. Involve them in the planning and give them the task. In fact, during our vacation we found the iStuff to came in handy - especially with a resourceful teen. Not only did the GPS save us a few times, but we were also able to discover some great places and find the best deals. Teens tend not to rebel when they are involved in the decisions. We gave the kids a challenge to find the deepest discounts and they could use the savings for spending money.

Enjoy them. Laugh often. Cherish this time. My boys have an amazing sense of humor. Your teens do as well. Our vacation was filled with laughter, inside jokes and poking fun at our selves. Before you know it, they will be off to college and on to begin their own lives.

Happy New Year and Travel Often!

Grayson 2011 Holiday Greeting

Twas the night before Easter

And Grandma proposed

A Christmas trip to the tropics

As we all froze

We dream like Clark Griswold of a brand new pool

But no Christmas bonus, for the day-dreamy fool

Labadie, Falmouth, Grand Cayman, Cozumel

We wonder if it will be Heaven or Hell

We’ll be on a deck chair on Christmas Day morn

Celebrating in paradise that our Savior was born

Family time, warm breezes and much Holiday Cheer

What a grand way to celebrate Christmas this year

Before we set sail on our 154,000 ton boat

Wanted to share a short Grayson note:

Owen in 10^th grade, no more kicking back

“Buck up” said Coach Ziggy and quit talkin’ smack

From basketball to baseball to Golf league just think

In two months, we won’t miss car-pool-post-practice stink

Almost 16, dreams big like Mazaradii, Ferrari

But all Dad could say was “Owen…I’m sorry.”

Eli the tween’er went to middle school

Gets ear infections from the Chippewa pool

Little League awarded him the ‘strongest arm champ’

And then spent a week at JDRF Needlepoint Camp

Enjoys Wyld Life with friends and signing in choir

Still sets the b-ball court on fire

Hotel Snob wished she had more time to write

But work and the boys leaves no time at night

Still trying so hard to learn how to cook

Year without kitchen fire thinks she’s now ‘off the hook’

Jon likes to write stuff and walk the dog

He’s waiting for Kristy to teach him to blog

Volunteer chauffer is nearing the end

Chaplain work & church his time to lend

Bosco Bear Pug is another year older

Willing to perch on any warm shoulder

Like most Pugs he’s not very smart

But he’ll weasel his way into anyone’s heart

End of summer is never a joy

So we found a way to hang with the boys

Thanks to frequent-flier miles we got ‘r done

Off to San Fran for some family fun

Fisherman’s wharf, Muir Beach, but no tan

Eli asked, “Mom, what’s that guy got in the back of his van?”

We love the questions of innocent boys

And fondly remember the house full of toys

But growing up is what they do

And we’re blessed to know their inner-Who

We teach them LOVE always conquers hate

And all great things are worth the wait

They (and we) know GOD lives in our heart

And that HE loves us and keeps us, so we’ll never part

To you we wish a happy blessing, and a Merry Christmas!

The Graysons (Jon, Kris, Owen & Eli)

City by the Bay...Part II

Now that we've experienced the laid back portion of our vacation, the boys were itching to get to the action. Action, to them, meant 'the city.' It was painful for them to drive up and down the grand hills of San Francisco, only to be told that we were going to stay in a quieter part of town the first two days. The hopes of mall shopping, street vendors and trinkets & trash quickly escaped them when we entered the freeway to suburbia.

So that warm, sunny morning we left Tiburon in search of a city cafe for a hearty breakfast. The friendly young lady on the GPS didn't quite understand the meaning of quaint little cafe. She immediately instructed that we exit the highway in search of a Denny's or International House of Pancakes. But rule #2 for Grayson family travel is NOT to dine at a chain restaurant. So GPS Jon decided to turn her off and use sheer instinct to guide us.

It turns out that GPS Jon had a knack for finding just the right direction toward food. It's a good thing too as the 15 and 12 year old tummies were not in a patient place. There it was...just a few miles off of the freeway, Mel's Diner. Not the original from the movie American Graffiti, but it was kitschy and touristy. It’s just what we needed.

