Travel Archives - Page 19 of 38

Hyatt Diamond Status and Real Life

Hyatt Regency Indian Wells Hospitality Suite Dining Room Table

I could talk about both – real life and Hyatt’’s Diamond Status, that is. Let me address dealing with our real life on the road first. Earlier today I received some unsettling news. I wish the yummy breakfast or the fact that the boys were finally sleeping in a room they were not sharing with their parents was enough. It wasn’t. I tried to push this news aside and to tell myself, “hey, we are at Disneyland. You have all the free Zen tea you can drink, because there is a Starbucks inside of this hotel.” Nope. My manipulations did not work either. Instead I decided I must face this unsettling information head on. I spent two hours on our hotel couch and another two in our hotel bathroom trying to make sense of it all. Somewhere between hour one and hour four I reminded myself, “just because you are on the road and having fun, life does not stop.” It didn’t and I did my best to address it. The cool thing about traveling during these moments is spaces are small, people are moving and time is limited. Take the time to address things and then remember to put them aside so you can enjoy the ride.

Now on to Hyatt’s Diamond Status: In the interest of full disclosure I can tell you that a perk of living in the same hotel for a very long time is that you will eventually achieve top-tier elite status. In particular, Hyatt’s top tier, Diamond, comes with some very appealing perks. I am still deciding if the emotional consequences of four people living in the same very small space to get the status was worth it. Yesterday, I thought the long Emeryville Hyatt House living was worth it in exchange for our very cool Anaheim Hyatt Regency stay. The free breakfast was awesome and our room upgrade rocked. Today I am on the fence.

Currently we are staying at the Hyatt Regency Indian Wells Golf Resort (Palm Springs). We do not golf, and are staying at a resort built around a very large golf course. Kyle keeps asking, “why do they build resorts based on such a boring sport?” Oh son, if you only new.

The Desk and Eli's Sleeping Area — The Desk and Eli’s Sleeping Area

Currently I am sitting in chair in our hotel suite living room. And after starving all day (really, all afternoon), and then inhaling a most bizarre Whole Foods strawberry, chia seeds, almond and coconut milk pudding concoction, I really may puke. I am actually serious. I may literally (not figuratively) barf and I am hoping it is red. Here is why I am hoping I barf red. I think the Strawberry will help. See, after seeing the red barf picture my friend just posted on Facebook, and after witnessing a young girl vomit red all over Disneyland last night, I want to go three for three. So vomit you had better be red. Ew! And in my super pukey state, Eli keeps asking me stuff and more stuff: “Mom, come here. Mom, I need the password. Mom, where do I put my dirty clothes? Is this my allergy medicine? Mom!” I feel bad, because I keep grunting and then shooing him away. Poor teen. He has no idea his mom is about to puke. (by the way and later on, my stomach settled. There will be no three for three, at least, not tonight.)

Alas, as I sit in this very large hospitality suite I ponder our current reality. You see, one of the perks our Diamond status affords us is room upgrades. We also are entitled to Club Room access where available. I will let you know how the Club Room food is. And tonight we hit the crazy mother lode of room upgrades. If only they had upgraded us to the $1,000-something-or-othe-dollar-a-night villa [wink wink] – if only. And even without the villa upgrade, this particular room upgrade is something I am having a hard time processing. First, when I say large, I mean, really, really crazy huge! Regarding the décor, even though the room is circa 2000, it feels more circa 1986 in a fancy Ferris-Bueller’s-grandparents-sort-of-way. I feel the urge to make a highball, martini or smoke an unfiltered cigarette. Our crazy room contains glass coffee, end, and lamp tables, a giant wooden dining table, wooden furniture, vases in all shapes and sizes, a china cabinet, two desks, an office, yes, an office, complete with a computer that was quite fancy when it was new, two slightly gaudy bathrooms, two new television sets placed in old TV cabinets, all sorts of lights on set on dimmer switches, a make-up area between the bed and the bath. I love the space. I love all the chairs. I am mixed on the outdated-ness and disappointed with poor use of all of this space. For starters, we only have one bed. Yes. One bed! We have everything you COULD NOT imagine, enough space for a very large family, yet only one bed. Seems impractical, and we decided to give up our giant room and asked for a room with enough beds. To our surprise, when we asked to move to a room with enough beds, the girl giggled and said, “these are the only suite types we have.” I am not sure that is true, but that is what she said. We now have two rollaways. Eli’s is in the office and Kyle’s is behind the couch.

“Mom, you need to write about this place.” Kyle says. Now I am.

