Our first minimoon was at the Nemacolin resort in Southwestern Pennsylvania. I chose it because we had passed it on a trip to Maryland, and Jason asked, “What’s that place there?” I took that to mean that he was impressed, but in actuality, he was trying to remember if it was somewhere he had played golf.
|Nemacolin: Where Jason May or May Not Have Once Played Golf|
My first thought when we pulled up was, “I regret not going through a carwash first.” However, the valet was professional and didn’t write “Wash me” on the back of our Equinox. When we got to the room, there was a bottle of champagne to congratulate us, and I asked if they had something non-alcoholic. They replaced it with sparkling cider, and Jason later went through the menu to discover the vast price difference. To his credit, he doesn’t drink since being with me and never treats my alcoholism like it’s a punishment. The least I could have done was let him drink the $50 bottle of champagne and buy my own $1.50 bottle of Martinelli’s.
Our room was spectacular, and the bathtub was like a Zach-sized pool. It would have been nice not to bring him with us, but, then again, missing him would have ruined our trip. It’s one of the paradoxes of parenting.
|Zach’s impression of Arthur. Dudley Moore, not the aardvark. Yes, he’s an aardvark. Yes, that’s how you spell “aardvark”.|
|Real babies have curves.|
Not a Necessity for us
|Clearly the devil planted this along with the dinosaur bones.|
|Dress Marilyn Monroe wore in some movie. She definitely wasn’t a size 14.|
|Shirt Elvis wore in Blue Hawaii. He definitely was a size 14.|
I’m grateful for that. One of our fondest memories is the one star hotel we stayed in when I moved to Pittsburgh. I was very pregnant with Zach, and we were waiting for our apartment to be ready. Their criminal background check on Jason came back with a felony, so Jason had to submit proof that they had the wrong Klingensmith. It’s a surprisingly popular surname around here. I asked Jason if I could see his criminal report, and on it was a misdemeanor charge from his early twenties that said, “Conspiracy to Commit Loitering”. I married Captain Badass.
We pass by this crappy hotel occasionally because it’s off a freeway exit a few miles from us. Each time, it brings back nostalgia; we were so innocently unaware of its horribleness. Like when I lifted the bathmat and saw the stray pubes of every guest who had showered there. Or when we couldn’t figure out the laundry, and one of the prostitutes living there helped us out. Or the complimentary breakfast of cereal with no milk.
|A kindly hooker helped me wash my “Watermelon Smuggler” maternity shirt.|