There’s No Kill Switch on the Mom Machine

(or, My Trip to Cambria and Hearst Castle)

After the tumult of the past several weeks, I needed a break. I needed to spend time away from my house and my child and spend alone time with my husband. I’ve known for a long time how much I needed this, so I planned in advance. I made hotel and dinner reservations in Cambria and I bought tickets for a Hearst Castle tour online. Auntie Lisa, who has long been urging me to do so, volunteered to stay with Kyle and the animals.

So everything was set. I had mentally set aside Friday night to make all of our last minute preparations: arrange meals for Kyle, pack our bags, vacuum up the 2 inches of animal hair, etc. I was doing pretty well up until about 9pm when my body said “You are MUCH too tired. Lay down.” So I obeyed and I watched “The Minor Accomplishments of Jackie Woodman” on IFC (written by my friend’s husband…it’s wicked and funny and you should check it out).

Then Kyle woke up around 9:30 and after a little bit of cuddling he started to cry as hard as he possibly could and nothing would calm him down. He was up until about 10:30, when I finally gave up and put him back in his room and put my iPod phones into my ears to block out the sound of his crying while I folded clothes. I felt guilty and exasperated and I was also having digestive difficulty. The cat kept getting in my way and the dog started barking and I swear that I was this close to having a complete nervous breakdown. I imagined myself cackling like a lunatic and shredding boxes of Kleenex into tiny, tiny pieces when Stewart came home to find me.

Luckily, the moment passed, Kyle fell asleep, I banished the animals from my presence, and I gave up and went to bed.

Thus sets my mindset for the weekend. When we left the house I hugged Auntie Lisa and told her “You have no idea how much I need this.” I must have sounded really bad because she did not call me once the whole time we were gone. Every time I checked in with her she said everything was fine and she and Kyle were playing. I worried for her because I never got a chance to set out the caffeinated coffee but then I figured if she got desperate then she would tear the kitchen apart and eventually find some.

With Kyle secured, bags finally packed, and a last-minute trip to the car wash accomplished, we finally hit the road at 10:30AM on Saturday. We had no plan, really, only the desire to relax and enjoy the scenery and hope that we wouldn’t hit any bad traffic. Some traffic god was smiling down upon us and diverted all snafus out of our vicinity the whole time we were gone. We like that traffic god, may it be with us always.

Begin Travelogue

Listening to the classical music station on the radio, we took Highway 101 North to Santa Maria, home of the dinner scenes in “Sideways,” the Michael Jackson trial, and our first anniversary trip. Since I was navigating I decided that we should turn west towards Route 1, the coastal route. But since I’m not that good at paying attention, we missed the turnoff, which led to our first happy accident. The road dead-ended at this beach, and we knew Route 1 was behind us but we decided to check it out.

Down this little road past a sand packaging company we found a beautiful, nearly-deserted stretch of sandy dunes harboring a gorgeous windswept beach. There were some hearty folks trying to fish in the surf and a few touristy types like us, otherwise there were NO PEOPLE. Just what we were looking for. We marveled at our discovery, took a bunch of pictures, and got back into the car and headed back towards Route 1.

We were getting hungry, having already scarfed down the tuna sandwiches I made for the trip, so we planned to stop in Pismo Beach and have lunch on the pier. It’s somewhat of a tradition for us that when we drive north we stop there and have clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl. The last time we were there the town was so packed with tourists that we had a lot of trouble finding a parking space. We wound up creating our own space in front of a fenced-up driveway and we worried about getting towed throughout our lunch. Not so leisurely.

This time since we were on Route 1 instead of Hwy 101, the usual landmarks were not there to tell us when we were getting close. Instead, a small brown sign that read “Pismo Beach Pier” pointed us to the west. We turned. Not Pismo Beach, but Oceano Beach, home of the only beach where it’s legal to drive a motor vehicle on the sand. Hence, the tiny little town’s main street harbored many many large, loud trucks loaded with sandy ATV’s.

Stewart spotted this café and said “This is my dream come true!” and insisted upon having lunch there (he’s always talking about little roadside shacks). He got his clam chowder, but the bowls “hadn’t come in today” so it came in a mug. I had the chicken strips, which were delicious. The woman who served us told us that the signs for Pismo Beach pier had all been relocated…all but the one we passed!