The third Diamond Perk is late check-out. I think this is my favorite perk. We do not have to exit the hotel until 4:00 PM. Tomorrow until 4:00 PM, we will bask in the grandeur of our room and maybe even enjoy a large meal at our huge dining room table. Perhaps I can get the outdated computer to work, or maybe even sit down while I apply my mascara in front of the oversized make-up mirror.

By the way our room is so big that when I scream for Dave he does not hear me. Wait. Maybe he doesn’t hear me because he does not understand lady voices [wink wink]. I love this man!

Moments later I hear Dave in the other room, “Oh there is a yoga matt here.”

Sidebar: the Hyatt Diamond challenge (how we got fast tracked to diamond status) stay 12 nights in the next 60 days. You get diamond status for the rest of the year, plus 6000 bonus points. To get enrolled, you have to be sponsored by a hotel. The sales manager at the Hyatt House in Emeryville signed us up.

Sidebar: free tea refills at Starbucks with the Gold card

Sidebar: the perks of Hyatt diamond (as-available room upgrades, free club access or breakfast in hotels with no club, late checkout, bonus points, 4 guaranteed suite upgrades, various other perks at the discretion of the hotel, such as free parking.

Tagged : Hyatt Diamond / Perks

May the Fourth be with You, and Maybe not you, Disneyland

by CrazyUsMay 5, 2015May 26, 2015Family / Travel / Travel Photgraphy / Travel Tips / Travel With Teens

Good thing we did not have any idea how the day would end when it began.

“May the fourth be with you, Kyle.” I laugh and say out loud. Kyle and I are currently leaning against the wall of California Adventure’s Toy Story Mania ride while we wait for Dave and Eli. A sea of Star-Wars-shirt-wearing theme-park goers stream by, which of course prompts me to ask, “Kyle, doesn’t Disney own Star Wars?”

“Yeah.” He responds.

“I thought so.” I say.

And then I ask, “How do you spell, yeah?” (That is really where my thoughts went next and that is really what I asked him.) “Is it, “yah?” or is it, “yea?”

He turns his head toward my ear and slowly utters the letters, “y – e – a – h.”

We both laugh.

Stilling waiting and still overwhelmed with various Star Wars T’s, I still cannot see Dave or Eli. I know they are somewhere in that winy, long line. While thinking of our impending ride, which is basically a moving video game, I say, “Dad always wins Toy Story Mania, (and he did again today — twice).“

“Yes. Yes he does.” Kyle, not looking away from his phone, replies. And because Kyle is about a foot taller than me, once he does look up from all things iFunny, he can see Eli and Dave. ,”Hey look, they are way over there and are a half an hour away,” (more like ten minutes).

Wait. Let me back up. Moments ago Kyle and I walked to the California Screamin’ ride. We were supposed to meet Dave and Eli there. They ran ahead to get California Screamin’ Fast Passes. And after relieving myself I was relieved to hear that Dave and Eli had moved on and were waiting for us in the Toy Story Mania line. As Kyle and I walked to catch up, we both realized and then said out loud that we were a little nervous to let anyone know that we were at Disneyland — again. Truth is we go to Disneyland often, and here is why. We have Season Passes. A friend whose parents live in Southern California recommended buying them years ago. Season Passes cost the same (approximately) as paying full price for three days . This is our second round of Season Passes. And because we happen to be in LA, we thought we should use them before the Summer black out days are starting soon.

So today we are at Disneyland.

And moments before Kyle and I tried to find Eli and Dave at the Toy Story Mania ride, our Uber driver (dude wearing hipster glasses and getting a masters in English), dropped us off at the front entrance to Disneyland. As we neared the end of our trip, he sheepishly announced, “you are my first ride.”

To which Dave boldly responded, “You’ve done well.” To which I wanted Dave to say, “live long and prosper,” but that is a Star Trek colloquialism, not Star Wars, so really not appropriate for May the fourth, right? Instead Dave followed his uber-driver-you-have-done-well with a, “we will make sure to give you five stars.” And Dave quickly followed his fives-stars comment with, “We know how important the ratings are?” Yes. Ratings are what seem to drive humanity. Nevertheless, and kind of an aside, interestingly enough, $4.00 is the total we paid from our Hyatt Regency Garden Grove hotel to theDisneyland front gate. In contrast to the Disney Anaheim shuttle, which is $4.00 a person. And another complete aside, if you’re a Diamond at Hyatt, which we happen to be, because the Hyatt House Emeryville is the hotel we have been living at for enough days to qualify us for Diamond status, stay at the Hyatt Regency when you visit Disneyland. As they say, “we treat you like royalty,” and they mean it. Ask for Keyonna. She is delightful and wise. Be nice to her and I promise she will take care of you.

