Home for the Week

This week I'm working from home, and it's a nice change. I really love the company I'm working with right now, I just wish they weren't clear on the other side of the country. Burger, Zippy, and hubby seem happy to have me at home, and it's so good to just get to be here.
My parents are in town this week, and they don't know that I'll be here, so it should be a fun surprise for them to get to see me unexpectedly - my mother's birthday is this week, and I really wanted to be here to see her, and I'm so pleased I was able to make it work.

Don't open the window!

Okay, so it's a crappy photo taken with the camera on my phone. It works, though.

But I wanted to open the window in my hotel room, so I called the front desk to ask about it. Apparently, guests in this hotel are not supposed to open their own windows -- if you want them open, you call the desk and they'll send housekeeping up to do it. My room is on the second floor of the hotel, and my window has a wonderful view of one other wall of windows and two walls. There's a roof or something about eight inches below my window (you can see it in the background of the photo). So I can't figure out the need for someone to give me help - it's not like I can fall out (as you can see, there are also bars on the window - there is a space under the bars big enough that I could crawl out if I wanted to) and die or anything.

I'd initially wondered (this being the Big City) if we were supposed to not open the windows because there were rats that would crawl in (eww), but I guess they are okay to open (I will close it when it gets dark, because I'm just that paranoid).

I told the front desk "nevermind," and opened the damn thing myself. I'm a rebel. Whee.

Being Away

For the second week in a row, I am away from my family and in New York City. I love New York, I really do. But more than I love NYC, I love my family. The phone is not enough for me. And I have two more weeks of travel coming - the entire month of June. I have a pretty sweet deal by many standards - I fly east on the red-eye Sunday nights, and home Fridays on the 6:45 am flight, which gets me home by 10 am. But three days at home isn't enough. Zippy's been sick this week, and that makes things even harder. I feel badly that I'm not there for her, for Burger, for hubby. I feel badly because I'm alone in a small hotel room and have no desire to do anything but go home. I also got sick, and the only thing worse than being away is being sick and being away. So there's my pity party. Poor me. I see you making tiny violins with your fingers, and I don't much appreciate it.

NYC week one

I'll be in NYC the next few weeks for work, coming home on Fridays (and generally flying out on the red-eye Sunday nights). I've been here before, but usually just for a day or two at a time, and in the past I've always stayed with my friend Paula instead of in a hotel. But I didn't feel it was right to impose on Paula and her beau Paul (yes, that's right, Paula and Paul, kinda makes you want to throw up a little, doesn't it?), so this time I'm in a hotel. Let me tell you that NYC hotels are OUTRAGEOUSLY expensive. The one closest to my customer is a spendy $550 USD per night. OMG. So I'm staying at the La Quinta. In Manhattan. $227 a night (before taxes) apparently earns you a room that's smaller than the smaller bedroom in my house (and my house was built in 1936, when bedrooms were small). The door to the room clears the full-size bed by a good inch when you open it, the closet door brushes against the right side of the bed when it's opened. The bath features a lovely shower (no tub) and a teeny tiny cute little toilet (and a sink). I have a desk, which conveniently backs to the television (so I get to crane my neck if I want to see something on the television while at the computer). There is, thankfully, high speed internet access here (for "free", even); I'd have died without it. My room has a window that looks out over i-have-no-idea-what -- it's a little enclosed area that doesn't look accessible -- buildings on all sides. There's a nice sign on the window, "Please DO NOT open the windows. If you need any help, please call the Front Desk". I opened the damn window, being the wild woman that I am. Call me a rebel if you must. I'm booked here for next week too, because a) it's convenient, b) it's clean, c) I'm rather afraid of what else I might find. Less expensive hotels tend to have shared bathrooms, and that I cannot deal with. Yuk. There's tons to see here in the city, and I hope to get out more next week. This is a short week, as I flew in on Monday night. I did have dinner with Paula and Paul last night, and will do so again tonight. I wish they didn't live so damn far away, because I adore them. But I adore my own family too, and can't wait to get home to them.

My Girl Burger

Burger's 14th birthday is today. Where has the time gone? Burger walked early, talked early (first words: want bottle - it sounded more like wam babble, but it was very clearly something other than babbling, and then she said the exact same thing the next day), and had very little hair until she was three. For a while, she had puffy hair - it all stood straight up on top of her head. Now her hair is long and thick, with just enough wave in it. I'm utterly jealous of it.

Burger's First Birthday

This child makes me smile constantly - she's fun, smart, and beautiful (although she doesn't believe it). She's open, honest, and trustworthy. She loves animals, her cell phone, and gymnastics, and is starting to like (OMG) boys. Inevitable, I know, and I'm shocked at how little it's affecting me - I thought I'd be all freaked out, but I'm not, and it's actually kind of neat to see her growing up and the hints of womanhood appearing. But I do miss the little girl who never talked back, who believed I knew more than she did, and who loved nothing more than to have a good cuddle.

Burger's 4th Birthday

Time passes, kids grow up, and what we're left with is larger people. If we're lucky, the child inside isn't completely gone and an occasional cuddle is still acceptable. But more and more, the door to her room is shut, and she's on the phone or IMing with friends. We're hitting the time when she starts to push away. I feel very lucky because she doesn't hate us, she still talks to us, and that she's a fun kid who has great ideas and deep thoughts and shares them with us.

Burger's Fifth Birthday

We're past the stage of hay rides and petting zoos, we're past Candyland and Break the Ice, we're past footie pajamas and Barbie nightgowns. We're past losing baby teeth, going to the circus, riding ponies. We still dye easter eggs and Santa still shows up, and the jack-o-lanterns get cut every year, but how much longer will she want to put up with these things? Will we hit a point where her parents aren't fun to hang out with? Will she push too far away, where we can't reach out and touch her? I hope not, because she's so very precious to my heart, and I'm already pained that she doesn't want me to reach out and push her hair behind her ear anymore.

Happy birthday, my darling girl. Always be true to yourself.