Back on the road, we followed Route 1 through San Luis Obispo, which we’ve visited several times during our courtship and marriage, so we just continued on towards Cambria.

We made it to The Whitewater Inn around 3:45. Signs in the office window and on the front of the motel said “SORRY.” I’m assuming they meant “no vacancy,” and I couldn’t wait to snap a photo of them, but when I finally got around to doing that the signs were gone. I guess it’s easier to get a room there on Sundays.

The woman who checked us in told me that I look like Lorelei from The Gilmore Girls. Duly flattered, we dumped our stuff in our room and laid down on the bed and took a nap. Driving is hard work, you know, and this mama usually gets extra tired after 3pm. We rose around 5 and decided to check out Moonstone Beach, which was right across the street.

These are moonstones.

WWC: Objective

WWC Value: When I loaded this shot into the computer and viewed it, it took my breath away. I still love him so.

WWC Value: A happy, relaxed person, wife, and mom.

As we strolled along the beach and discovered yet another charming nook or cranny we kept remarking to each other how much Kyle would enjoy this. And then we would change the subject and wonder aloud what time we should start getting ready for our grown-up dinner at a restaurant.

We went back to our room to dress for dinner (not dress up, just dress) and check out the Notre Dame vs. Michigan State game. Already dismal and they were only in the first quarter. We watched until ND finally scored a second touchdown and then I made Stewart turn off the TV and get in the car. I wanted to leave on a high note.

The little town of Cambria consists of 2 main clusters of shops and eateries along Main Street. Our reservations were for 7pm at The Sow’s Ear. I had made the reservations online during the week, based on reviews on TripAdvisor.com (thanks, Aunt Kathy). I did not write down the address, phone number, or any directions. I relied on the lady at the office of the motel who thinks I look like Lorelei. So, based on her directions, we wandered around the main street of Cambria for about 20 minutes before we actually found the place.

It’s a good thing I made reservations because even though there are several restaurants in town to choose from, there were lots of people there for the weekend and every place was booked, according to the host. I heard him actually turn people away and mutter under his breath “Good luck out there.”

Our experience at The Sow’s Ear was good. Not smashing or over-the-top in any way, although I will say that the Jack Daniel’s and pancetta marinated filet mignon was mouth-watering. And don’t worry – Stewart explained to me that when whiskey is cooked all the alcohol evaporates so I didn’t inebriate the embryo (which is now, actually, a fetus).

The décor was such that you felt like you were sitting in a dark country inn run by a pig enthusiast. Pig-related tchochkes were everywhere. It was fortunate that there were many things to look at because our waitress (all of the servers were female. Hmm.) was very, very slow. We didn’t mind (although MY inner waitress was getting fussy) because we were “on vacation” and “in no hurry.” We were seated next to a giant fireplace but they never actually lit the thing.

Pre-dinner bread came in a terra cotta flowerpot. It’s actually baked right in the pot, which was neat. Rather tasty, too. Our dinners came with salads – run of the mill, nothing special. I had the filet and Stewart had the special – grilled ahi tuna with mango tapenade. He stopped short of licking his plate clean. We actually opted for dessert – I went with the old standby of apple pie a la mode which was disappointingly chewy and much too cinnamonny, and Stew had the chocolate cheese cake, which, duh, is what I should have gotten. But of course we ate too much and had to waddle back to the car.

Back at the motel we discovered that Notre Dame actually WON the game, and thus concluded our lovely happy day. I slept like a rock until 6AM when I woke up for no particular reason, and I refused to get out of bed because dammit, I was on vacation and I did not have to answer to the gibberish coming from Kyle’s room that means “Hey! Come get me and Little Bunny! I want some milk!” So I laid there, awake, trying to fall back to sleep, listening to Stewart snoring and sniffling. By then he had come down with a nasty cold, and I have to hand it to him – he sucked it up quite well while we were on the road. Once we got home he started the incessant whining and reminding me that “I’m siiiccck!” But for our weekend, he managed to stay upbeat even though his head was filled with snot.

