Bedscape: Hotel Helix in DC

Groovy baby.

Omigaw y'all! We haven't had a bedscape post in yonks, and yet I do love 'em so! The kids and I were up in Washington DC for the week of the 4th, and we had some fun accomodations. Part of the time we stayed in a little pied-à-terre of Matt's Uncle John. I was going to do a bedscape of that, because it's a cute wee studio in Dupont Circle, but then I thought that maybe people don't want their bedrooms published on my blog? Possibly?

Then we moved to a hotel for part of the week. I had set out to find a place that the kids would think was fun, because hotel living is big entertainment for them. Major entertainment. If you only saw how much they enjoy even elevators, you would, like, almost cry.

(True story: while we were at John's apartment, the kids asked me if they could ride the elevator unaccompanied down to the lobby and back. I said sure. They came back and reported that a woman in a business suit got onto the elevator with them for the ride back up. She smiled at them and said, "Tough day at the office?" And Hank said, "Oh no, we are not workers. We're just here touring." In case that wasn't clear.)

So the Helix is in Logan Circle, and it's one of those "trendy" places that I knew would speak deeply to Laura's soul. And it did.

The decorating scheme was bright and modern, and very comfy. We all liked it. Especially because we arrived there for the first time having walked all the way up 15th St., with thousands of our closest friends,  after the fireworks on the Mall. We were hot, dusty refugees, and the Helix was like an oasis. With a minibar.

God bless America.

Our room came with a "credit" for the minibar. The prospect of actually getting things out of the minibar was, for the kids, like their birthdays and Christmas at Hogwarts combined. Unimagined heights of delight. They picked pop rocks and Pez. The way you know a place was designed by hipsters: The minibar contains pop rocks and Pez. Also wax lips. Mama had her eye on a little bottle of wine, but I might have had to share it with them.

So we just had a great time there. Very friendly place and just what we needed.

Laura enjoying her continental breakfast.

The boy has simple tastes.

The dining room in this place is sort of loungey, and I gather they have a hopping happy hour at which they serve free wine and champagne. I did not get to take advantage of this as we were always touring around, but it would be fun for a grownup trip. Our main indulgence was all piling in the bed and watching TV at the end of a long day of sightseeing. At home, we don't have TV's in our bedrooms. And we don't have Cheez-its very often either, so this for them was The Good Life.

I'll be back with more reportage about, I guess, our actual trip outside of the hotel, but you know, bedscape! Wishing you happy travels with your brood. xoxo

Intentions, Good

I don't know why this came to my mind today but remember how last year I said I was going to read a single chapter of Victor Hugo's Les Misérables every day? This was my plan, as announced in that post:

Somewhere on the internet, around the end of the year, I glampsed the fact that Les Misérables has 365 chapters. Oh ho, thought I.  There are also 365 days in earth's solar year. A person could read a chapter a day and, through the magic of compounded interest, read the whole novel in the course of 2011.  

Well how did that go, you ask? Did I turn over the last leaf on December 31 and sigh in contentment at the novel's rich tapestry of humanity?

No. I got bogged down sometime in March or April. Like, truly bogged down, because I was reading about the battle of Waterloo, where it rained so much that Napoleon's artillery got stuck in the mud. Bogged. The chapters on Waterloo went on approximately forever. Then I got behind and couldn't recoup and then I had my breast reconstruction surgery and the Navy SEALs took out Bin Laden and that all seemed like a chance to make a clean break.

The idea appealed to me because, by going a chapter a day, it seemed like you could sneakily read the whole long thing almost without noticing. And it's not likely that I will set aside lots of time to read this book on a more compressed schedule. Heck, I am kind of dawdling/stuck in the middle of that Fifty Shades book, and that is loaded with kinky sex. So whatever I am up to, it is not reading. (We'll have more to say about Fifty Shades, but so far I think that Christian Grey is just kind of a fussbudget. Not hot. And safe words? Please.)

Okay. So I just wanted to come back, however belatedly, and update you on the wreckage of my 365-day plan. Have you ever started something and intended to do it every day for a year? How did it go? It's July so, you know, time to start planning our 2013 resolutions. So chime in if you've contemplated or failed or succeeded at doing something daily. xoxo

Niceties

I just this minute got home from a singles tennis match I had this morning, a match I lost 5-7, 5-7. That right there is what we call All of the Pain, None of the Gain. But the going-away small talk I had with the other girl stuck in my head and I thought I would tell you about it. Here's what we said and what we meant by it.

Her: "So you've already played Shelly, I'm playing her tonight. How is she?" Will I beat her?


Me: "She's very sweet." I crushed her when we played.


Her: "She's been doing pretty well I think." You're not going to help me scout her out?


Me: "Yes, she's a doll. You'll have fun." That's all you're getting.


Her: "Well thanks Becky, it was a good match." I won! I won! I won!


Me: "Yes, you played great! I'd love to play you again sometime." You got lucky.


(scene)


Yes, I am always a sore loser on the inside, I hope you're not disappointed in me. But it struck me after we parted that this girl and I spoke the same language, and also that "she's very sweet" is right up there behind "bless her heart" as one of the worst things you can say about someone.

I have to go drown my sorrows in this giant unsweet iced tea. More later. xoxo

Well, July.

Sometimes that happens. You're talking with a friend, you pause to look down at your sandwich for a moment. You might be saying, "Well seriously, I don't know, yeah, I know, totally! Do you want this pickle?" And then you look up and your friend is gone and doesn't blog for a full month. You look back down at your pickle. Its juice is soaking your potato chips. This happens sometimes.

Amy and I both, by unspoken accord, took an unannounced summer breaky from blogging. Then, as she has already revealed, we were the recipients of a snippy email from our dad earlier this week:

Saturday will be one full month since either of you has blogged. In recognition of that landmark date there will be no cake and cocktails on the deck at the Briar Patch. Please make no plans to attend. Love, Dad

He has such a way about him.

In response to this, Amy hastened to post an update, but I reacted to this epistle with the stony silence that makes me so beloved in the family. When I want to ignore something, I can ignore it thirteen ways to Sunday. Shhh! I was resting!

How are y'all? You look good! I mean some of you literally look good and I am sure of this because I've gotten together with two bloggers in the last month, Jenni and Aimee. So, meeting and greeting, swimming and sunning, sweating and swatting. Summer ramped up and with it came an increase in activities for every member of the family. On one hand, I feel like a ton has happened, and then again, if you asked me, "What have you been up to?" I could with truthfulness say, "Nothing much." So it will probably take me a couple of weeks to tell you about the nothing much. I mean, you know how I do.

Tonight I'm in North Carolina at the mountain house. Tomorrow at dark o'clock we're heading up to DC to spend the 4th with Dave and Katie and Baby Gabriel. It will be moist and steamy and patriotic and we can't wait. I'll be checking in. I swear! Don't look like that.

The other morning, Hank announced, "Mom, I've grown my first patch of man hair." I asked him to show me this man hair and then he couldn't locate the man hair, but insisted that "It's on my tenders." I mean, that could have been a whole three-paragraph blog post right there. You're so sorry you missed it!

If you're on the road for the holiday (not you, Aussies and Canadians but Happy Belated Canada Day), travel safely. I kiss your face.