Thursday, July 13, 2006


I have so many great vacation highlights to share with you all, but as I am apparently smack dab in the Sylvia Plath period of my life, I will share with you my meltdown. I only rue that I did not have an entourage filming it; it would have provided you with some comic relief.

You know me: I am anal. I live with ADD and it is okay because it only requires me to live a structured regimine that would seem a bit confining to say, Patton. And the challenges of leaving Seattle Albuquerque (my God did it rain there) for San Francisco (new time zone, new week, new hotel) were very alleviated and very managed by me because Walter and Peggy allowed me to use their home for two days before departure as an all-u-can-eat-and-laugh laundromat.

I had every bit of clothing washed, impeccably folded, and packed away. All ready to be opened, shiny and new, at the hotel in San Francisco. Granted, it would be at 11:00 at night, cranky baby and all, and freezing cold, but BY GOD THE CLOTHES WERE CLEAN.

I opened suitcase number one (mine and Olivia's clothing) to find that formula had exploded from the baggage handlers suitcase-flamenco dancing. Suitcase number two, opened by Jake, showed that Eric's tin of Poppycock had blown apart as they threw that suitcase on the plane after they had put it through the vice, a la Three Stooges.

I don't know if you have ever actually seen a woman systematically throw every piece of clothing in a hotel room, accusing God of persecuting her and her alone (because He does that sort of thing using glazed popcorn and Enfamil as His Equipment) then dumping out a suitcase in the hall while her husband calmly calls housekeeping. And if you have witnessed such a meltdown, then you know that the next day, her family is happy to have her sane again, even if that means they are cruising around San Francisco in clothing that has dried formula and nuts encrusted into the design.


Walter said...

Choose which comment you like best:

1) I wish Eric had captured it on a video camcorder.
2) Damn Three Stooges!
3) I hate Flamenco dancers! A bunch of skinny dweebs!
4) Damn Poppycock!
5) I think everyone should be grateful you didn't strangle anyone.
6) What's the matter with you? It wasn't about the laundry. You got problems, girl.
7) Damn airline!
8) Damn San Francisco!
9) It was that incessant rain in the New Mexico desert that started it all!
10) Thank God for housekeeping.
11) Hotel security! Code Red! We need a Prozac spray for Room 424. STAT!
12) Room service, if the lady in Room 424 orders anything, douse it in Valium.
13) Well, at least she's not a dull traveling companion.

tracy said...

Laura had asked me what the possible lesson in all this could be and I think I got it. My mom once told me when I was stressing out that I did not have time to get my house clean the way I like before guests were coming that you do not get an A for a clean house. I think it is the same for clothes. In the end they are just all dirty again, no? Walter I loved your comments. I wish I could have seen the new Poppycock/Enfamil encrusted logo. I am sure there is a cleaver wacky package name for it, but it's 11pm and I just got my kid to sleep, so funny right now I am not. But I am sure the clever people that write this blog could come up with one!

Jack said...

I wish Eric had captured it on video.

I think it was the air pressure. Uh, where these unopened cans of enfamil? That would imply some serious presure or tap dancing.