CSquaredPlus3

Spring Break - Part II

Continued from Spring Break - Part I ...

And Then The Paramedics Arrived

But only after the resort's security guard -- a guy who's mannerisms and deadpan delivery reminded me of David Puddy on Seinfeld -- planted himself in our room to witness the scene on behalf of the resort's legal department.  Puddy was convinced I needed oxygen.

"Do you think she needs oxygen?" he asked my husband.

"No.  I think she's breathing just fine," replied Chris.

This exchange occurred several times before the end of the night.

The paramedics determined I did not have appendicitis or a gall bladder thing and was likely experiencing severe food poisoning -- pain and non-stop, violent vomiting.  They were cleared to treat me immediately in the room.  I received fluids and two rounds of Please-Make-The-Throw-Up-Till-I-Pass-Out-Stop medication.

The paramedics and Puddy stayed with us a while, watched me wretch, writhe in pain, and examined all body fluids I produced.  They complimented my accuracy and tidyness as I contorted and crawled from the bed to the floor to be sick.  They also loved my purple sand pail and the Star Wars Legos on the nightstand that I never once disrupted during the ordeal.

And Then It Was A New Day

I was sick a couple more times that night but managed to rest a few hours before the boys woke up, oblivious to the visitors and drama while they slept.  I spent the day propped up under an umbrella with sunglasses on, like the guy on Weekend at Bernie's, bucket nearby, trying to keep an eye on our kids, while Chris moved all of our stuff to a new room.

There was no funny smell, we had a beautiful view, and the purple bucket was retired as a sick receptacle and sand castle tool.  The boys wouldn't touch it.

And Then We Got On A Boat

The next day began to feel a bit more like a real vacation.  We took a snorkeling excursion around the island of Lanai.  I wasn't able to snorkel because I was still recovering from food poisoning and had a touch of sea-sickness [I'm a fun date].  But the trip was worth seeing the whales, dolphins, octopus, lava tubes containing the remains of ancient Hawaiian royalty, the blowhole, and the memories Chris and the boys made while I stood by the boat captain battling nausea.  Kind of like motion sickness in a car, if a person is queasy as a passenger they often feel better behind the wheel.  I tried not to annoy Captain Chad, and the 20 other seated passengers.

I left my post as co-captain for a photo op in front of the blowhole.  The five-year-old-boy remained in diva mode.  No pictures.

And Then Middle Boy Got Sick

We think it was simply TOO MUCH that caused Middle Boy to vomit eight times that night.  Too much sun, too much boat time, too much rich food, too much gosh-darn fun.  He felt better the next day, had no fever and was ready to hit the beach.

And Then We Decided To Reclaim Our Vacation

We were all weak-kneed at the beginning of Day Five.  We hadn't experienced the laid-back island vibe we were hungry for.  Chris and I extended our trip a few days.  Reset button?  Hit.

And Then We Got Our Groove On

We swam, explored, picnicked with friends, ate, drank and enjoyed ourselves.

Unfortunately, almost every attempt at a family photo failed because of the youngest Ross boy's unwillingness to participate.

A few shots kind of turned out, but we'd been eating [and drinking] at Mama's Fish House and this Mama took her shirt off.  I had a bathing suit on, but I looked conspicuously unclothed compared to the rest of the family.  It's Chris' fault.  I will have a friend photoshop my tank top ON my body before I share.

And Then It Was Time To Return To The Mainland

Our red-eye flight was scheduled to leave late Thursday, March 10th.  We were tan, tired, ready to head home, but also excited to plan our return trip.

And Then The Tsunami Warnings Blared

Unbeknownst to us, the tragic earthquake in Japan had occurred.  The airport was intense and our flight took off 20 minutes prior to the scheduled departure in an effort to clear the island of as many tourists as possible.  We made it on to the plane.  A paradigm shift of epic proportions consumed Chris and me as we reflected on our Griswold-like vacation bad luck.  No.  We were lucky beyond comprehension.