Boys were intrigued with the large Happy Days booths with an authentic juke box, but not to the extent of spending 50 cents to hear 'some lame old song'. They did enjoy over stuffing their stomachs with four buttermilk pancakes, three glasses of chocolate milk, six sausage links, two pieces of French toast, one giant chocolate shake, two pounds of hash browns and a six egg ham and cheese omelet.

With full tummies, at least for an hour in Owen's case, we were off to explore the city. First stop...Hotel Monaco. A Kimpton property that promised the finest boutique hotel experience. As the name of my blog promises, Hotel Snob expected the best. But before we were able to find the venue, GPS Jon decided to give us the Dodge Avenger tour of the city. I'd hoped to surprise the boys with a limo city tour, but the budget didn't allow. So former chauffeur, aka Dad, felt that the Avenger adventure would be as exciting. That it was. At least for the first 20 minutes or so. We guided through the rough street of the mission district to see how most of the world lives, then a quick tour of the boarded up buildings that held side doors that claimed the best of adult entertainment.

By this time, I was ready for a quiet nap in a fluffy bed. Jon obliged and made his way toward Hotel Monaco. But seconds later, out of nowhere, Errrrrrrpppppp sounded a horn from a massive fire truck. "Ahhh, Dad. Do you see that?" said Owen in his typical calm voice. Jon quickly looked out of the right window and saw the truck heading right toward us. With perfect reaction, he jerked the wheel of the Dodge, stepped on the peddle and nearly ran into a taxi who in turn greeted us with the Big Bird. "We're here," said GPS Jon. We giggled loudly from the back seat. "Yes, Clarke Griswold. We're here," I laughed.

Like clockwork, the valet was there to swoop away the vehicle. One of the reasons I chose the hotel. Free parking. Not to mention the nightly wine tasting and location one block from Union Square shopping. I've been very impressed with Kimpton properties for business travel. So it was a natural choice. The hotels in the popular Fisherman's Wharf area were either sold out or too expensive.

Yet the ironic part of staying at the Kimpton for this retreat was that the service was far less extraordinary as I've experienced in the past. This time I wasn't greeted with the attentiveness that I typically require. I don't mean to sound like a snob, but I really deserved this vacation and the front desk clerk and the concierge was getting in my way of an exceptional experience. Unfortunately, it didn't get any better throughout our stay but this story is not about a hotel bashing experience so my Hotel Snob persona will wait for another day.

Today I am simply travel mom. You know the fun one that likes to do all of the kids stuff. Shopping, tourist traps, cool restaurants and of course professional baseball. And what better way to experience professional baseball than a Giants Game. I scored amazing seventh row seats right outside of the opponent’s bull pen. My boys we're in baseball heaven. Cheap for Stub Hub standards and trust me I've purchased enough to know better.

Although the two boys and I have a mission to see every MLB stadium in the country, Jon had his fill of little league and big league baseball for the season. He had little interest in attending the game. Especially since it was forty degrees and misty. A bit too cool for his liking. He was a trooper and determined that we would forgo the car ride to the stadium and fight the torn up busy streets of San Francisco.

What seemed an hour on the road yet only minutes I'm certain, we found the stadium but no parking lots. I was admittedly tired and grumpy by that time when we finally pulled into a shady little lot for only $15.00. Grumpier yet when I realized it was about 15 blocks from the field. Then when we finally got to the park Jon realized he left the glucose monitor in the car. Not a good thing to leave behind with a hungry type 1 diabetic in tow. So the boys and I carved our way into the long line to wait for the doors to open while Jon took the long walk back.

Giant’s stadium is all that it's cracked up to be. One of my favorite ball parks. The view of the bay, the adoring fans, the heckling of the opponents, the stench of fried food. It just couldn't get any better. Until the Hot Chocolate man came down the aisle. And the orange panda hat that the boys purchased for me. Heaven. True heaven.

