Chicago.

by Brittany on September 1, 2010

I can’t remember how old I was when we stopped taking family vacations.

I know it was after a road trip to Alabama, when my dad accidentally left me behind on a military battleship tour, and I peed my pants, because I am 60% sure I saw a ghost, and when they finally found me in the galley, I had a knife in my hand and no pants on.

I think my parents fought through four states on the drive home.

After that, we didn’t go on family vacations anymore.

We talked about them a lot.

Traveling here or there.  Seeing something or another.

But, the money was never there.  The plans were never made.

Eventually, my father stopped leaving the house.

Family vacations became something I dreamt about.

One day, I’d have my family, and we’d travel all over the country.

We’d go to Disney and Yellowstone and the Alamo.

We’d have suitcases covered in stickers from all the places we’d been.

And then, I had kids, and realized how much easier it was to sit at home in my underwear, drinking wine and watching the travel channel.

Suddenly, my childhood was making sense.

Then, over the course of a year, I’ve started traveling.  Every month, schlepping my suitcase to a new city to explore.  Eating amazing food, making amazing friends, taking pictures of places I never thought I’d see in person.

And, as I was eating some sort of marinated meat on stick, on the corner of 57th and Broadway in New York City, I thought, I want to show my kids this.

So, we planned a trip to Chicago.  Just a weekend away.  A tester.  To see if the kids could handle the experience, and to see if I could get through it A. sober and 2. without murdering anyone.

These are the random thoughts I jotted down from that journey.

1.  I had to explain to Jude, in a rest stop off the Indiana turnpike, what the bloody tampon floating in the only working toilet was, and that just because there was blood everywhere, nothing had been murdered.  Unless, of course, you count his innocence.  And my ability to eat soup.

2.  Hotel beds are almost always better than your stupid civilian beds at home, even if there are potentially giant bugs in them.

3.  Elevators are stupid and scary.

4.  I hate doing the tourist photo dance.  You’re at some important point of interest.  You want a family picture.  You look around.  Does anyone look nice?  Is there another family near you wondering the same thing that you can look at, smile, and exchange telepathic “let’s helpsies” messages with?   No?  What about that guy over there?  Do you think he will say yes?  Oh wait, this teenager just asked if we wanted a group shot, except he looks like the Van der Sloot kid and he will probably steal my camera.  Not on my watch, murderer.  Wait, I’ll ask this old lady, they are notoriously helpful, wait…is she homeless?  Yes.  No.  Wait yes.  Ugh.  I refuse to ask the homeless to take a family picture.  It’s rude.  They aren’t the concierges of outside.  FUCKING FORGET IT.

5.  Wyatt and I in the elevator.

Wyatt: *singing* I don’t love you guys, none of you guys, not any of you guys…

Me:  Um… are you talking about me?

Wyatt:  Nooooo.  I loooovvveee you.  I’m talk about, um, other guys.

6.  The Rainforest Cafe serves three purposes.   To justify overcharging you for shit food by sitting you next to rubber wild animals.  To teach you nothing about the rain forest, except that for $30, you can get a cherry icee in a reusable cup with a giant tiger head and swirly straw.   To make sure that, thanks to a sudden jungle thunderstorm, and subsequent vicious wild animal uproar, your children never sleep again and flinch like an abused puppy whenever Diego comes on.

7.  There was a homeless man in line behind us in Walgreens.  We were buying milk, and he walked up behind me, carrying a small container of milk and a small box of cereal.  He had a handwritten sign asking for help, tucked under the one arm that he had left.  He smelled at least a week out from a shower, and I closed my eyes, willing my children not to stare or say anything.  They don’t understand yet.  I decided, in my head, to pay for my milk and then just leave the change from my twenty to cover the man behind me.  Then Gigi toppled over and smacked her chin on the corner of the counter, bit her lip, and was bleeding.  I reached for her to fix things, Andy paid, and shuffled us out the door.  I turned around quickly to see him through the window paying for his things with change he was counting out of a his palm.  I hated myself.  I cried the whole walk back to our hotel.  I should have turned around.    The next day, I gave money to every person we passed.  The woman in a berka asking for help for her children.  The man on the corner playing the saxophone.  But, none of that made anything that had happened the night before right.

8.  Jude likes cabs.  He calls them cash cars, because you give them cash, and they agree to drive you anywhere you want.   As we walked along the sidewalks of Chicago, Jude kept flagging down taxis.  They’d stop, ask us where we needed a ride to, I explained to them nowhere, and then they’d curse at me and drive away.  On our last day in the city, after a long day at Navy Pier, we agreed to a cash car.  Jude was ecstatic.  As we sat in a traffic jam, in 90 degree weather, in our air conditioning-less car, Jude threw up.  Everywhere.  It was the most expensive cab ride ever.

Navy Pier

chicago

chicago morning

Gigi and Me

kids in cabs

walk chicago

chicago nightlife

Next month we leave for Toronto.

I look way cuter drunk when I’m wearing flannel.

I can hardly wait.

{ 35 comments }

Biden

by Brittany on August 27, 2010

If I’m pregnant, it’s Joe Biden fault.

It’s not his fault that we never went back and did the post vasectomy test.  That was mainly just laziness on our part.  And logistically, well, the whole thing just sounded entirely too yucky for me.

It’s also not his fault that my period is wacky right now and it’s freaking me out, even though it may totally just be a result of returning home from a weekend of estrogen in NYC that’s tampering with my moon cycles.