And Then Two Of Us Were Wet

The five-year-old-boy and I were seated together on the flight home.  Without going into detail, we experienced a personal tsunami-like experience while he was sleeping wrapped around my body.  Our misfortune resulted in his pants and shirt, as well as my pants and shirt, becoming WET.

I chose to muscle through the next few hours in wet clothes, but our youngest son took the brunt of the wave.  A kind flight attendant begged a diaper from another passenger and gave us a clean blanket.  While he slept, Chris and I were able to remove wet clothes from his lower body, replacing them with the diaper and an almost fashionable red sarong/kilt.

 

And Then Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Inspite of the rough spots on our trip, we had a wonderful time.  The tragic situation in Japan, the fact that we serendipitously caught a flight hours before chaos hit the island, and the request from a dear friend who is battling recurrent ovarian cancer to "drink for two" [I can't hang, but don't tell her] have humbled this family beyond words.

Spring Break 2011 was memorable, and I wouldn't change that for the world.

Here's to you, Emmy Lou.

Spring Break - Part I

The five-year-old-boy is quasi-civilized now.  Spring break and vacation options are growing more vast by the day.  We decided to travel to Maui late-February, early-March, for our sons' spring break.  I inventoried bathing suits, purchased basics for boys who have grown a freakish amount in the last six months and tried to put a positive spin on our return red-eye flight.

We woke the kids up very early on Sunday, February 26th and headed for the airport to catch our 6:30 a.m. flight to L.A. where we would board a plane to Maui.  We were stoked!

And Then The Flight Was Delayed

Unfortunately, our flight was delayed by a couple of hours, resulting in us missing our connection in L.A.  We sat in the LAX airport for almost nine hours and arrived in Maui late that night.  We'd had a few tears and discussed how life is messy and we need to handle bumps in the road... better.  We weren't feeling as stoked.

[Oldest Boy and Middle Boy hanging tough.]

[The Five-Year-Old-Boy became a Diva and would allow very few pictures to be taken from this point forward.]

And Then They Lost Our Luggage

Oldest Boy [13], a type 1 diabetic, had carry-on luggage with medical supplies and most of his clothes.  The rest of us had nothing.  Middle Boy [11] was able to borrow underwear and pajamas from his brother, but Chris and the five-year-old-boy had to rough it.  I mortified my sons and guaranteed my husband wouldn't touch me that night, by wearing a pair of Oldest Boy's clean underwear [boxer briefs] and his Mickey Mouse t-shirt after showering.

And Then We Lost The Five-Year-Old-Boy

We were all tired, our rooms smelled funny, and Chris was on the phone with the airline trying to find our luggage.  We'd been up for almost 24 hours and were disappointed that our plan to hit the beach the afternoon we arrived had failed.  A travel day that long should have landed us in Australia... or on the moon. 

When I got out of the shower near midnight, wearing my son's underwear and t-shirt, I walked from room to room assessing our situation.  Husband on phone, older boys settling in... but no little boy.  I went through our rooms again like the Tasmanian Devil and screamed at my husband, "How did YOU let this happen?" when it was evident the youngest Ross boy was gone.

Chris ran out a front door while the two older boys and I cried and opened balcony doors in piercing fear and disbelief.

The phone rang and someone had found our son roaming the halls and walked him to the lobby.  In our arrival commotion he'd been locked out of our funny smelling rooms.  He was missing for five minutes, but they were terrifying moments.

And Then We Hit The Beach... Finally

After a long night with only three hours of sleep, our child and our luggage found, and a call made to request a room change because of the smell and bad karma, we donned our own bathing suits and marched our white bodies to the beach.  The day lifted our spirits.  Maybe this vacation wouldn't suck!