Back on track and now trying to undo the chain so we can stand with Dave and Eli, in the spirit of the day I hear, “Have you ever had a Wookie cookie?” I hear Dave and the boys laugh, and am too busy thumbing all these words into my tiny phone screen to look up. Then the answer, “They are kind of Chewie.” I am not sure if the additional laughter was true enjoyment or conciliatory, but the next words I heard were chastisement, and those words were directed toward me.

“Scotty relax!” I say in good fun to Scotty, the friendly Disney sweeper, who just chided me for texting instead of paying attention to his chain trick and accompanying joke. What he didn’t realize and why should he, is that I was actually writing his joke while he was telling his joke. “You missed it!” He hollered and then laughed.

We moved on and then I heard Dave announce, “Ok. Seven more minutes.”

“What? Of course!” I respond, because I assume Dave is using an iPhone app to estimate the line time.

“We will see how accurate the line estimate is?” Dave continues.

I turn around and as Dave (gently) swats Eli away, I ask, “Dave, is there a line estimate app?”

“Yes there is, but I have deleted it.” Dave responds.

“How are you estimating the line time?”

“The signs.” He says.

Eli places the yellow plastic pair of 3-D glasses on my head and continues to bump into me. Is it because I am not paying attention, looking down and typing feverishly into my phone? Probably.

We are almost at the front. Thank god Eli wants to ride with me. Dave will win. We all know he will win. Eli puts his arm around me and says, “I am going with mom.” Then he whispers into my ear, “then we can tell Dad you won.”

Somewhere along the way, the ride stops working and the targets for our silly, pull-the-string-to-shoot video game guns stop working.

I tell the Disney lady and she hands us four “re-ride” passes. I am grateful for the do over and I begin to think of all the ways someone can game the system and why gaming the system really takes the joy out of freebies and do-overs. I think of the words I tell myself in these moments, “Be nice. Don’t take advantage. Don’t vulture. Don’t demand! And mostly, do not place the proverbial hair in your food to get a free meal. Bottom line. Do not act entitled and Do not be shameless. The end.”

Literally thinking about my hair-in-the-food metaphor reminds me to ask Dave, “Did you make a dinner reservation?”

“Oh no!” Dave says.

“What’s the restaurant called?” I ask.

“It’s the Cafe Orleans.” Dave responds as he opens the Disneyland website on his phone. We cannot got to Disneyland without Monte Cristos.

“You can tell them you are Gluten Free.” He contines.

“Really?” I ask.

As Dave makes his online reservation, I think of all the haters, and I want to say, “Sure, you can make fun of gluten free people like me. Alas, when you are really Celiac, or as I say, ‘not fake allergic,’ it is a relief knowing that people will accommodate. And in truth, it is awesome to be accommodating even if you are say, simply not in the mood to eat Gluten that day.” I am glad I could tell them gluten free in advance, and yes it made a difference.

Our day continues. We plan on being at Disneyland until 10 PM (like we always do). I sit by Dave for our Toy Story Mania re-ride. The game ends with Dave winning, and me saying, “You’ve never gotten the beaver?” To which Dave says, “I always get the beaver. Sometime I get the cat.”

We find ourselves in Disneyland. In truth we started our day in California Adventure. And as Kyle and I find ourselves walking side by side again from behind we hear, “This is longer than I would wait for a Dole Whip.”Those are the words uttered by the hipster dude behind us, and he says them as he eyes both our Dole Whip and the super long Dole Whip line to our left. Kyle and I laugh. We laugh because we know.

“This is longer than we would wait too.” See, the quickest way to through Dole Whip line is always going in to the Tiki Room turn-style entrance. Outside of the turn-style you may wait thirty minutes, while inside you wait five. You don’t have to watch the show. It is simply another line to the yummy Dole Whip deliciousness.

Ok at this point in our Disneyland day I want our story to continue. We just finished both the Winnie and the Indian Jones rides. I could tell you how hilarious it was to ride that very slow paced Winnie-the-Pooh ride that scared the something out of both boys years ago. And I could tell you about trying to find Dave in the Indiana Jones line. He was racing back from getting Space Mountain Fast Passes. I could tell you how helpful the Disney folks were in reconnecting Dave to us, but I won’t.

Alas, moments after we left the Indiana Jones ride, and did not think twice that Dave was unable to get Space Mountain Fast Passes, we arrived at Thunder Mountain Railroad. The dude said, “this ride is closed.” We thought, “Oh no. Not another broken ride.” And then happily we worked our way over to Tomorrowland, snapping a billion selfies along the way. If we must, we were ready to wait in the long Space Mountain ride. As we walked up to the Tea Cups, a ride we always ride (even though it makes poor Dave sea sick — what a good sport), we heard, “Disneyland will be closed in five minutes,” or was it ten minutes? Regardless, and whatever, when does Disneyland close at 7:30 PM? And why didn’t the many friendly Disney folks warn us? Planet Disneyland was running at full-speed and then it came to a crashing halt.