Yet the walk back to the car was the boys’ favorite as it was dark and a bit creepy. Owen's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw a minivan on the side of the road selling what was sure to be Official Giants knock off attire. Owen, being the savvy young business man that he is asked the young salesman "how much?" as we passed by. He knew how the game was played as he scored a pair of Oakleys the summer prior from a man carrying garbage bag on Canal Street in NYC. "Fifteen dollar...your choice," the man exclaimed. Owen shook his head and walked straight on past. "Yo Dude. Just like da ones in the stadium....only cheap. Authentic too.". We quickly walked past the man to our vehicle. “Mom, can we go back?” asked Owen chomping at the bit for a bargain. “Not tonight, Babe,” I said.

Stayed tuned……more to come.

City by the Bay

It just wouldn’t be right for a blog named Hotel Snob not to take a few minutes out of chaos to write about our recent trip to San Francisco. Although I’ve been to the city a few times for business and at SFO on numerous occasions for a layover, I never had the pleasure to enjoy and get to know the city by the bay.

The trip was impromptu. With our tight budget in this ridiculous economy, taking a family vacation seemed out of the question in the summer of 2011. But after a brief airplane collision with another Delta vessel in Chicago on a business trip a few weeks prior, I was presented with a beautiful thing - A travel voucher good for a domestic flight. The email haunted me daily as I reviewed my Gmail in-box. “Go somewhere – go somewhere – you deserve a vacation,” it told me. After quickly realizing that I hadn’t taken more than 8 hours PTO all summer, I decided to ponder what a trip might look like. “I could take one boy. That wouldn’t cost too much,” I thought. Yet, when I presented the idea to Jon, he immediately demanded that entire family attend the last minute get away. So with the blessing of 85,000 Delta Skymiles and a free ticket, we decided the trip could be a reality.

Family vacations are a priority for us. It gives us forced time together. We escape the hectic world of teen and pre-teen sporting events; car-pool journeys and other pre-planned rituals that seem to distract us. Plus, Owen and Eli have inherited the travel bug and desire to see the world. Although their young minds would prefer to see every major league baseball field in American rather than the South of France, they enjoy experiencing new cultures and how the rest of the world lives.

The Village on the Bay

We arrived in San Francisco just before 10:00 am on Wednesday. It was a gorgeous warm day without a cloud in the sky. Very unusual we are told for this city. Although it cooled in the evening, we had beautiful sunny weather throughout the vacation. With GPS in hand and a full sized Dodge something or other, we were off to Tiburon, a small community on the Bay. Jon and Eli visited the beautiful city of Tiburon last summer while visiting his uncle E.C. He loved the quaint village, its shops and excellent restaurants. It was an ideal location for us to explore the north shore of the bay. Plus, there was an In N Out Burger. The one destination requested by Owen. He’s an easy kid to please. It was clear that wine country with two boys was out of the question. That brief dream fizzled as quickly as basket of fries from the burger shop.

Photos don’t do the Golden Gate Bridge justice. We admired the hundreds of tourists hiking, biking and taking snapshots as we crossed the grand structure. The boys had no interest in joining the crowds so we continued on our way to the land of redwoods, artists and wealthy residents.

Day two and headache was gone. Thank God! Jon was itching to explore so off we went.It was a short 20-minute car ride to Tiburon where we quickly checked into our hotel room at the Tiburon Lodge. (An executive suite. I sweet-talked my

way into an upgrade. I wouldn’t call it the Four Seasons, but the room was decent with a kitchen, living room and large flat screen TV.) The hotel pool was lovely and refreshing for the day to unwind. Unfortunately, the poolside marguerite had a wee bit too much tequila. It immediately gave me a nasty 18-hour migraine. It was my own fault and I was out cold the rest of the day. Luckily,the boys and Jon were exhausted from the flight so we all hit the sack at 5:00 pm.

Mountains and curves and rocks, Oh my…

It took two attempts to find Muir Beach. Numerous friends and the guidebook recommended the venue. This was the one destination on my list. The GPS didn’t quite navigate us to the correct place. We quickly found ourselves traveling upwards on winding roads with sharp turns through neighborhoods of expensive homes. Quickly, Jon realized the following:

1. We had no… juice. (Which is a problem when traveling with a Type 1 Diabetic)
2. We had no…Dramamine. (Which was essential as I’d already threatened to vomit twice.)
3. We had no…jokes. (Our jokester, Owen stopped making us laugh.)
4. We had no…patience. (Our driver was fed up with all of it.)

