Dan's Papers -January 9, 2009 - Err, A Parent - The Return of the B&B People

Being a DINK (double income no kids) couple in New York can be a luxurious existence. When my partner and I were "single," that is, childless, we were able to travel a lot, both abroad and locally, always staying in great hotels and romantic inns. Often, we were even B&B people.

We did have a dog, which sometimes made accommodations tricky. There were two choices: Stay somewhere very expensive that took dogs or check into a Motel 6. We always opted for the former.

Once we added our son to the mix, the junkets came to a halt. In fact, the weekly trip to our house in East Hampton from the city became so exhausting that we decided to forego the two-home lifestyle, the "big" careers and a great apartment in the Village for the country life.

But as soon as Hudson was out of diapers, we needed a vacation and started traveling again. The first big trip was to Key West, where my partner found us a suite in one of the best hotels on the island. We were all ready for a week of rest, sitting and snoozing by the pool, quiet walks along the beach, dinners at cool restaurants.

We got to the hotel, ready for our relaxing vacation, and realized we were not alone.

This may seem obvious, but somehow we thought a vacation would be the way it used to be. But now we had to plan our activities around meals and naps - his. Bedtime was 8:00. No late dinners and dancing for us.

The next big trip was Disneyworld. Enough said. Needless to say, our romantic getaways were a thing of the past. We were no longer B&B people.

Until this past holiday. We planned a 1,000-mile trip to Pittsburgh with our son, now five, and our five-month old golden retriever.

I was against taking the puppy. With the ambitious itinerary of four cities, dozens of relatives and a lot of driving ahead, I feared I'd go insane if I didn't sleep. But for a variety of reasons, the puppy and her accoutrement became a part of the entourage.

We stayed in three different places. The first night, in the spacious two-bedroom apartment with Hudson's godfather in Jersey City. After schlepping the crate up a flight of steps and opening presents, it was his bedtime. My partner would put him to sleep in the second bedroom, then we'd move him onto the futon so we could sleep in peace. The puppy was in the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later he came out crying, apologizing to our host. "I'm sorry I'm crying Rodney," he said. "But I'm not used to it here."

So at 8:30, I was in the bedroom with him and my partner, where we all fell asleep together. Hudson woke us up with his flailing every few hours. The puppy slept peacefully though the night.

Next stop was a friend's three-story Victorian townhouse in Pittsburgh that we had to ourselves, and where Hudson was planning to sleep on a blow-up bed he insisted we schlep from East Hampton. But he felt "creeped out" sleeping on a different floor, so again, we all slept together that first night. He promised he'd move to the blow up the next night but two days later, there we were, still three men in a tub, with us waking up through the wee hours as he flipped, flopped and, one night, sat up and sang the entire chorus of "Rudolph." The puppy slept quietly in her crate on the second floor, next to an unoccupied blow-up bed.

The final stop was New Hope, PA, where my partner booked the entire third floor of the Wedgewood Inn, a historic B&B. We maneuvered the crate up the narrow stairs and treacherous landings. No need for the blow-up - our suite had three beds. No matter. I was sure we'd be all together.

But, shockingly, Hudson chose to sleep by himself on the futon in the living room. (The puppy occupied the second bedroom.) The next day I asked why he decided he could sleep on his own. Because he could see our room from his bed? Because the place felt like our house? Because he met the owners and even went into the kitchen?