Disneyland. I am not buying your, “We-only-stay-open-for-spring-breakers excuse. In the future and be warned. Check the hours before going to the park.

Boo! Disneyland! So not cool!

An Ars Poetica to Travel Writing

by CrazyUsMay 1, 2015May 26, 2015Family / Travel / Where Do I belong?

As Eli and I sit in the huge hotel dining room amidst the new construction and amber-colored dangling glass pendant lights, I think about travel. I look around and listen to the sounds. People are traveling here from everywhere. There is the Brazilian family I see each day. This morning they are sitting near the coffee makers. They are laughing as the father butters a toasted bagel. I wonder what is so funny. Moments later I walk through the dining room with a banana-for-my-oatmeal in hand and hear the not-quite-German-sounding voices of three men, who I assume are Russian. As I look at one of the men in particular I am drawn to his obnoxiously printed black and white v-neck tee. The words I hear in my brain are, “I want to go to Prague, (which yes, I know is actually in the Czech Republic, not Russia).” And that is how it always starts. I see or hear something, that gets me thinking and my conclusion is always, “I need to check that out.” This morning it was, “Could I take the boys to Prague the last two weeks of May? Prague is safe, right?” My brain immediately shifts to Miles and Points mode. I literally see the American Airlines online award screen in my head. And yes, it is American Airlines, because they have the most user friendly Awards Miles interface, and I think we have enough AA points saved up to get the three of us to Europe. I see the screen and I think, “How can I make this work?”

Breakfast now finished. I grabbed some mint herbal tea for the road. Hotels always seem to have some brand of mint tea. Today it is Tazo, one of my favorites. As we leave, I stop and tell the lovely Polynesian girl with her big, long ponytail that, “Yes, there is no more Zen Tea. I know. I am always the one who tells you.” She stopped wiping the table and looked up and in her super easy-going-friendly voice said, “thank you.”

“It is our last day.” I said.

“It is?”

“You will not have to hear about the Zen tea anymore.” I laughed.

“Oh no. You are always so nice. We will miss you.” She responded.

“You are sweet.” I said.

“Not everyone is like that.”

“Well thank you.”

She told us to enjoy our trip home as I thought, “she has no idea that we do not have one.”

Here is where I need to stop, and here is where today’s issue lies. Yes, it is no secret that I love travel. I basically told you as much in my fist paragraph. My issue here is that so much of my (past) writing has been solely based solely on working out issues, whether they be fertility issues, mean girl issues, or parenting woes. I feel bad and wonder. Because I have used an online platform to ruminate out loud, has my real passion (travel) been missed? See, I am even doing it now. I am trying to work through how my travel love is watered down when I write.

Don’t get me wrong. Feelings talk is good. And when I talk about my feelings, I process. There is a place for feelings talk when it comes to travel. That being said, I have spent many years writing out the feelings, and what I see is that as much feelings writing I do, I will never have control over how someone else feels about. And what I see and felt in the hotel hallway this morning is that unlike feelings talk, travel does not keep repeating itself. It gets better and it moves forward. It really is an adventure. Ultimately, travel makes me feel possible. I can plan a trip and then I can go. The end.

Eli and I walk in the elevator. “There were more people than usual at breakfast today.” I say. He pushes the elevator button. “I think it is because it is the weekend.” He answers. The elevator stops. The doors open, we exit, and head back to our room. Somewhere between the elevator and our room I think it again. “I love to travel and I love to write.” I think more about writing. Wait. Wait. Hold up. Ok, so before you fall asleep reading this and while I fight the urge to go back to bed myself, can I tell you something? You see, I think I had an epiphany. And in the upheaval of vagabond-living a.k.a. homelessness, an epiphany is something I need. The epiphany happened while I was both rounding the corner and scolding myself. Eli, of course, had no idea I was scolding myself, because the scolding was all in my head.

Ok. Maybe I did not scold. I admonished. I told myself this, “Beth, maybe if you write out all the whiny stuff, you will write about what you really love – travel. And that whole ruminating thing you do, well, that can simply be an entertaining (or not) aspect of your adventure.”