And Then We Went To The Luau

If things had gone as planned, we would have arrived in Maui on time, had a leisurely first afternoon, a decent night's rest and been ready for the Luau I'd booked for the second night there.  Although tired, we were excited to attend the show that had come highly recommended.  The Luau was entertaining, the food was good and when a storm rolled in and it began to rain, ponchos were quickly distributed to 600 guests.  The five-year-old-boy fell asleep in my lap towards the end of the evening, but he was content.  What a nice vacation...

[Oldest Boy helping Middle Boy make the "Hang Loose" sign, not to be confused with the "Rock On" or "I love you," sign.]

And Then My Stomach Danced

Not in a cute or jolly way.  Trouble was brewing.  Big trouble.  I looked across the table at Chris in panic.  "Something's wrong.  I'm going to be sick.  Take him," I mouthed as I almost threw our sleeping child to Chris.

I willed my body to not explode in the bushes at the Luau [I still owe God a follow-up conversation -- I don't remember exactly what I promised] and the miracle continued until Chris managed to get our car to the front of the facility, driving over 600 people, and loaded our three boys and me into the car.  "Drive fast," I said, "It's going to be bad."  And out of the parking lot we screeched.

And Then I Threw Up

We didn't get far.  Chris pulled over the first time right outside the Luau.  Headlights from the cars behind us provided the perfect spotlight for my show.  We continued to our hotel, Chris stopped the car when I gave the signal -- which was any movement or sound -- and our three sons remained reverent and stoic.  Chris maneuvered our rental car as close to a hotel entrance as possible.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy escorted me to our room while Chris parked, pausing to cover me as I defiled the resort's beautiful landscaping along the way.

I made besties with the toilet and a bucket, Chris got all three boys in bed and promised them I would live.

"I think I need help," I said when Chris asked how I was doing.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Maybe."

Chris made some phone calls and discovered all Urgent Care facilities were closed.  The nearest hospital was 30 minutes away.  He wanted to drive me there.

"We can't get the kids up.  They've only had three hours of sleep.  And we can't just leave them."  I thought for a minute.  "Put me in a cab."

"NO.  You're crazy."

"Just give me my bucket and call a cab."  I was serious and I thought it was the perfect solution.

The next twenty minutes are a blur.

And Then The Paramedics Arrived

To be continued...

 

Large Like Jabba The Hutt

It's my mom's fault.  My inability to explain things to the kids with straight talk.  My brother only wanted to know what the word "virgin" meant that summer evening while we ate dinner as a family in 1980.  After a lengthy explanation where Mom described "purely driven snow", "virgin wool" and things that had never been touched, she asked him, "Now, Joe.  Are you a virgin?"

He replied, "Nope.  I'm a Gemini."  He was eleven.

**********

A couple of weeks ago, I was in the Salt Lake City airport waiting for my two oldest sons to board a Southwest flight to Denver.  Because they're 12 and 10, I decided to forgo the $50 each way unaccompanied minor charge.  They've flown many times with Chris and me, and were excited to travel alone to spend some time with their grandparents.

The boys didn't seem nervous, until I finished the Mom Pep-Talk.

"When you get on the plane, don't pick an empty row.  You won't have control over who chooses to sit with you.  You're small, clean and quiet so you'll be attractive seatmates to everyone.  Do NOT sit next to a man.  Any man.  Not that all men are bad.  It's just that the majority of crimes are committed by men.  Look for a woman.  A clean woman... with kids.  But if she doesn't have kids with her, look for someone who looks like she probably has kids.  Or an old person.  Old women are usually very safe.  You can sit by an older man as a last resort, but only if he's really old and doesn't look creepy.  Not that you can tell if someone's creepy or bad by how they look.  Because sometimes someone can look nice and clean, but they're creepy... don't worry about that right now.  Avoid a large person if you can.  Large people aren't bad, it's just an issue of personal space.  Does that make sense to you?  I don't mean to sound unkind... I'm talking Jabba the Hutt large, not normal large.  You know, where they might leave some DNA on you.  But look out for the slender people who are shedding skin or don't seem clean.  It's a hygiene issue.  Look for someone who has good hygiene regardless of their size.  Know what I mean?  It's important not to judge people by their appearance.  Just look for a clean, mom-type woman... although women commit crimes too... just not as often.  You'll be okay..."

