I don't care how . . . I want it NOW!

This weekend starts a week of fresh air, beer swilling, no brain cell using vacation.  Our escapes from the reality of our day to day lives are pretty laid back, but this one will be epically relaxiating.  

Even so, there are always arrangements to be made . . . and I do the all the prep work.  It makes things oh-so-much easier with no input from hubby.  Basically, because he freaks out at the slightest little thing . . . . the result of which being that if he  gets stressed out the threats of vacation being cancelled erupt.  Let’s face it he’s a big freakin’ baby.  But he’s mine and I love him.

I pack my clothes, provide him with a basket of pre sorted clothing to choose from for him to pack (it gives him the feeling that he’s contributed to getting ready for the trip), gather snacks, coffee fixins and the like.  That way everything is ready to go when . .. . well . . . we’re ready to go.

This time the loading of the truck went flawlessly . . . everything in its place, nothing amiss and . . . most remarkable . . . no hissy fits.  It was really and truly amazing.  In the interest of full disclosure . . . he did forget his coat but we were only a couple blocks away from home when he realized it and it was a quick turn about and retrieval with very little excitement.

The trip itself was as good as it gets.  We hit the usual traffic in the usual spots but nothing major and we made the drive from Connecticut to the White Mountains of New Hampshire in 4 ½ hours . . . not bad considering it’s taken us as long as 8 hours . . . but typically around 6.

We arrived at the motel . . . the White Trellis . . . our home away from home.  What we see when we pull into the parking lot sets the tone for the next hour or so . . . some was parked in his . . . yes his . . . parking space.  You see, this place is really is  our home away from home and we have our own room . . . really!  Room #8?  Yeah, that’s ours every time we visit . .  . which is several times a year.  There are assigned spaces for each room and some Masshole was parked in ours.  Now, take into consideration, it is winter there is snow on the ground, it was dark and you can’t see the space markers.  It matters not . . . car . . .  in his space  . . . a travesty.  Thus begins the downward spiral to poopheadedness.  Me?  I’m all like whatever there’s another space just as close to our room . . . premium parking, in fact.

We got out of the truck only to be greeted by our cheerful innkeeper, Mary.  She showers us with hugs and kisses prior to taking our credit card and giving us the password for the wireless internet connection.

While I’m paying the bill, he begins unloading the truck.  We haven’t seen Mary for a few months and there is much to catch up.  It’s late and all I want to do is settle in and have a beer and relax.  By the time I manage to say good night, hubby has the truck unloaded and well on his way to grumpiness.  “I could’ve used a little help,” says he.

I roll my eyes and help bring the rest of our stuff into the room which he has piled outside the door.

As a side note . . . any place we stay the minimum requirements are a clean room and access to the interwebs . . . not much else matters.

We got into the room and it was like 80,000 degrees in there.  A new digital thermostats had been installed with the controls locked out and we couldn’t adjust the temperature.  The grumpiness level is beginning to spike.  But, he hacked it soon enough and that crisis was over.

Whew.

However, we he tries to get his laptop connected to the wireless router it won’t connect.  Keep in mind that I booted up MY laptop, plugged in the password and I was surfing the world wide web right off the bat.  Also, besides his laptop he brought his tablet and he got that connected right off, as well.  And his mobile phone has internet access.  He’s got a plethora of technology at his fingertips.  But he couldn’t get his laptop online and the world was coming to an end.

“That’s it”, says he “I’m going home.”  (Really he said that!)

Incredulously I say, “You’re going home?  Right now?”

“Yes.”

“You have internet access.  You can Facebook, read blogs and catch up on the news to your heart’s content . . . what’s the problem.”

“I can’t play my games on the tablet . . . it’s slower than dirt.”

Okay . . . we’re in the White Mountains surrounded by majestic beauty, marvelous brew pubs and stuff to do no matter where you go and HE is worried that he won’t get the high score in Bejeweled Blitz or Zuma.  Can you say addicted??

Picture this . . . an 8 year old child stomping his foot and crying, “I’m taking my toys and I’m going home.”  That will give you an accurate picture of the tantrum I was facing.  I decided the best course of action was to ignore him and he’d get over it.  So, I  just continued enjoying my beer and browsing the web.  He finally got his laptop connected and all was right with the world.

We wake up the next morning to a blue sky filled with poofy white clouds and a view of snow spattered mountains.  Not a bad way to start to the day.

in lieu of an apology, he justified his fit of temper saying, “In my defense, everything went perfectly getting here.”  Like that in any way justified him acting like a big giant baby with a droopy, poopy diaper and a raging case of diaper rash.

Welcome to my world.