Ok I really need to start scheduling my time a bit better.

But here I find myself with just a pocket of time, a golden opportunity to spin a yarn.  I'm most happy to spin that yarn for you, friends.

When we last left off, we were already riding the rides in the blistering heat in Orlando.  But what about the good stuff that happened before all that, like checking into the hotel?

No.  Scratch that.  It was a motel.  There's a lesson to be learned here, folks.  Don't ever, EVER stay in a motel that you picked out of the free brochure you got at the little store (ie, shack) on the turnpike. 

You hear me??  Ever.

My mother chose our accommodations just that way.  All we knew was that it was located in Orlando, not so far from Universal Studios, and we knew the name.  So we're driving along, kinda tired, ready to check into our suite... (no, I'm serious- the room we booked was supposed to be a suite) and it's hard to spot.  Really hard. 

"OH!!  HEY!!  That's it right there, and it's nice!!"  Sister shouts from our luxury van.  

Quick sidenote here, friends.  If you are part of a large family and ever plan on taking the sort of vacation that requires a vehicle- might I suggest the super large, super comfy seven passenger van available at your local Enterprise dealership?  In fact, whatever your transportation needs, Enterprise has you covered.  *Insert big cheesey smile here*   (yeah!  Kinda like that one!)

Enterprise if you're reading this- I gave you a shameless plug there- I say our next vehicle is free, what do you think?  No?  Ok, back to the story.

All eyes are directed to the right side of the road... a really lovely, hearty building- 10 stories up looms in the distance.  It's magnificent, truly.  All right, Mom!!  You rock!

"No, that's not it- that's the Travel Lodge Suites hotel.  We're staying in the motel."  Mom says in a sort of sing-song cheer.  We drive on a few more miles.

"Hey, I think that's it on the left."  She says, straining her eyes to read the sign.  "Travel Lodge Suites motel.  Yes, that's it, make a left here."

Slowly, just like in the most cliche horror flick, our eyes swing to the left.

"Oh hell no."

A small, kinda shabby looking building stands in the shadows (where it belongs).  We pull into one of the parking spots and wait while Dad checks us in.  He returns with a key and a TV remote control.

Ok, this might not be so bad, at least there's a TV. 

"The only suite they have available is the handicapped room, guys.  And since no one made a reservation for it, we can have it." 

Oh boy!  It must be my lucky day.  High-five guys, we got the handicapped room!

Interestingly enough, the ONLY handicapped parking space available in the motel is not in front of our door, rather 5 doors down from it.  And even more interesting, the front door is not wheelchair accessible... but the bathroom door is.  How do you manage that?  I mean, what's supposed to happen once you check in- do you wheel Grandma up to the door frame and then kind of push her out?!  Make her crawl to the bed, or lie on the floor until you fold the wheel chair up and carry it in? 

Is it like a cruel joke??  "Haha Grandma, you have to sleep outside!  We would wheel you in, but look!  The door isn't wheelchair accessible.  Sweet dreams, granny." 

You can't make this stuff up.  We open the door and feast our eyes upon... the suite?

2 twin sized beds, a TV, a bathroom... seems pretty normal to me.  What makes this a suite, you ask?

The couch.  The couch (I'm being much too generous- it was more like a loveseat) folds out into this broken, squeaky sleeper, that Brother and Little One will be using for the weekend.  After Dad fixes it, of course.

So for the most part, you wouldn't know that the room was handicapped at all.  No real space for a wheelchair to fit... until you open the door to the bathroom.

Here's the fun part, guys.  The bathroom doesn't have a shower, per se.  It does, however, have a single large drain in the center of the floor and lots of handles to grab onto so one doesn't lose their balance.  And a spigot hanging in the far left corner for when you do want to shower.  Little One and Brother got a kick out of this. 

Most, if not all of us were more than willing to sleep in the van.  I would have fought for the right to do it, too.  But thems the breaks.  

The real show-stopper for the night was the luggage rack.  Brother didn't know what it was, but he was horrified when Mom put her suitcase on top of it. 

Since it was a handicapped room, he assumed- like most 10-yr-old boys would I guess- that the stand must be used for holding prosthetic limbs when they weren't in use.

Each night we were in this room, I led a special bedtime prayer.  It went a little something like this:

"This place is a dump,
 yes, this place is the pits
I pray to you, Lord
that I wake up in the Ritz."