I babbled and confused and worried them.  They wanted to know what kind of crimes people would commit on an airplane.  I explained I would hate for someone to lift one of their iPods.

Oldest Boy is a germaphobe like me and can now add to his growing pile of nightmares, the vision of a Jabba the Hutt-like person invading his personal space and sharing germ-ridden DNA, then stealing his iPod.

A woman, the clean kind with a handful of children, was in earshot of my terrifying pep-talk and instructions.  She understood everything I was trying to convey to my sons and assured me she would keep an eye on them, even offering to sit with them if necessary.

The boys made it to Denver, had a great time, and returned safely with no tales of traumatic events [other than my pep-talk], no flesh-eating diseases, and all of their possessions.  Oldest Boy told me he scouted the moms in the boarding area for the return flight and found one to sit with them.  [He still listens to me and values what I say.  Good news, bad news.]

Oldest Boy and Middle Boy in Colorado - June 2010

**********

In case anyone was wondering...  I'm not a virgin either.  I'm a Gemini.

The Reunion

I graduated from a small high school in Justin, Texas, 25 years ago.  My parents moved from Arizona to Texas the summer between my sophomore and junior year.  I was once again, the new girl.  It really wasn't a bad thing, the moving. 

The move prior to junior year was my third school change -- not excessive in my opinion -- and I'm thankful for the exposure to different states [Indiana, Arizona, Texas], the resulting close friendship I have with my brother, and the special friends and memories I've gained along the way.  I feel the same about the moves I've made with Chris during the past 20 years.  I've been enriched, not robbed, by the occasional move.

As a person who loves to write, I have a pile of experiences and observations to tap into and build upon.  I feel grateful for the abundant material.

Because I didn't attend my high school for all four years, and I linked arms with a steady boyfriend shortly after arriving to Texas [a very good person who is happily married today], I don't have too many shared experiences outside of classroom time with my graduating class.  As I made my way around my 25th high school reunion, happily hugging and greeting old friends and classmates, I wasn't surprised when a few of the kids didn't remember me.  One guy, who I thought I knew fairly well because I was a lifeguard at our neighborhood pool, I knew his high school girlfriend, and my mother was friends with his mother, actually said, NICE TO MEET YOU! as he left the party Saturday night.  I just smiled and said, "It was nice to see you again."

Another guy who dated one of my best friends, Vicki, didn't remember me at all.  He was very nice to me at the reunion.  We were talking about my braces and I commented, "...it was either boobs or braces...".  He said with a grin, "I think you made a mistake.  Next time you have a choice like that, call me.  You should have gone for the boobs."  I liked him, even though he doesn't have a clue who I am.

It was good.  The reunion.  There are a few people I didn't get to talk with enough.  I assume others feel the same.  It was impossible to touch everyone in one or two short evenings and feel satiated.  We need a reunion week.  Then again... maybe we don't.

I drove past my family's old house and places that held powerful memories.  I was stirred, but not shaken.

I was able to spend time with a friend I used to lifeguard with -- Lynn P. Carlson [the P. stands for pretty].  The day I arrived in Texas it rained.  We were at a bar on that warm, muggy evening and Lynn was trying to remember the last name of a guy we both knew.  She said, "Remember?  He had frizzy hair."  Then she looked at me and said, "No offense, Chrisy."  I love Lynn P. Carlson.  And again, not enough time.

[LPC is one of the few people who make me forget I have braces.  She makes me THAT happy.  Frizzy hair and all.]

It was great simply being with my girlfriends.  Looking at clothes, giving each other honest feedback about appearances, thoughts, feelings, and life's problems.  I talk on the phone frequently with these girls, but to feel them physically and share laughs was long overdue.

