The Hotel Mentality

My husband, Tony travels. A lot. In a typical month, he spends about 2 and a half weeks out of town, much of which spans over weekends since he travels internationally and coming home for weekends just isn’t an option. All this traveling means that he spends a lot of time in hotels. When he is not traveling, he works from home since his company’s office is in Maryland and we live in Florida (which also means he needs to fly up there whenever he needs to meet face to face with anyone in the company).

Despite the fact that he misses me and the kids and calls often, there is one ray of sunshine in the traveling life for him. It’s the hotels. Hotels are always clean, with daily maid service. No one else’s stuff has been left around, so he can arrange his stuff as he likes. There are no little curious hands to snatch his IPhone and leave it on the floor near the bed or to spray his shaving cream on the bathroom mirror. There is no refrigerator that can be left open or cartons of orange juice that are spilled on the ground and left to dry to a tacky mess. There are no little scientists trying to grow penicillin in dishes of neglected food smuggled into their rooms. There is also a certain silence, one without earsplitting screams of “So and so hurt me!” or a sullen, “Why do I have to do it?”

Here’s the problem. Tony comes home from his travels and brings the hotel mentality with him. He starts out eager to see us and hugs and kisses everyone. Once the excitement wears off, he looks around and oftentimes, that is when the hotel mentality kicks in. Total bewilderment at the backpacks carelessly tossed by the front door. Consternation at the sloppily done chores. Disbelief at the baskets of clean laundry waiting to be folded and put away. Shock at the decibel level of kids playing or fighting. “Where is my ordered, quiet world, where some invisible angel turns down my sheet and leaves a small chocolate?” he must wonder.

After a long trip, it takes him about two or three days to adjust to the real reality. Life is messy. Kids are loud. We don’t have a full time maid (or any maid, for that matter). And it’s all OK.

"Now, for heaven's sake," I tell him, "take some vacation time and take me to a hotel!"