Maybe it was simply something I saw, like a loud black and white v-neck T, or maybe all of this is on my brain because I am helping read essays for a scholarship in his name. Or possibly it is because I thought of him after my friend Jody, emailed pictures of my poems from his Creative Writing and Poetry class. And then there is the whole truth that National Poetry Month ended yesterday. Whatever it was, my very favorite creative writing teacher’s loud German-accented words entered my brain. “Write the garbage out and then you will find the beauty.” Once again I was having my own little Archibald-Machleish’s-Ars -Poetica moment right in our hotel hallway, “A poem should not mean/But be.”

We were almost to our room. As I reached for my key card, Eli grabbed his and said, “I’ve got it.”

Tagged : Travel / Writing

A Birthday Present, Albeit Belated

by CrazyUsApril 29, 2015May 26, 2015Family / My Three Cents / Travel

I have been an up and down all-around roller coaster of emotions for several days. The obvious reason is my birthday. I hate getting older. I love being remembered. I hate worrying about being remembered. I do not like being the center of attention. I do not want to be forgotten. And then there is current reality, which is the fact that we currently do not have a home. Here is where my over abundance of empathy gets in the way. Being weighed down by all the other peoples’ shoes I try to walk in paralyzes my joy. I get swept away in the reality that sure, I may live in a hotel, but I can afford to pay for the hotel. I have a bed to sleep in and clean running water. I was not just blown off a tall mountain or had a roof collapse on my home. I am not fighting for my rights, or worried about losing my home. I just do not own a home, that is.

And here is how this very post began. A couple of days ago, really almost a week, I looked at Kyle and said, “I am giving myself a birthday present.”
“What is it?” He said.
“I am going to write on my blog every week day for a year.”
“That is really cool, Mom.” He responded. “I think you should.”

That was last Thursday. My birthday was Friday. I was in Utah until Monday. Now it is Tuesday, I mean, Wednesday.

Still living our vagabond-hotel-room existence, this week I sit in Emeryville, California. I am staring out the window at the condos across the tracks. And between the condos, train tracks, and me, a billboard sporting a scary cow cartoon face screams the words “The more you know, the more you Clo.” For some reason, I want a glass of milk, which is completely weird, because I am allergic to dairy.

Yesterday, our first full day back in California, I made the boys suffer through a room move. Our non-smoking room reeked of cigarettes and the door separating our two rooms had a broken hinge and would not shut. Doors need to close, especially in small spaces.

Today, Eli’s foot is swollen, possibly broken, as a result of making contact with the hotel door last night. Housekeeping wanted to clean our room so nearly three hours ago Kyle and I deposited Eli in the hotel lobby. We instructed him to call if he needed us, and we let the friendly hotel staff know that Eli was there. Then Kyle and I went in search of lunch. Sick of Rubio’s and also Fuddruckers we made our way to Trader Joe’s down the street.

As our very handsome African American cashier placed our groceries in the bag I provided, (of course because this is California) I could not help but wonder about Baltimore, about riots, about race, and about cultural divide. The Emeryville Trader Joe’s resides between Oakland and Berkeley. I am literally standing on the line between hippies and street gangs (stereotypes included for effect). As I stood in the grocery store line watching our good-looking cashier gently load our shopping bag, I can see my friend’s white upper middle class mom roll her eyes as she asks, “[insert silent “ew” sound here] Emeryville? Why Emeryville?”

Oakland, CA is literally an arms length away. I can probably walk to Oakland in five minutes. Of course I think the changes Oakland has made are super cool, but I also hear the words of a local homeschooling mom ringing in my ears. “Everyone here would kill me for saying this. I live in Oakland and the black people make it hard. There is so much crime and I do not feel safe. If they heard me, they would think I was a racist. I do not think I am.”

Like Baltimore, Oakland has highly concentrated African American population and struggles with the consequences of generational poverty. Dave and I have spent many hours walking and talking about the issues of the day and the intersection of social class, poverty, and race that divides us. When people are oppressed, stuck, or do not know how to move forward, they do what they know. And I think the homeschooling mom was trying to say, “poverty equals crime, right?” It is easy and shortsighted to blame a race, a religion or a gender. And it may even be true that in Oakland, CA, that more African Americans break into cars or shoot people than white people. Why is that? How did we (we meaning all of us) get here?

Our car was broken into. Dave’s friend, who lives down the street, has seen four shootings. As humans, we like to self-segregate, and to be around people who are like us. Coming from Utah to Oakland has certainly given us an opportunity to expand our interaction with people of different social classes, and the experiences are neither 100% positive nor negative. As I stood there chatting with our handsome African American cashier, I wondered how he feels about the labels and the weight of cultural expectations that separate us. It is no secret that he is black and I am white. I actually wondered if it was ok to ask. “What do you think about Baltimore?” I wanted to say it, but didn’t. How do you start a conversation when you shouldn’t? Maybe he does not care. Maybe he is sick of being asked by every white person. I am not sure. What I know is we talked about sugar, about why I bought so much fruit. “I am cutting down on the sweets.” I said, and it is so hard.
“I totally get that.” He responded.
He told me that he was also feeling hungry, then looked at my food selection, and picked up my no-chocolate-included trail mix and said, “this will help you get through.”