I sobbed as I sat in the airport waiting for my plane.  I called Chris and told him how I felt.  He was so compassionate.

I arrived home after the kids were in bed Sunday evening.  I went in their rooms and kissed them, even waking up my 4-year-old after Chris rolled his eyes and asked me not to -- he'd been ornery earlier in the evening.  Imagine that?

There's no place like home, and it's true that you can't go back... but I will return to the next reunion.  Maybe with boobs... not braces.

He Just Wanted to Say "Suck"

Oldest Boy and Middle Boy are in Arizona visiting my parents for a few days.  Their school dismissed them at noon last Friday for a two-week spring break.  We all need it.  We're trying to conserve money and minimize stress, so we chose not to take a family vacation.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy were happy with the alternative we presented.  The chance to fly solo to see their grandparents, and enjoy valuable and rare one-on-one time.  The boys love it, and so do my parents.  The boys follow our rules better than Mom and Dad though.

Mom particularly enjoys pushing the limit.  She never does anything terrible, but things she knows we'd probably not do.  I don't know why she enjoys this so much.  For example, when Oldest Boy was six he was into marbles.  She said she had the perfect bag for him to store and carry his marbles.  A velvet, Crown Royal bag.  He didn't know what it was, but Mom loved the idea of a little boy carrying around a Crown Royal bag.  He still has it.

Before they were out of diapers, the boys were saying "Salud!" and trying to clink their sippy cups with other kids, thanks to Mom. 

They came home from an Arizona visit last summer with a picture of a dead snake.  Mom saw a coyote walking behind their property with the snake it's mouth.  She and the boys followed the coyote and when it dropped the dead rattlesnake, Mom took a picture of the chewed-on snake corpse for their scrapbook.  Cute.

Toddler Child declares anything gross or unpleasant, "Caca!  Kay-Kay says so!"  [The kids call Mother Kay-Kay after her attempts to have Oldest Boy call her "Nana Kaye Anna" failed.]

I called Mom and Dad's house yesterday to see how things were going.  Oldest Boy told me they were watching the movie Gremlins on television.  They'd never seen it and he was enjoying it.  Middle Boy shared the same information, but could hardly contain himself when he said, "Guess what channel the movie's on, Mom?  It's called Movies That Don't Suck."

"Hey.  You just wanted to say 'suck'."

"No, Mom.  That's what it's called.  Really."

The boys and I said our goodbyes, then Mother got back on the phone.  "Middle Boy could hardly wait to tell me about the channel Movies That Don't Suck."

"Well... that is what it's called, Honey.  There's one of those little logos on the bottom of the screen."

"Just so you know... we prefer the kids not say 'suck'."

I heard her sigh heavily, and I'm certain her eyeballs rolled back as she said, "All right.

Three Good Things

Chris and I were talking this morning about how heavy things feel, for all of us.  None of us [or very few of us] are completely insulated from what's happening with the economy.  It's a difficult, stressful time and not knowing what the next several months will bring, compounds the heaviness.

There are always things for which we are thankful.  We know this.  And after we have discussions where we review the worst case scenarios, we take a breath and remind ourselves of the good things.

Mom and Dad lived for a few years in Caracas, Venezuela right after Chris and I were married.  As a Christmas gift one year, Dad flew Chris, my brother Mallory Joe and me to South America for a couple of weeks.  I think it was a gift for Mom and Dad too.

On the surface, everything appeared wonderful.  Mom had spent much of her childhood in the Philippines so she spoke Spanish well and had experience living as an expat.  Mom and Dad lived in a beautiful penthouse apartment overlooking the new U.S. Embassy, had a full-time driver, maid and memberships to a prestigious country club.  Two months prior to the move Dad had been diagnosed with kidney cancer, had surgery to remove a kidney and was sent to Venezuela with a clean bill of health.  Life is good!  Right?  Well...

