decisions: funds, kitchenettes, & how to accommodate excessive teens

We knew Curly was dancing in Vancouver, but we had yet to decide who we would assemble as the tag-along cast-of-characters.  Before hammering out our decision, the block of rooms opened.  

I have no photos to accompany this somewhat
boring saga setting up the ensuing room-booking
drama, so I decided to toss this your way.  This
 is the scale aka my nemesis in the locker room
of my health club.  I believe the visible appendage
 is my arm.  I did not mean to take photos in
 the locker room at the club.  Imagine how
 incredibly grateful I am (and now in turn
 you are) that there were no naked women
milling around in the background.  That would
have been embarrassing - especially if these
 imaginary women THOUGHT I
 was taking their photo.  Lawsuit or
club expulsion dodged.  Phew.

Really the decision amounted to this:  spend a gross amount of money and travel as a family to do touristy things when Curly’s dancing duties were complete, or invest enough to still make my dance-mom head spin and just take Curly the dancer and Mini the supportive-sister as my faithful travel companions and do very few touristy things.  Decisions, decisions.  Or more simply:  funding, funding. 

Booking a hotel in the Irish dancing block for these competitions is nothing short of stressful, aggressive, and frustrating.  Opting out of the reserved block results in paying a penalty.  Missing the initial offering means choosing from a hotel in a subsequent block once extra hotel rooms are scraped together.  Been there, done that.  

Again:  irrelevant photo.  Tank this morning
(clutching a wad of cash in his fist)
after a rather muddy landscaping instillation
 of a new garden for some new client.
  He netted over a grand, so he was muddy
AND happy and since he is opening the
fridge here:  HUNGRY.  What else is new?

So, it makes sense that I began my research into what hotels bragged about what amenities the night before the damn block opened.  I am nothing if not ill-prepared and frazzled on the regular.  What can I say, the last minute lifestyle such as mine leads to an often miserable existence, but I am rocking it.  Sort of.  

Namely I longed for:  kitchenette, or just a microwave, or just a fridge, or all of the above in some kind of glorious combo.  These details rank as the most important for a goofy, budget conscious, celiac suffering mom who travels with as much food as physically possible.  

I was also moderately interested in how close the hotel was to the venue.  Last year’s dance-bag-left-in-the-cab nightmare is still painfully fresh in my memory.  Had I been awarded my own reality TV show weeks before the lost-bag incident, I would be writing this from my new digs in some exclusive island resort where I would now reside with my family as millionaires.  Sadly, Irish dancing schools are barred from said island, and Curly has retired.  Wink, wink.  Yes, the ‘incident’ would have come across as THAT entertaining had it just been captured by some seedy, go-for-the-jugular TV producer.

I discovered in my I-just-want-to-go-to-bed research hours when I cussed myself out for not investigating earlier, that one hotel had a kitchenette and separate bedrooms.  Apartment style.  This would be ideal to let teenagers sleep late or allow them to stay up later than those family members who are not nocturnal.  Of course I was still not 100% sure excessive teenagers would be in attendance.  Since it was clear as mud, and not about to get clearer - I went to bed ready to try for a room the next day.