After two buyers backed out and therefore unknowingly subjected themselves to an eternal curse from yours truly, someone finally bought our home. We made a nice profit and are in the process of buying a place in the boonies outside of Columbus, Ohio, though we may need the help of a personal loan, small mortgage, or if President Obama goes full Barack before January 20, a reparations check. (I mean…did you really think the labor that enabled the U.S. to become an industrial powerhouse was eternally free?)
But until we find a house, we’re living with Amber’s parents. The kids take the second bedroom and Amber and I sleep out back in the granny shack. The in-laws are gracious and want us around, but I know what our kids brings to their household: toddler fights, severe lack of vocal management, terrible toilet aim, and 3 a.m. screams for mama or dada (depending on which parent is in style at the time).
Thanks to Hotwire.com we were able to give Grandma and Grandpa a 30 hour break. We caught a $59 deal for a stay at the four-star Renaissance San Diego, which used to be The W until the cool kids decided they no longer want to walk to the bail bondsman’s end of downtown for $12 drinks at a beach bar.
We tried to check into our room around 3 p.m., but it was New Year’s Day, which meant hungover guests requesting late checkout. Rooms weren’t ready and we were added to a waiting list. This was disappointing to the kids but seemingly more bothersome to the angry, well-dressed young people who were also asked to wait. Like our boys, they don’t take well to being told no.
But I played it cool. The delay wasn’t the clerk’s fault, but she did have the ability to make things a little better, or, as the young mob would probably say, “Make us whole again!” So I asked for compensation for the trouble, and she gave us a $50 food credit.
We got into our room less than an hour later. It was a hip and accidentally kid friendly; they had shelving that the boys could hide in and a cot on the window sill that was great for jumping onto the bed spider monkey style.
After some roughhousing in the room and a visit from Amber’s friend, we ordered room service, which I almost never do because it’s a rip-off and I don’t want some dude who reminds me of Jeffrey from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air coming to my room. A plate of chicken tenders with fries and a skinny ass pizza took up $46 of $50 credit. Good thing it was house money.
Our staycation continued at Target, where we grabbed healthy snacks and managed to avoid the toy aisle. Afterwards, we bought Thai food from a carryout. I had never tried the place, but according to the Yelp it was good, and like Netflix, the ratings on Yelp are almost always right. Plus the cashier and I had difficulty understanding each other so I knew the food was authentic.
We got back to our room and threw down, using a bath towel on the floor as a “table” for the kids. Then we started the two-hour bedtime process, which typically begins with laughs and books and ends with empty threats: “LAY DOWN, close your eyes, or I’m taking all your toys back to the store.” This night was no different, though I felt better about disturbing the sleep of random hotel guests as opposed to the grandfolks.