Mom's birthday is three days before Christmas and she was turning 50 that year.  She missed her friends, understandably.  Navigating life in a foreign country where only 3% of the people spoke English [statistic per Mother, at the time], required her to rely on the Spanish she hadn't used for years and it exhausted her.  We were out for lunch one day and she was trying to order sandwiches for all of us.  She became frustrated, looked at me and said, "I can't remember how the hell to say mustard in Spanish.  Can we lose the mustard?"

One afternoon, Dad was at work, Chris and my brother Mallory Joe were playing ping-pong, drinking Venezuelan beer [Polar tasted good.  Chris and Mallory Joe consumed it daily while playing ping-pong.] and Mom and I were sneaking a smoke on her veranda.

Mom said, "I don't know what to do.  This has just been so difficult."

We discussed various solutions, all involving travel and being away from Dad longer than she felt was reasonable.  She recognized she was tired and in a funk due to the many life stressors she'd just endured.  A major move, culture shock, a husband with a cancer diagnosis, finding homes for three animals she loved dearly prior to the move, turning 50, and missing her family and friends.  She knew she simply needed to keep moving forward.

She vented about the difficulties of living in Caracas.  There were many - all legitimate.

I said, "But Mom, there are some neat things about living here.  Can you think of just three good things?"

She thought...

"The birds are beautiful.  I love seeing parrots and macaws flying.  Free."

"And the orchids.  I can grow orchids on my veranda.  I've never been able to grow orchids like this.  Aren't they beautiful?"  [Mom has always loved gardening, so this was important and valued.]

She was looking a little perkier as she lit another cigarette.  We sat quietly while she thought.

Finally she said, "And when your father and I go out to eat, and I order a drink... anywhere... they bring you the whole bottle, even if it's Grey Goose, and set it right. On. The. Table."

Country Mouse Visits City Mouse

I returned Monday night from a visit with my friend T in NYC.  I'm tired but it was a great trip.  I've known T since we were 15.  There's comfort not only in sharing common history as kids, but also having remained friends who understand and accept one another into adulthood. I can't honestly say that about too many childhood friends.

T moved from L.A. to NYC about a year ago to be with someone.  I traveled there last Friday to 1) see T because it's been over a year, 2) meet the new someone, and 3) see a little of the city - a very nice benefit to our new "someone".

I've been to NYC once, briefly about 13 years ago, and it was a business trip so I didn't see or do much.  This visit I was looking forward to some good food, a little wine, and a bit of sight-seeing and shopping.  Mission accomplished.

I can think of dozens of stories to share from my trip, but I'll keep it macro and stick with some highlights.

 

The Filth
I'll get this teensy-weensy, negative detail out of the way.  NYC... is dirty. 

We took subways.  Some stations were *cleaner* than others, but this is no place for a border-line germaphobe who gets motion sick.  One man's face was about 12 inches from mine, he slightly turned his head, sneezed, wiped his nose and mouth with his hand, then grabbed the same pole I was holding.  I was paralyzed. 

In the Meatpacking District, which actually has some of the nicest high-end shopping, I experienced random smells that almost made my gag reflex do it's thing.

I would advise all people in NYC to keep their hands away from their face, touch as few surfaces as possible, wash hands frequently, remove your shoes prior to entering your living space, and carry hand sanitizer and wet wipes.  I went through lots of hand sanitizer.  It's a miracle the entire city isn't chronically sick.

Brush with Greatness #1
T's new someone has a connection at NBC.  We were treated to a tour of several studios.  I'm not sure what I'm allowed to share, but we were on the SNL set Sunday after the most recent Palin skit, the Today show sets (all of them), the NBC and MSNBC Nightly News sets, the Football Night America set, a sophisticated control room, and several other behind the scene areas.

    

T and I played Meredith and Matt (because I begged him), then I played anchorperson. 

