Written by Emily
Ever since the fateful day I saw a compelling news piece about the smears, splatters and terrors lying in wait around hotel rooms, I’ve been wary of my vacation digs. Add to that the sensational media coverage on bed bugs, and I’ve got a cocktail of crazy bouncing around my brain before vacations. Oddly, I still like staying in hotels; it’s the getting away of it all that gives me a euphoria or rush of serotonins more powerful than even my strongest, most irritating superpower: Germ Sense.
When I arrive at a hotel, I calmly turn down the comforters. I move the decorative pillows that have no-doubt been sacrum support for a nude lounger. I wipe down the remotes that have been palmed and licked by the rotavirus itself. I avoid letting my skin touch upholstered chairs that were definitely straddled by ladies of the night; I mean classy escorts.
And then I can relax. And I do…or I did.
Now I have children. Before I even enter the hotel bedroom, this happens:
By the time I release my grip on the suitcases, my children are building a fort with the decorative pillows, making themselves human burritos with the comforters and testing the rug fibers with their tongues.
I used to gasp in horror. I used to get shocked into a kind of catatonic state.
Now, I will my Germ Sense to power down.
Now, I exhale. Maybe it’s exhaustion, but let’s call it something else, something that sounds like a fancy parenting strategy.
I’ll wait until my cherubs try to get a hotel room after prom for the whopping $43 they can collect before I terrify them with tales of the things hiding on the pillows they’re carrying around in their mouths like dogs. If that doesn’t get me the Mom of the Year award, I have no idea what will.
If I feel myself beginning to lose control, I try to remember these tips for surviving a hotel stay with my brood.