Lunch is done. We are back in our room. The sun is shining. Eli’s head faces mine as we face our respective laptop screens. Kyle is sitting on the couch approximately ten feet away. I assume he is doing his homework. I ask. “Kyle, are you doing your homework?”
“Yes. I have been doing my homework,” he says as his sits up and looks at me. “A famous Youtuber makes from once sponsored video as much money as someone at an entry level job makes in three years.” Then he pounces on Eli, who is now standing next to the couch. I ask them to stop. They both scream.
“Ok. Bye.” Eli snaps as he stomp limps out of the room.

Tagged : Baltimore Riots / Race / Segregation

School On The Road Sucks!

by CrazyUsApril 14, 2015May 26, 2015Family / Travel / Travel Photgraphy / Travel Tips / Travel With Teens

Me and My Boys, San Francisco, April 2015

We are not famous! We are not rock stars! My sons are not the Jonas Brothers, and thank God neither one of them is a Bieber! I often wish they did, but alas, my boys do not have private tutors, those tutors that often seem provided to children of rock stars, rock star children, and famous people! We are the Adams Family. And my children are the sons of high tech entrepreneurs. Gah!

Today’s point is pretty straightforward:

Doing Homework on the road sucks!

More specifically, trying to accomplish any kind of schoolwork, appointment making, or responsible adult behavior during a transition (rock-star-living [wink wink]/move/extended travel/homelessness) is complicated, at best.

Let me expound, or better, clarify. Because I mentioned the limbo-ness of our limbo in my last crazyus.com post, some of you may already know that we are in limbo. Yes, we are also in limbo and yes, limbo also sucks, and our current limbo also requires us to do homework on the road. Additionally, doing homework on the road has given us the opportunity to learn (at a cellular level) how much our internet-home-school literally (ok, not literally), is crushing our soul! And it does, in this crazy, everyday-bi-polar-roller-coaster-of-emotions – crush our souls, that is.

High fives to every homeschooler and homeschooling parent out there! Really! My hat is sincerely off to you! The boys do not like online school (an understatement)! And I am not a fan.

The Boys Making Paper Airplanes From Our Current Hotel Room

Every single online-school-day is met with a litany of “why I cannot do my homework today” soliloquies (really, dramatic monologues). “No, Eli! We do not have a dog! And he did not eat your homework!”

“Start what, Kyle?”

“MY HOMEWORK! Mom. Seriously! Your breathing is so loud! M’AH’OM, STOP breathing! [insert Kyle’s own exasperated breathing and eye roll here] Fine! [slams laptop closed] Now I am going to have to start all over again!”

“[insert my own deep breath here] Kyle, I appreciate your need to get yourself [air quotes] in the perfect space [end air quotes]. I hear you. Consequently, I acknowledge that the indisputable fact that I am alive and breathing most definitely interrupts, better ruins, your perfect homework space. That being said, all is not lost. Rest assured, my firstborn son! You can still do your homework. Kyle, count to ten and breathe. Here is a snack and some nose plugs. Put on your headphones and start your homework NOW, damn it (and yes, I probably said, damn it at least once or twice)!”

Thankfully Kyle finds his happy place almost every time, and begins.

Once he’s settled, I put on my headphones, turn the music up loud and race to open my laptop. I have homework to do as well. I login to my class and find the day’s assignment. As I begin to read I hear a shrieking,

“Eli. Eli! Stop. Give me my phone back! Eli! My phone!”

As if our hotel room has now become a boxing ring, I command, “Boys. Boys. Back to your places!” Completely ignoring me now the punches fly, the shrieks are now shrill, and are coming from Eli,

“K Y L E, I think you broke my neck! Mom! Mom! I cannot do my homework! I think Kyle broke my neck. Look. You don’t want to look. I know you don’t want to look. I am going to bed!”

Eli stomps off. I take my headphones off, breathe in, and in my head I repeatedly quote the Biblical phrase, “there is a time and a season…” I tell myself, “Beth, this is the time to help your boys. They need you. Your school will wait.”

I let go and breathe. I think about personal growth and imagine the most awesome TED Talk I could give after all of this. Ha ha!

Another day passes. Ultimately, the week’s homework is crammed in on a Sunday evening.

And today, a Monday, I ask my boys how they like online school. “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes.” I say.

They both respond with an emphatic, “No, we do not like online school.”