After a quick lunch, a trip to Safeway and some clear directions, we were back on the road to Muir Beach. This time I was mentally prepared to take on the scary journey. After white knuckling the back of the car’s head rest for what seemed an hour, a near miss by a garbage truck and a VW golf playing Nascar on the sharp mountain turns with no guard rail, we landed in one of the most glorious sites I’ve ever seen, the Muir Beach Overlook.

The view was spectacular. A woman who has been blessed to see much of America and several other countries, I thought it was one of the most breathtaking views I’d seen. It rivaled Jamaica, St Martin and even Hawaii. It was worth the near death experience and nausea. Owen looked at me and asked, “Mom, do you think we can liver here someday.” I knew then that it had touched the heart of a fifteen year old. It was all worth it.

Stay tuned for the next City by the Bay entry…

Beautiful Day

The band U2 made it famous. At least it seemed based on the thousands of 40 somethings surrounding TCF Stadium on the U of M campus yesterday evening prior to the concert. Jon and I loitered across the street as we could clearly hear the band and see them on the large screen without having to invest the $200 just to reminisce our young life together.

One thing you learn quickly as a student at the U of M is how to navigate the system and find the hidden treasures such as free parking and hidden restrooms. We giggled as we walked through the campus holding hands like we were 19 again. Watching the other Gen X’ers pay $20 for parking and standing in a line 100 deep just to use a port-a-potty made me feel that my student loans a 4 ¼ year degree at a Big 10 school worthwhile.

The juxtaposition of the old and new landscape on campus was far more interesting than watching a band of old men play the same tunes I jog to on my iPod. The streets I spent so much time on in my young life are now riddled with Starbucks and other chain restaurants. But the mall holding the most prestigious old lectures halls hadn’t changed a bit. We had to sit on one of the long granite benches and admire the architecture and thousands of minds that had been shaped in the stone hot rooms. I felt as small in the vast beauty of the surroundings as I had so many years ago.

Thanks to my husband’s internal weather radar, he advised we move along after a few songs. We arrived home prior to the storms that washed out the other middle aged fans fun. Although it was so much fun to have a rare two hours alone with my hubby, the real Beautiful Day was today.

Beauty is not definable. That’s why it’s so intriguing. My gut tells me that most people would think that beauty means being an attractive person or an image such as a stunning sunset over the ocean. But beauty is so much deeper than that. True beauty has no description. You just know it when you see it.

Today was a Beautiful Day. A sunny, pleasant day at the Slice of Shoreview. There was a cool breeze, blue skies and no rain. I took my youngest son Eli and his friend “DQ” for an afternoon of goofing around at the community festival playing carnival games, eating junk and hanging out with his friends. Although I’ve been coined ‘a cool mom’ by my boys, I attempted to give Eli a bit of freedom – trying not to lurk about. But I have to admit, I was only steps away most of the time attempting not to stalk my own child.

As much as I’ve tried to give Eli his space, my motherly intuition told me not to leave him today. It’s a tough time in our lives as he’ll be going to middle school in just a few short weeks. Three years after his diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes, I know that its time to let go a little and give him some freedom to begin managing his disease on his own. But as a mother, it’s just so difficult. I still know the consequences of even a small mistake, but I also know that its time for me to grow up along side him. So for a few minutes, I contemplated leaving my young man at the festival with his cell phone and a few dollars. But, something in my heart said no! Don’t leave him. I’m not sure if it was God or Mother’s Intuition, but I stayed with him…at least in eye’s shot away.

Thanks to my intuition, it was a Beautiful Day. I thank the Lord that I was there when his blood glucose hit 25. The lowest it has ever been. The scariest it has ever been for me. After quick thinking, a lot of sugar and the calm voice of my husband on his cell phone, he is just fine.

