I decided to save some money and not valet . . . until I drove around the parking garage in search of a vacant spot and decided it might be easier to convince Curly to quit dancing than locate a spot. I surrendered the additional $8 a night for the valet service.
|This was our gear. The microwave is hidden|
in the canvas bag under the blue
blanket with the white polar bears on it.
The Bellhop brought us into our room, which was a suite. Similar layout to Embassy Suites, but bigger. In case my worst fears developed into a reality - plenty of place to camp out in the large bathroom should Mini and I started vomiting.
It is these kinds of things that a Mom who has 'been there' thinks of, especially under the current puke-possibility circumstances. About 7 years ago, Mini puked every 12 minutes all night long. I was in St. Louis in a hotel with the 4 middle kids for an Irish music competition. The bathroom was standard issue aka small. She slept on the bathroom floor all night. I didn't sleep, which made the drive back to St. Louis a scary, death-defying activity.
Anyway, the Bellhop gave us some weird speech about which lights to turn on first in the morning based on the light-bulbs that were being used. Some would be super bright and we would not want them on in our 'zombie mode after just waking up.' My guess: he missed his calling to work in a hardware store. It was odd, but just the kind of thing Curly could not stop imitating every time someone switched on a light.
Before he left, Curly pointed out the smell. I smelled it too. It was NOT GOOD. It may have been cigarette smoke, but someone had sprayed enough perfume-ie Febreeze to hide the odor of elephant dung. So who knew? I asked Mr. Light-bulb if this was a smoking room. "Nope, this is a smoke free hotel." I could have figured that one out considering microwaves translate to fire hazards to them for God's sake.
I had to pee. Bad. I wish I had demanded another room at that point, but I didn't. Instead, Mr. LED left. I peed and set up the microwave and made dinner. My headache returned with a vengeance. I assume it was from: 1. per-Thanksgiving cooking and baking, 2. packing , 3. skipping sleep with a puking kid, 4. stress. I was thrilled that I thought to pack cans of soup for Curly, who was bummed that she didn't get to eat my sloppy Joe's.
I unloaded three days of food into the fridge. I decided to put ice in the cooler to cool the applesauce, juice boxes, and water bottles that didn't fit in the fridge. After leaving the room for a minute to get ice, the overpowering smell of cigarette smoke hit me in the face. I moaned.