Moments later and as he throws paper airplanes made out of hotel stationary, Kyle responds and I quote,“ I will deal with the [online school] homework because of our situation and I love our family.”

Kyle leaves the room to take a shower, clear his head, and relocate his perfect space.

Eli asks, “Mom, Mom. Can I take my break now? It has been forty-five minutes to an hour since I asked last time.”

“Yes and you took a lot of breaks during that time.” I respond.

“Oh. Ok, do you want me to work a little longer?”

“Yes.”

Then Eli walks over and gives me a hug and goes back to work.

Every single day this is our routine.

Today. Waiting in the Lobby While Our Hotel Room Is Cleaned

Our school is good. It is an online charter school. The boys have a different teacher for each class. They can take honors classes and are knocking off crappy high school requirements, which they would equally hate taking at a traditional school.

Recently (since January 31, 2015, to be specific), limbo means that our family lives in a hotel. And the hotel has been in some very cool places like Rome, Barcelona, Collioure, Carcassonne, and Toulouse, France, Emeryville, CA, Murray, UT and in a few days, Moab.

We did not simply end up here in four months. See, way back when Dave took this San Francisco-based job (nearly three years ago), we assumed we would simply pick up and move to San Francisco. Because of the fluidity and unpredictability of start-ups our San Francisco move did not immediately happen and is still up in the air. At first, we continued living in Park City. Dave continued commuting to San Francisco during the week. The boys continued attending school in Salt Lake City (a half hour drive from Park City). And I continued driving them there each day. A little over a year into Dave’s new job, I decided it was high time to finish my last semester of college. I enrolled in school, which started this crazy daily commute. Once I dropped the boys off in Salt Lake City, I drove myself to Provo, and then sat in classes with lovely college kids much younger than myself. After class I raced back to Salt Lake City, pick up Eli just as his school was ending, then race over to Kyle’s school, and we would head back to Park City. It was much easier when we moved and the commute was Salt Lake City to Provo for classes.

Kyle's Journal Assignment For Art Class — Kyle’s Journal Assignment For Art Class

As far as online school goes, however, soul-crushing is not an over exaggeration. And here is the soul-crushing online school I am referring to. I completed four other college classes already. I have two classes left. My senior seminar class is already done. It was a class about Critical Theory of the Memoir. It was a most awesome perfectly suited Beth class. I’ve learned about poetry, how to write critical literary theory, and how to rock a survey British Literature class, and was scheduled to graduate on April 24, 2015, which also happens to be my birthday. How cool would it have been for me to finally graduate and for me to also graduate on my birthday? Insert every kitschy-cliché here, because, yes, a super awesome gift graduating on my birthday would have been! Consequently, I do not feel special. I feel weird. I have these two classes left hanging over my head.

Because we are all limbo-like, I opted to finish these last two classes online. I have not started them. April 24 is ten days away. I will not graduate on my birthday, and yes, I am having a hard time holding my head high. I think of holding my head high and it keeps trying to fall. I think about my boys. They are my world. I think about how hard this transition is for them. I am proud that they are suffering through all of this online school business. And it warms my cold dark heart when Kyle offers a, “I do it because I love my family.” I get misty every time Eli walks over and says, “I think you need a hug.” Just like Kyle, I love my family. I want to graduate and am sorry that I let one semester of college hang over my head for so long. I have repaired a lot of damage by going back to school. Just the act of cleaning up my bad grades, getting myself readmitted to school and completing four other classes has healed big parts of who I am. I went back to school because I want to show my boys that yes, even old ladies can finish what they start. As they watched me drive from Park City to Salt Lake City then down to Provo and back before we moved, maybe some of my tenacity rubbed off. Maybe facing my own past will help them face online school now. I hope so. I know our unpredictable life is not so common. I also know that I would not have it any other way. Limbo life is weird.

Tagged : Homeschool / Homeschool while traveling

The Space In Between The Spaces

by CrazyUsApril 9, 2015June 12, 2015Family / Travel / Travel Tips / Travel With Teens / Where Do I belong?

We, the Adams Family, are living in a hotel. Yes, you read that correctly. For thirty-one days, Dave, Kyle, Eli and I have been sharing approximately 463 Square feet of space. Each night the boys trade between a comfy foam floor bed and a sleeper sofa. As long-term guests our room is cleaned twice a week, and we call often for more toilet paper, bath towels, and clean sheets (clean sheets because the sleeper sofa is often skipped on cleaning day). We are grateful we have a nice place to rest our heads, and have only suffered one casualty – a broken car window and stolen laundry supplies via a smash and grab (soap, stain remover, and color safe bleach – may your clothes be very clean, and you not bleach your colors, you most irritating thieves).