My words to all of you today. Always, always, always follow your gut!!

So in the words of U2:

It’s a Beautiful Day.

Don’t let it slip away.

To write or not to write? That is the question.

Many of you have asked why I’m not blogging. I’m flattered that you enjoy my writing. It’s my true release. The characters and stories are still in my head screaming to be let out on paper. Some fiction and some real. I’ve dabbled a bit with editing my novel - even went as far as posting the first chapter to a forum of writers for a critique. That was a big step for me as I exposed my true passion to professionals.

The reviews were mostly positive. I was told by professional writers that I have raw talent and beautiful voice. Although my first time writer mistakes were revealed, most critics begged me not to give up. So I won’t. That said, my blog will have to take a nap for a few more weeks while i pull out the novel and continue the painful process of editing.

I have a few stories tucked away that I’ll pull out and post in the near future.
Thanks to all of you for your support.

Love,
Kris

What happened to A&W? An Easter question.

The windshield of the SUV fogged as Owen and I drove past the boarded A&W on Rice Street. It was cold and drizzly for a late April evening. We were on our way to watch Eli play a Little Baseball scrimmage. I wiped the windshield with the single Dollar Store glove that remained in the truck. The rest of the winter outerwear was already tucked into the front closet – not to be revealed until November.

“Owen, look! My A&W went out of business,” I whined.

“No mom, it’s always closed during the winter,” he corrected. It was a favorite summer spot for the boys to grab a quick cold root beer float after a game or long bike ride. One of the few drive-up restaurants left in the state.

Wiping a larger spot on the window to get a closer look, the small restaurant was clearly closed for good. The windows were boarded and a “For Lease” sign hung from the front door. My heart sank to think that another landmark from my childhood was about to bulldozed to make room for a shiny new CVS or Jimmy Johns. The landscape of north Rice Street had changed dramatically since I was a kid. And I hated it.

I have very few memories of childhood, yet walks up to the Marketplace with my best friend Kari are cemented in brain. We would scrounge up a few quarters out of my Dad’s top dresser drawer and skip to Dubers Department store to buy Willy Wonka candy. We were so young and life was so simple.

But the A&W had special meaning. It was the special Easter stop. The ritual was the same each year. Mom, Dad, sis Kath and I would attend Good Friday service at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church. The church was tucked just inside the heart of Roseville. Adjacent to central park. We grew up in the traditional Lutheran church. There weren’t many surprises. We sat is the same pew and sang from the same green hymnal week after week, year after year. Good Lutherans always sit in the back of the church. We were no exception.

Prince of Peace wasn’t the glamorous church in Roseville. It was modest and traditional, unlike the other large Lutheran churches that boasted the coveted production of the Passion Play and 5,000 seat sanctuary. As children of the church, we were expected to sit still, pay attention and sing loudly. There was little to entertain us as church is today. No live animals at Palm Sunday service, angels flying through the smoke-filled rafters and Jesus ascending into the sky as my children are accustomed to at church today. Church was simple. We were simple people.

Good Friday service included somber music and quiet prayer as we mourned the death of Jesus Christ our Savior. Tradition included silence as we exited the church and gathered our small family into the baby blue Malibu Classic. Out of respect to Jesus, we girls were strictly forbidden to speak in the car until we arrived home. For me, it wasn’t a problem being a quiet person by nature. Kathy, a bit rowdier by nature, attempted to get me to laugh out loud by making faces at me the entire journey. After a loud snort, my mom would give me ‘the look’ from the front seat. She couldn’t help but smile.

On Good Friday, we never went directly home after service. Dad made the traditional stop to the A&W on Rice Street. The empty gallon jug sat in the front seat between Mom and Dad. There was a 35 cent discount for refilling the root beer jug, so each year my Mom stored the empty vessel with the Easter decoration. Mom would quietly whisper to Dad as we approached Rice Street. “Don’t forget to stop at A&W. We have to make root beer floats while we color eggs.”

