Several Small Annoyances, One Big Bad Mood

While preparing for our road trip to Disneyland (tomorrow!) I decided I would call and confirm our hotel reservation.

Bad idea. This started a string of several small annoyances that let to one big, bad mood.

After waiting for over 10 minutes on hold with the Walt Disney Resort phone number (this was the number listed under the Disneyland Hotel on their website), it turned out I had to call the hotel directly.

After another 10 minutes on hold for the reservations department at the hotel, I somehow was switched to the automatic survey that questions you about the call you just had. But the thing is, I didn’t just have a call. I was on hold listening to annoying Disney music, which I now realize will be echoing through my every waking, and sleeping, moment for the next few days.

Now my blood pressure has significantly increased. As those child-safe swear words are coming out of my mouth (you know the ones – “sugar” and “darn” and “geez” – not nearly as satisfying as the real McCoy), I try one more time to reach their reservations.

After going through the operator and still waiting on hold for 5 or 6 minutes for reservations, I get through to someone. But this person suddenly has problems with her keyboard when she is trying to help me. She had to put me on hold again.

At this point I really wanted to get in my car, since I was on my cell phone anyway. I have to take my dog to my dad’s house so they can watch him while we are gone. I have a long list of things to do and I’m hoping I can multi-task to make up for the fact that “Call the hotel to verify adjoining rooms” just turned into three times as much work.

In preparation for the car trip, I go get out my Bluetooth and turn it on. BUT, I hit the button one too many times and I proceed to hang up the line.

@#%$#*$%!!!!!

Now I am extremely annoyed and want nothing to do with any of my kids that are at this point peppering me with questions.

Why are you so angry mommy? Who are you calling? What did you just say? Where are you going? Can I come?

I really want to beeline out of this house so I can take the dog sans kids. My son is napping and my daughters are occupying themselves so my mommy radar says the timing is ripe.

I let my mother-in-law know that I’m going to take off. She wants to take a quick shower before I go so I decide to give it another go with the hotel while I'm waiting.

And what would happen in the next 5 minutes? My son wakes up early from his nap, hollering his lungs out (see previous post for more details), and my younger daughter decides she's coming with me.

Sigh. I was so close!

Meanwhile I get bounced around again while I’m on hold. I then try to get a sippy cup ready for my son and negotiate with my younger daughter so that she can get dressed before we leave the house.

Aaaaand I’m still on hold.

After all this frustration on the phone with the hotel, I dial the operator and give her my tales of woe with my son crying in the background for bonus points. She then tries to get someone on the line herself, but still can’t get anyone from reservations. After 10 minutes of waiting, she finally asks me what I need. Then she proceeds to answer my questions in 10 seconds or less and we are all done.
Don’t you love it when that happens?

Meanwhile my son wants nothing to do with nothing, and is just alternately drinking his juice and crying.

I announce that I’m leaving and after realizing that my son will probably not be happy either way I just say ‘screw it’ and take him with me as well. He’s still in his pajamas and could use a dry diaper, but at this point I’m already 40 minutes behind schedule so I’m not stopping.

The car gets loaded up with the dog and his belongings, my daughter and her necessary snacks, my son and his tears, and we are off.

About 5 miles in to the 60 mile roundtrip I realize that my tank is closing in on empty. Crap. Add 15 more minutes to the trip.

A saving grace arrives in the form of my daughter falling asleep just before we arrive at my dad’s house.

After the drop off I jump in and head back home. At this point my son has been in the car for about an hour and he’s ready to get out of his seat. I hand him some chapstick to keep him busy.

He then takes the chapstick and beats on his sister’s head with it, since she has gone noodle-neck and is hanging her head right in front of him.

She sleeps on.

I giggle.

And then I advise him to stop pestering.

Now he gets a bit cranky, but I’m easily ignoring it. I just want to power through and get home for lunch.

Right as I pull off the freeway at our exit, my daughter starts stirring. As soon as she is conscious enough, she starts with the I-have-to-pee feet swinging. This is her telltale sign that I know too well. But I resolve that I am too close to home to stop.

I ignore her while talking on the phone with my sister. Then I acknowledge her needs and try offering distractions, but she’ll have none of it. She just wants to cry and whimper her way through it.

We arrive home and I run around, get her out of her seat and we make haste to the bathroom.

Phew! We made it. She didn't pee her pants. Or the car seat.

I really didn’t want to deal with cleaning a car seat today. I still have to pack, cancel the newspaper and the mail, pay some bills, find someone to pick up my child’s school registration packet and a number of other odds and ends. No time for extra chores today.

I head back out to get my son out of the car. He’s screaming for immediate release, so I unbuckle him and let him squirm out of his seat.

Only to notice that he has indeed been the one to pee his pants. Or more accurately, he peed his over-filled-because-I-can't-be-bothered-by-it diaper. And, of course, his car seat.

Fabulous. I can add that to the list of things to do afterall.

Woohoo.

Let the vacation begin.

But the way I see it, it has to be a good week, considering I’ve done a week’s worth of work in the two days leading up to the trip.

And it is the happiest place on earth, right?

Where better to find my happy place?

Well, I could think of a few other locations, and there aren't any oversized mice with big ears and shit-eating grins that live there.

So be it.

Mickey and Minnie, here we come.