We checked in to our hotel Sunday evening, March 08, 2015. And for the first time, we are not just visiting the Bay Area, we are trying to live.

Here is what happened. Or better, here is what made my brain wheels spin, and my center of gravity consider a reconfiguration. It was early in our hazy-lovely-dream-scary-nightmare-of-constant-around-the-clock-power-drill-construction-work-and-one-bedroom-hotel living. Dave updated his “where I live” Facebook Status from Park City, Utah to Emeryville, California. And before I could object, (because this hotel is temporary, damn it), one of our well-meaning friends replied, “Emeryville?” And whether true or not, I sensed her Emeryville was also followed by a very loud and of course all-powerful, “ew.” Her words continued, “I thought you were going to live in San Francisco. What happened?”

Yes, What happened?

I wanted to respond, “No, Facebook Friend. See, Dave was downplaying things a bit. We actually bought a 6.5 million dollar Pacific Heights three story, which is of course within the actual San Francisco city limits. He only said Emeryville because we did not want to sound pretentious.” And maybe for a moment I wanted it to be true. I wanted Pacific Heights to be our space.

Alas, we did not purchase a Pacific Heights three story. We are not living within the San Francisco city limits. Dave does not have a hipster beard-grooming budget and my heart did not grow three sizes this past month or even today. That is not our journey.

We are living in a hotel.

With my defenses heightened, instead of reading her words as a sincere question, I admittedly interpreted her Emeryville comment as public condemnation. Judgment, and the words I heard were a sneering, “You said you were going to live in San Francisco, not the crappy little industrial town that sits on the east side of the Bay Bridge –E M E R Y V I L L E! Ew!”

Before I said something I would have to delete, I asked Dave why. “Why did you say Emeryville? We aren’t living anywhere. We do not know where we are going to be or even when we are going to be there?” With that, he deleted his “where I live” status update, but as I found today, his “where I live” page still says, Emeryville. “Hey Baby (of course I am referring to Dave), we do not live in Emeryville!”

The space between the spaces is where we live and where we continue to be. Until now, during a time when I am acutely jammed between one situation and the next, I have not been able to articulate my space. How do I make people understand that Dave does not work a traditional brick and mortar job? Does it matter? We simply do not move to San Francisco, buy a house, the end. We have been in this space before we arrived in Emeryville, and will be in this space once we leave. Because my husband is a high tech entrepreneur, we tend to live on the fence of life. Until now, our in-between-the-spaces living has been fine. It was the road we traveled. And because I tend to be a person who likes to keep all options open, in truth, I think I am well suited for this road.

Then we arrived in Emeryville. After thirty-one days of hotel living, (not traveling living), I realize that I need more. (And maybe finally, because finally something is actually pushing me out of the in between).

The Toaster Oven we bought online and had delivered to our hotel

As I reach for my own solid place to land, I started thinking about the word “liminal.” It is a word I was introduced to last year. And according to the OED, it means “occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.”

I learned about the spaces in between the space in my American Literature class. I was up to my eyeballs in literary theory and analysis, and my professor happened to have a keen appreciation for literary spatial theory. In that world, liminal space refers to the space in between; whether it is the actual space, or say the space between words. As prophetic as this concept seems now, I can tell you that Literary Spatial Theory made absolutely no sense to me. None. I could talk about it. I thought it made sense. That was, until the words left my mouth. I was often met by glazed confusion or utter dismay. “The space between the spaces? That is nonsense!” I wrote papers about space. I wrote about Silas Lapham, a man whose unending struggle was his difficulty moving from one social class to the next. He never fit into either. Ah-ha! He was stuck in the space between the spaces.

How the boys put the towels away. Muwahahaha!

I get you, Silas Lapham. I am trying to find my place. In my case it is actually a literal space. I do not like living in no man’s land. And really, liminal seems a term best suited for college papers, not my real life. Another definition of liminal is the state between rituals. I like this definition, and promise to cite it here – if I remember. The OED goes on to suggest that during a ritual’s liminal stage, participants “stand at the threshold between their previous ways of structuring their identity, time, or community.” And our threshold apparently is a hotel room in Emeryville, CA. Emeryville is not a shitty East Bay town set at the end of the Bay Bridge. Well, it is a town set at the end of the Bay Bridge. And these days it is actually pretty nice with its fancy outdoor malls, overpriced condos, and Ikea down the street. Emeryville is our space. And right not, it is the place between the spaces, a place where we are trying to figure things out. And it is a place where our new ritual begins – wherever that happens to be.

Tagged : Liminal / Resident / Tourist

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Category: Travel