Revelations about resolutionsPosted by Lori Welbourne
Here it is, my last column of the year. I’d like to tell you what a breeze it was to write, but stranded in a tiny hotel room with my loud, boisterous kids and nowhere to hide, it took me awhile to spit it out.
My plan was to write it in private once we arrived at the in-laws for the Christmas holidays. Driving down to the coast on December 23rd, I figured we’d get there in plenty of time to visit before holing up in some corner with an iced rum and eggnog as I knocked out an article about my well-thought-out new years resolutions.
But an hour into our trip after our first bathroom break, my plan took an unexpected turn when my husband started the truck, put it in reverse and the gear shift came completely unhinged from it’s socket.
“Oh no,” he said looking at it, and then looking at me. “This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.”
After waiting 95 minutes for a tow truck and discovering there wasn’t a mechanic or auto supply business in town that had the part we required, we decided to get our truck towed back to where we’d come from and drop it off at our trusted mechanic in West Kelowna.
Since the driver couldn’t take all of us, Paul accompanied him for the trip with plans to fetch my little car.
What’s the difference between his Ford Explorer and my Volkswagen Beetle? His can comfortably fit a family of four, several suitcases and presents galore. Mine can look cute and colourful in the snow.
With Paul home installing roof racks and a cargo box for the top of my bug, it started to get dark and he opted to join us the next morning while the kids and I checked into a hotel.
Finding a Ramada Hotel with a fun-looking pool and slide, we lugged our bags up to the room and took a cab to the nearby Walmart to buy some bathing suits and snacks.
With no swim gear available for sale, I got as close as I could with Beavis and Butt-Head boxers for my 12-year-old son and an undershirt/shorts combo for my nine-year-old daughter.
Back at the hotel we ordered pizza for dinner and soon discovered that I had misplaced my wallet and probably left it in the taxi.
“What a gong show,” Sam said as I searched the room, emptied my purse on the bed, and called the cab company while the pizza guy watched and waited at the door.
Sam was right. It was a bit of a gong show.
Here’s your wallet, Mom!” Daisy said, after finding it under a chair after the pizza man had already given up and left. “You owe me a hug now.”
Daisy was right too. I did.
For my last column of 2012 my plan was to write about my lofty goals for the year ahead, but right now still stuck in Merritt, all I can think of are an important few: writing a back-up column, relaxing with a drink and hugging my kids as often as I possibly can.
Lori Welbourne is a syndicated columnist. She can be contacted at LoriWelbourne.com