The hands-down best thing about our motel was the free breakfast delivered to our room at 8AM. When I got out of the shower, there it was on the little table. I should have taken a picture it was so pretty and welcome at that point in time. It was just a little tray of warm muffins and fruit and coffee and orange juice, but it was just perfect. We ate, then packed up and headed north to the elephant seal viewing beach. I suspect that at the height of their “season” (whatever that is) there are a lot more seals on the beach, but we saw a pretty big group – they were kind of far from the edge of the viewing area though.

Then we drove back down Route 1 to Hearst Castle and had our tour. The castle is owned and operated by the California State Park system, so we didn’t expect it to be as well-run as it is. There is a big visitor’s center at the bottom of the hill where you pick up your tickets, shop for gifts, use the restroom, and grab a snack. Then a bus drives you the 5-mile winding way up to the Castle itself.

It was built starting in 1919 by William Randolph Hearst of publishing and media fame. He seems to have had an endless supply of cash and whimsy, because this thing is ridiculous in its opulence and detail. Julia Morgan, the first female architect in California, designed everything about the Castle and the village of San Simeon that was built to house the Castle’s support staff.

There are five different tours you can take of the Castle and grounds but we just took the one recommended for first-time visitors. I actually almost ran out of space on the storage card of my camera. I didn’t think it was possible. There was a great photo op everywhere I looked. I finally gave up at one point so I don’t have everything represented, but here’s a sampling.

Main building

View from the castle terrace just outside main building

The Roman Pool

These ladies were all around the Roman Pool

I loved them.

Guest House

Room in guest house

The details are incredible

The indoor pool, underneath the tennis courts.

Turnoff to the “Ladies’ Pool”

We did stop at the gift shop to get some worthless mementos, and then we went back into Cambria to do some more shopping (a concession Stewart allowed me because this trip was meant as a birthday present, after all) and have lunch. We ate at a little pub where Stewart finally got his clam chowder in a sourdough bowl and I ate a pile of fried grease. It was delicious, but it stayed with me all day.

One of my favorite stops was a music box store. It was a tiny little storefront in which everything in it made music. The shopkeeper talked to us for a long time about the music boxes and his career as a musician and how he used to live in L.A., too but he got out of town for a simpler life. I bought a little Christmas music box and something else that can be a gift for someone but I haven’t decided who so I’d better not tell you. We also poked around in a toy soldier shop. I think my dad would enjoy this one. They had an elaborate chess set whose playing pieces were the opposing sides of the Civil War.

After stopping into an ice cream store for a cone for me and a coffee for Stew, we got back into the car and went home. Simple as that. It was a lovely, unhurried, relatively unplanned weekend. I felt very relaxed and happy for the first time in a long time. I actually pinpointed the day that my stress started building: August 7, the day we received the letter from the IRS telling us that our taxes are being audited. Oddly, August 7 is the day in 2004 on which we discovered we were pregnant with Kyle. And on August 11 of this year, we discovered that we are pregnant with Little Sweetie.

When we were walking on the beach looking at the elephant seals Stewart said to me “I think it’s weird that you want to have more kids but you couldn’t wait to get away from the one we have.” I thought about it for a minute. I can see why he would think that, because he is a father, not a mother. I don’t mean to say this is true for EVERY father, but I would imagine that a vast majority of them are the same. As a mother, I never stop worrying about Kyle or stressing out about him or being affected by his behavior. Even when I go off to the sweet, sweet boredom that is my job. I don’t have a switch that I turn off when I leave him. Believe me when I tell you that it took a good few hours for me to relax once we got on the freeway on Saturday morning.

I think that Stewart is able to turn it off when he leaves to go to work. Maybe it’s the type of job he has, since it’s so much busier than mine. But I really think it’s a man thing. Men have two options: On and Off. Women only have On, and once you turn it On, it’s stuck that way for the rest of your life.

Going away for a night helped reduce the pressure buildup a little bit. Sunday night, after we returned and made a mess with dinner and I was too tired to clean it up and Stewart was on the couch moaning “I’m SIIIICCCCK!” I was able to simply say “screw it” and just go to bed. I finally washed the pots and pans this morning, two days later.

And that was okay.