We sighed pulling into the oak tree lined street knowing that we only had a few more seconds of silence left to endure. The house smelled of vinegar and hardboiled eggs. My Mom cooked two dozen eggs earlier in the day to make sure that we would have plenty of left overs to make deviled eggs for Easter dinner and a week’s worth of egg salad for my Dad’s lunches.

The evening included the four of us dying eggs and sipping A&W Root beer floats out of tall gold glasses. We giggled wearing goofy bunny ears as we raced to make the most colorful and creative eggs. Kathy was the all time winner of “The Great Colberg Easter Egg Decorator.”

Owen laughed as I told him the story of my childhood as we passed the old restaurant. And I giggled last night as I watched my two sons color eggs with my Dad and Kathy, sipping root beer floats out of the same tall gold glasses. The A&W wasn’t out of a jug, but my Dad wore the Bunny ears and there were plenty of left over eggs for lunch. I hope that these great memories are as wonderful for my sons as they are for me.

See my facebook page for the photos.

Road Trip: Irish in the Windy City

We arrived downtown Chicago just in time for the St Patrick’s Day parade. It’s not an urban legend – they do color the river green. Owen and Jon decided to explore the city immediately while Eli and Hotel Snob decided to enjoy the Fairmont and its lovely view from our hotel room. After nearly eight hours trapped in the back of an SUV, I was ready for a fluffy bed and a comfy robe…compliments of the dreamy hotel.

Sighing deeply, I sucked in the warm air of a bathroom that included a deep soaking tub and separate shower. They beckoned me. “Soak, dear lady, soak!” screamed the bottle of bubble bath. We left our master bath stripped down to the studs for a quick remodeling job that has taken far longer than anticipated for a women who lives with three males. I entered the quiet sanctuary.

“Mom, look at the people out there with Green beads and hats. Let’s go. Let’s go,” squealed my little man. Good bye bubble bath. Hello windy city.

After spending far too much money on green garb, we spent the afternoon walking, shopping and laughing at the world around us. Pent-up stress washed away with the waves of the green river. For the afternoon, we were Irish.

Owen, my foodie, searched his ‘walking GPS app’ for the closest 5 star restaurant. Oddly enough, it was right in the lobby of our hotel. Fine dining is an imperative when traveling – even with the kids. And my kids have earned the right to eat well while on vacation as cooking is not one of my gifts. Part of the fun is watching the restaurant staff squirm as our quirky little family orders a sophisticated meal although we are clearly tourists – all dressed in Shamrock Chicago-wear. None-the-less we giggled our way through the Foie gras, Gnocchi with Parmesan foam and bacon infused ice cream with molten lava flourless chocolate cake. Not ten minutes after the enormous bill arrived Owen said, "Mom. I'm hungry."

It was a perfect day!

Road Trip - Day One

At 4:40 am, the dirty white SUV pulled out of the short cul-de-sac. I’d been out of bed for exactly 19 minutes. I’d gathered the belongs packed the evening prior and nudged the sleepy 11 and wide eyed 15 year old boys into the cool truck. My hubby entered the vehicle at exactly 18 minutes after the warning bell sounded from the annoying cell phone. His tardiness due to ensuring that everything, including the pug, was in order for our four day trip.

Spring break road trip. This is what the boys coined the 7 ½ hour car ride to Chicago. I dreaded the voyage for months. As a young girl, my parents ensured that I’d step foot in each of the continental 48 states. For weeks and sometimes months, my mom and dad would tuck me into the back of the Malibu Classic as we traveled the country stopping at every road trap possible to enhance the travel experience of a very young girl. The travel bug stuck with me, yet the distaste for spending more than a few hours in a vehicle at one time.

The mix of rain and snow fell on the truck as Jon pulled onto the freeway. The wind from the unexpected storm squealed through the windows as the SUV fled to from lane to lane. I had two choices: close my eyes and drift into a faint sleep or white knuckle my way through the storm. After a brief prayer for safety, I laid my tired head next to my warm young son and fell asleep. Jon and Owen, my two brave men, sat in the front braving their way to our destination.

