Snowbird

Here I am in Deerfield Beach, Florida settling in my 91yr old Grandma into her snowbird home for the next 4 months. My mom (who's totally here to drink wine all afternoon and chain smoke on the patio) already stirred up trouble as well as my 11month old son Alex. The three of us came to drop my Granny off at her summer camp style resort again and the trek from the north can't go smoothly every year. You'd think we'd have it down by now, but the "Real" housewives of New Jersey would be proud of our own Jersey Girl's inability to travel without dramatics. First, TSA gave Granny the pat down of her golden years. She's talked about it for day's. I've had to eat through a few meals and every happy hour so far hearing how she hasn't been touched like that since my Grandfather in Reno 40+ years ago. Gross. Embarrasing. Like, I'm trying to establish a relationship with the bartender downstairs and now she's overheard this story two times and thinks we're nuts. No wonder I wound up with food poisoning. That wasn't her fault. That was mine. Rule #1 never eat in an empty restaurant. A new crepe place opened at the corner. All Granny wanted was crepes because she ate them at ihop once and loves them. She said she'd be in heaven minus the pat down if we could go for dinner. So sure, but I knew better. Nobody in America fucking eats crepes for dinner and.. I KNOW better. Nobody was in the damn place. Granny hated the menu. "At ihop they have plain crepes with sour cream, can't I get that?" I was like gritting my teeth and saying, "Those are blintzes, not crepes." I can't win with her so she's totally dissapointed. We are the only people in the place. The owner doesn't speak a word of english and I'm basically ordering and taking care of us in French. They don't serve wine so my mom's pouring her mini Sutter Home bottle from her purse into an empty water bottle she chugged. They wound up with strawberry crepes while I went with the opilance; chicken, artichoke, mushroom, cheese, pesto = food poisioning. So I have an infant to take care of (who doesn't sleep but we'll get to him later), a mom who drank too much wine, and a happy Granny who I found out later popped too many allergy pills (she doesn't have any allergies she'll just take anything to her sleep) and didn't even remember going to dinner. I vomited the whole night and shivered all day yesterday with a 102.3 fever. I peed my pants. I changed my son's nasty poopy diaper as he looked at me, smiling, and said his third word clear as the Florida day: shit. The phone rang as my son Alex and I went for a much needed nap next to my passed out mom and Grandma. I answered it thank God. Theresa, whom just bought the condo downstairs and hasn't even met my Granny yet. I noticed something was wrong with Theresa before her phone call when I noticed her beach front condo boarded up and her weird homemade notice on the front and back doors with detatchable phone numbers hanging off saying "Please take my phone # off this letter. Call only if necessary. Due to extreme need for rest and severe medical issues don't knock or ring bell. -Theresa" And here she is calling to question noise that has her freaking out. She says she's got post traumatic stress syndrome and is freaking out because of whatever sounds like wheels over her head and she might die from a collapsed ceiling. I tell her no its my son in his walker and we are here for the week and won't use it late at night. She wants to install carpet. I tell her to relax and she says she'll suck it up. Good because I figure if she calls again she's getting my mother Judy who will unleash her inner Jersey Girl and give her major post traumatic stress. So she didn't realize how lucky she was that she got me on the phone. I was sooooo nice. But silly Theresa. She called back as I was vomiting. My mom (three glasses of wine in) answered this time and gave it to her. From the bathroom floor I hear, "Yes, (in the nastiest tone then takes a dramatic pause) Well....(pause extra long) I have God damn roller skates with me and I am going to put them on tonight and skate over your God.. damn.. head... and have.... (raises voice and is now slurring and shouting) MY Grandson in his walker by my side all night long!! Capisce?!?" Oh my God. I haven't seen what Theresa looks like yet.  But giving her the benefit of the doubt maybe something horrible happened to her in her life and her snowbird months in the sun are so much better than whatever midwest town she comes from. Who am I anyway? I've got post traumatic stress from traveling with an 11month old, a 91year old, and my mother. Holy shit I need a vacation. I need to  figure out a way to become a snowbird. But I did get a genius travel idea. As little babies need a lot of things I used babyborrow.com and rented a walker, a pack and play, a float for the pool, a bathrub, and a bag of toys. The toys were age/ gender appropriate. For these items (delivery+pickup included) I paid $100. Genius best $100 ever. How do other moms travel and cart so much crap?! I just took my own stroller and infant car seat that I squeezed Alex into for the last time. Next year I'm going to rent a car with a carseat and tackle the Florida driving. Actually, I've only driven with my son 2-3 times ever so it's going to be interesting indeed. Maybe we'll wind up in Disneyland. Maybe we will look forward to a complaintless, food poisioning- less, drama free season to blog about. Until then more to come from the sleepless nights and cold days ahead.