 

Walking, Walking, Walking and Central Park
When your friend who lives in NY asks if you have comfortable shoes, they mean, "Do you have athletic shoes that you can run a marathon in and not bleed?"  I packed all wrong for this trip.  I had several cute outfits with matching shoes - flat, strappy sandals, the high-heel "need to drink a mojito" sandals, clogs, and because there IS a God, I packed running shoes, which I finally convinced myself, matched my outfits.  Bryant Park material, I was not.

Central Park is beautiful.  I wasn't prepared for it to be so large, and so well maintained.  I could have spent several hours strolling (with proper shoes) and watching people enjoy the park.  The diversity, every aspect of it, was gorgeous and thumped with life.

  

Brush With Greatness #2
This part is very exciting for me and I'm certain it embarrasses T, so I'm typing quickly, willing it to be like a whisper type, so maybe he won't get pissed off and make me delete this whole post.

T's someone has two Emmy's - plus another award that's VERY impressive.  T let me look at and hold them on Friday when I arrived at their place.  We were alone so I could be stupid without embarrassing him.  On Sunday I asked T if he'd take my picture with the Emmy's - he grudgingly agreed.  We snuck them out of the closet and quickly took several photos.  I don't think it would have bothered the owner of the Emmy's - I think T just didn't want me to be so easily impressed.  But I was.

   

They're real and they're heavy - the Emmy's not my boobs.  My boobs are real (with the assistance of a nice foundation garment), but they're not heavy.

 

The Best Part...
This trip was a treat because I got to connect with one of "my people" - a true friend.  The meals out were delicious, the sites of the city exciting, and T's friends are all interesting, intelligent, fun and welcoming.  But the best part, was sharing morning coffee, not looking out two different windows in two different states while talking on the phone, but drinking coffee and talking... while looking out the same window.

Road Warriors

Friends recently visited us while on a business/pleasure trip.  They road tripped from the east coast to the western states with their two kids (travelin' age kids, not babies or toddlers) and their pet horse dog named Wilbur. 

Wilbur is an 8-month old Bullmastiff with a brindle coat (I looked that up - it's tiger stripey).  His family says he weighs 130-ish pounds - emphasis on the "ish" - with 80 additional pounds to look forward to as he matures.  Wilbur simultaneously fascinated and terrified the kids and Mary.  Ultimately fascination took over.  Wilbur vocalized like Chewbacca, drooled, blew snot bubbles, lumbered around like Baby Huey, and had the most expressive face.  We decided his face was a cross between a bear and an orangutan.

Chris and I were simply fascinated by our friend's ability to:

1)  drive from the east coast to the western states;

2) do this with two kids (our travelin' age kids have a rough time on road trips);

3)  share the trip with their horse dog;

4)  not just bring a bag of dog food, but travel with several pounds of frozen, raw meat to feed Wilbur.  (I had never heard of feeding raw but dogs are carnivores and many people feed their dogs raw meat because it's healthy for them - look it up.  I did.  Mary's not getting any though - meat that is.)

These are hardy, compassionate, life lovin', dog lovin' people! 

Chris and I have been on vacation strikes for years at a time because of traveling-with-small-child induced exhaustion.  Toddler Child almost killed us in Colorado and the two older boys complained about the long car ride. 

We've taken Mary twice with us to Mother and Dad's in Arizona.  The first time was right after her near-death experience and she sat on my lap for 11 hours with 50 staples in her stomach.  I don't know why we took her the second time.  Maybe we thought it'd be "fun" to take the family dog on vacation.  Mary spa's it now.

A few years ago Middle Boy was interested in studying and drawing dogs.  We bought him a few books on dog breeds and dog art.  He spent a lot of time alone in his room reading and drawing.  We saw several sketches of Old English Sheepdogs, Dalmatians, and mutts.  We didn't know the extent of his breed knowledge.