So, as a safety precaution, I was just  gonna go ahead and not do it for a while.

It will be like when I pretended I was a virgin before we got married the first time around.   Even though Andy was like, that only actually works if I’m not the one you’ve sleeping with for eight years.

Where’s your imagination, Andy?

Then comes Biden.

Andy came home from work early.  Which almost never happens, because it’s summer, and if he is out of the office at all during daylight hours, he heads to the golf course.

But, he came home.

Which was jarring, because I have Brittany stuff that I do during the day, and I need warning.

So I can, like, hide wrappers, or wipe bleach off my lip.

And, he was totally all lovin’ up all over me, and I’m thinking, dude, no.

There is something amiss with my lady cycles, and there is no way I am gonna open this up for business until I know for sure I won’t find myself camped outside the Rite Aid at 7am in 14-28 days, looking up pregnancy symptoms on Yahoo Answers from my Blackberry.

What are you doing home?

The Vice President came to my work today to tour the place, and then he sent us home early to go be patriotic in this pretty weather while he and his handlers chat it up with the big wigs.

And, your version of being patriotic is rubbin’ all up on me?

Yes’um.

No.  We should go buy a flag.   It’s crazy we don’t have one.  I’m sure that’s the more patriotic thing to do.

Nope.  I tried to buy one last July and you told me there was no way you were going to let me drill a hole in the post to hang a flag because you weren’t feeling stars this year.

They’re just over played, that LA Ink girl has them all over her forehead, that shape has clearly jumped the shark.

Right, regardless, he sent us home early, I shook his hand, told him I was going to go take care of business with you, and drove straight home.  Well, not straight home because I stopped to get us smoothies.

I’m sorry.  That’s weird, because it sounds like you just told the Vice President you were coming home to have sex with me.  For…America?

I did.

He high fived me.  It’s odd when grown men do that, but yeah.  He seemed jazzed.

How do you even argue with that?

I mean, I don’t want to have sex right now, because it’s going to be next to impossible to chart things and not worry something is off, but dude, I’ve basically just been drafted.

So I had to.  Because I love my country.  And freedom.

And, you know what, this all just figures, because I’m pretty sure I already jinxed myself last week.

I keep diapers all over the car.

Size 4 under the driver’s seat.

Size 2 in the glove compartment.

Size 5 in the center console.

You just never know.

Sometimes the kids might need one.  Sometimes I might need one.

So, like I mentioned, a week ago I started my period two weeks early.

I had already used the tampon I keep in the car to apply eye glitter the week before, and I hadn’t replaced it yet.  It was still sitting in the cup holder, but menstruation is already busy enough, it doesn’t need to sparkle.

So, I used the size 1 under my drivers seat.

My last size 1.

It was so tiny and soft.

And gone.

I was sad about it for, like, four seconds.

I don’t know.  I just feel done.

Maybe it’s maturity, or my career.

Either way, I’m at a point where I feel complete, and there are things I want to do with my vagina that have nothing to do with placentas.

Except now…I have to wait.

For Joe Biden.

For America.

{ 47 comments }

Songs.

August 24, 2010

Because only good things come from the conversations you have on long car rides after the kids fall asleep. You remember what our song is, right? I think yeah, it’s that song by Salt and Pepper right? Salt n Pepa? Whatever, the one you always sing when I tell you I’m going to mow the [...]

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Totally Smooth.

August 21, 2010

So, as you may have heard me make mention, I recently got back from a trip to New York City. New York is one of my favorite places to travel, because I love hot dogs and unidentifiable rashes. It’s like dinner and a show! Anyways, this last trip was particularly awesome, and while I could [...]

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A little help from my friends.

August 18, 2010

I keep saying I’ll wait until I love myself. A little bit thinner. A little bit tanner. A little bit more like this crazy memory I have of myself eleventy billion years ago where I thought, for a moment, I was beautiful. Months pass. Months of dieting. Months of working out. Months of me looking [...]

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Hairy.

August 16, 2010

Sometimes, I like to pretend I am a hair stylist. It’s one of those jobs I always wished I had, much like being a teacher so I could decorate bulletin boards or a marine biologist so I could be tan. Never mind that other people’s children annoy me, or that the ocean is a giant [...]

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4am.

August 11, 2010

In my experience, nothing extraordinary ever happens at 4am. When I was a teenager, it was sneaking back into my bedroom window before dawn, praying my mama wasn’t waiting in my room threatening to send me to a convent where they don’t allow push-up bras or wine coolers. In college, it meant drunk food at [...]

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When the cat’s away…

August 10, 2010

I’m not sure what Andy thinks happens when I travel. I imagine he fancies it some sort of non-stop slumber party. We spend all day in our underwear, eating cupcakes, dancing to girly music, having tickle fights. The reality of traveling with me is much less glamorous. In fact, as anyone who has ever roomed [...]

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Medicinal Purposes.

August 6, 2010

I have moved with children three times. I hate packing.  I hate unpacking. Every unpack, everything changes. Kids are more mobile.  Taller.  Sneakier. Cabinets are latched. Breakables go up higher. Things are hidden a little bit better.  A little bit smarter. The other day, after we carried the kids in, asleep, from a stellar day [...]

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About aging.

August 2, 2010

*You can find this rant in vlog form below.  I’m in the tub.  Again.  Yeah, I know. Barring some form of sudden disfigurement, I don’t ever want to get plastic surgery on my face. I saw some surgery show once when I was little.  A woman was getting her jowls tightened and they peeled her [...]

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