Disappointing Day

It's a very good thing that my kids were on the manageable side of the behavior spectrum yesterday, for my Thursday morning was not how I would have planned it to be.

Because my monsters spend the night with my mom on Wednesday nights, Thursdays tend to be a morning in which I'm able to sleep in. To clarify, a sleep-in for me usually means the neon green digits on my digital clock read 6-3-0. Which is fine with me, because the fact that I wasn't awoken 35 1/2 times throughout the night to replace blankets, give extra hugs and kisses, soothe a hysterical dream victim, or soothe the roommate who was startled awake by the hysterical screams, is a sleep-in enough for me.

But I am remiss of my original story.

On Thursday morning, before the clock read 6:00 am, I was the one being startled awake. Not by the usual kids trying to squeeze into any open inch of my bed, but rather by the annoying chirp of a smoke detector that is 12 inches outside my bedroom door. There aren't many things more annoying than an incessant noise that cannot be drowned out by the plugging of your ears. A two foot by three foot pillow squeezed onto my ears between 5 pounds of pressure from my arms would not even drown out the sound. And my husband laying within the same ear shot of the chirp was not bothered a bit, therefore was not willing to remove himself from slumber to change the battery. It took only 10 chirp repetitions for me to throw in the towel blanket and find something else to do besides focus on the annoyance.

Which is what led me to the second disappointment of my morning. I went downstairs and pulled out the Disneyland tickets that my dad and his wife kindly bought me for my birthday last February. I was finally going to consult with my calendar and try to coordinate a couple of days that Mark and I could get away to take a trip to the "Happiest Place on Earth." What kind of Happy Place puts expiration dates on their tickets? With great shock and disappointment, I noticed that my final day to be happy was on December 13, 2007. One-hundred and twenty dollars worth of tickets were now worth NOTHING! And of course there was not a phone number on this planet that would connect me to a Guest Service Representative.

In an attempt to drown my sorrow, I decided I would go for a manicure and pedicure with the gift certificate that my dear friend bought me for my birthday last February. Do you see a trend? No it wasn't expired, but when I called the number on the certificate to book a much needed appointment, I was not greeted by a soft voice that was difficult understand. Instead, what I heard almost reminded me of the beeping that was coming from my smoke detector upstairs.

"Beep, beep beep. We're sorry, but the number you have reached has been disconnected, or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again."

I wasn't convinced that my fate could be so, so I got in my car and drove to the salon. Sure enough, the large sign hanging above the door bared a brand new name. I was just sure that the new owners would honor the certificate in an attempt to gain a new customer. Boy was I wrong. After questioning the man whether or not they wanted me as a new customer, he sweetly replied with a smile, "Of course I do, but you have to pay. This not my certificate." I snatched the certificate from his fingers and let him know that he wouldn't be seeing my business-ever.

Looking back, I realize it could have been much worse. If my kids were home when that smoke detector began it's chirping business, the whole neighborhood would have been startled awake with their shrieks of horror, thinking that our house must be going up in flames because the detector was making noise.

And after contacting Disney via email, they asked me to send back the tickets with an explanation of why they were not used and they would consider a refund. I've already been brainstorming and searching for the words that will touch the hearts of those Disney executives, causing them to replace my two useless tickets with ones that will get me to the "Happiest Place on Earth."

If I choose the right words, maybe they'll even throw in four more tickets so my kids can accompany us.