I awoke about 3 hours later to see my fifteen year old son driving the roads of Wisconsin. “Oh dear Lord, not now.” I prayed. It was time for the white knuckles – yet the snow had subsided. Jon sat shotgun toying with the radio station. He had no concern of the young man’s driving skills. “What next?” I thought. On a well needed vacation, I decided to take a deep breath and pick up the People Magazine to immerse myself in the trouble of Charlie Sheen. At least he isn’t on an 8 hour road trip with a fifteen year old driver.

Jon decided it was time to take the wheel after the third toll road and suburban Illinois traffic heating up. Just in time for a quick bite to eat. The dreaded buffet…Hotel Snob’s nightmare. I was able to dissect that mass amount of canned food to find a few leafs of greenery. “On vacation…this if for the kids. Suck up the germ-a-phob for just awhile.” I thought.

Stay tuned for the green river adventure. Coming soon!!

il dolce far niente.

The sweetness of doing nothing. One of my favorite Italian sayings. A craft that Americans haven’t embraced. I’m no exception – with a life stuck in overdrive. Having the grand pleasure of spending time in Italy with my husband, we were able to experience a small taste of this lifestyle. Particularly as our bodies had not quite adjusted to the time change and Jon’s stomach didn’t appreciate the stores and restaurants being closed during the afternoon. Our convenience-ridden ‘have to have it right now’ lifestyle didn’t align well in Italy. Yet, it was a powerful awakening to the beautiful life of simplicity.

This weekend was brutally busy. It launched with a Friday evening pizza party followed by seven basketball games and little league baseball tryouts. All while my husband was on duty volunteering for the local basketball association. It was the typical mathematical exercise of determining precisely how to be in two places at once. Little did I know at the time that my years of College Algebra and an MBA would be put to use in everyday life. (Two Grayson vehicles leave the garage at the same time. One heads to the high school the other to the middle school….You get the drift.)

Sunday afternoon at 2:00 the madness was over just as the snow began to fall. It was clear that it would be a no plans afternoon. It took just minutes for the flurry to turn to a near white-out. The couch and the warm pug sat there calling me, “Sit down, relax and curl-up.” So I did.

Take time to celebrate the sweetness of doing nothing. Here are a few of my favorites:

1) Sitting in a hot car in the middle of July. Sucking in the steamy air. Who cares if people stare at you as if you’re nuts? Winter in Minnesota is far too long not to enjoy a good car sauna.

2) Waking up early to watch my children sleep. Although they are 15 and 11, they still sleep like infants. It’s more relaxing than Yoga and a perfect time to reflect on how very special they are.

3) Lounging on the couch with a big bag of popcorn and a Soprano’s Marathon. There is nothing more exciting for a writer than to escape into a world so unfamiliar. The stories develop like wildfire.

Remember. Live simply and enjoy the small things in life. In just a few years, my precious children will be adults. Someday I will look back on the madness with envy and wished I could have it for just one more day. I’m blessed with this time in life and savor every minute of it.

Hotel Smell in a Can

Have you ever wondered why hotels all smell alike? I’ve stayed in hundreds of hotel rooms for business throughout my career yet never really thought much about this. But this morning when I finally cracked open the black TravelPro carry-on from the trip to Phoenix this week, the smell exploded into my bedroom. It infiltrated the contents of the small case. My clothing, shoes and even the small make up case smelled of stale sterileness. Is there such a thing as "Hotel Smell in a Can"? I pondered this thought for a few minutes.

As I unpacked my belongings the scent reminded me of a time where business travel was a way of life. Being away from my family for days, sometimes weeks at a time. A time when my self-worth was based on the number of first class upgrades I’d received for the year and the “oh so close to Platinum Status” that allowed me to board the steel vessel before any of the other less experienced business travelers. A life that appeared glamorous and shiny from the outside. A life that I look back now on as empty and unfulfilling.

I have to admit that I still like the finer things in life. It’s a recognized character flaw. But what I’ve learned over the past two years is that it doesn’t matter whether you are in the Four Seasons in Maui or the Motel 6 in Detroit, the smell is the same. The sterile smell of loneliness.