Shortly after Middle Boy became the dog expert in our house, we planned a trip to Arizona.  I packed Mary's suitcase for the Little Dog's Salon and Resort.  Chris and the boys waited in the car while I handled Mary's check-in.  An outdoor play area was visible from the parking lot, so all the little dogs could wave good-bye as their humans drove away.  Middle Boy had been quietly observing the dogs.

As we headed towards the airport, Middle Boy said, "Did you see those two, white Bitchin' Fries?"

Home Sh#t Home - Part Deux

We're home from Colorado - the delousing has commenced.

Because my good friend Samantha Kelly pseudo-requested to see more of our accommodations - I'll share a few final memories before closing this chapter.

The Cheese
We found some cheese stuck to a desk.  It wasn't our cheese.

Disgusting.  Believe it or not, we were so beaten by our experience, we just left the cheese alone.

The Filthy Lamp
This pathetic lamp is illustrative of all accessories in the room, wallpaper, floor coverings, and general decor.  It worked just fine though.  ( See Honey, I can TOO be positive and "go with the flow".)

It listed to the right no matter what my OCD told me to do to correct it.  Again, it worked just fine though.  (Positive thoughts.)

The Wildlife
We found what appeared to be a cocoon in the curtains.  The photo doesn't show it very well, but trust me, something was growing in the black dot you see.

Helpful Instructions
Just in case someone had any crazy ideas about where they should or should not hang their clothing...

We were fairly certain this was there because someone in the past had actually hung their clothing on the sprinkler.  The room had to have been flooded at some point to smell as moldy as it did.

The Partay
We were lounging in our rooms on SUNDAY afternoon (NOT Friday or Saturday night), trying to touch as few surfaces as possible, when we heard "thump, thump, thump, etc..." and the roaring of motorcycles and souped-up cars.  We pushed back our curtain, careful not to disturb the wildlife, to find a raging, midlife crisis party occurring at our hotel pool.  Very tan people, in very few clothes, were head-bobbing to the music, trying to look sex-ay.  Men with stretch marks on their too tan arms with tribal armband tattoos, tummy's sucked-in, chest's pushed out, 27 hairs slicked back.  Women with thin arms and legs, giant boobs, too tan like the men, tiny bikinis to show the tattoos on the lower middle back, all teetering around in high, high heels and ankle bracelets.  Most of these people were at least my age, but a few were young and could have legitimately starred in real dirty movies.  (JUST being descriptive with most of this - not judgmental - mostly.)

Chris called the front desk and found out that this hotel in an effort to "serve the community" throws a little "function" on Sunday afternoons.  It was supposed to end at 5:00, but they let "the community" party until almost 6:30.  Like we weren't already having a hard time getting up the courage to get in the swimming pool.

When the people left - I think the humpers were hosed off - Chris went out to run an errand (probably to get more liquor and Lysol).  This is how he found our front windshield...

 

I'm not saying anyone purposely shot at our windshield (a thought that crossed my mind that evening).  It's possible someone, in an effort to leave the parking lot looking cool, spun their tires in a way that accidentally threw a stone.

Our immune systems are boosted and we have a renewed appreciation for our home.  I'm so happy we didn't find a bag of heroine or a dead body in the room.  What to tell the children...

Home Sh#t Home

My leg is feeling much better.  Thank you.

We're in Colorado on "vacation".  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy are spending some alone time with Chris' parents, so Chris, Toddler Child and I are in a hotel far enough away so we don't interfere.  We got a very good deal on this room which we are thankful for (thanks - you know who).  We're not snooty people.  We appreciate saving money.  Bigger isn't always better.  I love small, quaint and older, as long as it's clean.

There are people staying here that seem perfectly content, so I want to choose my words carefully.  It's possible we just ended up in the bad room.  The one with the slight mold problem that's held together with duct tape.

Chris gave it a college effort a few days ago and looked for a different place to stay.  Availability's limited and the few places he found for us would have cost significantly more money.  We've chosen to stay here, mask the smell, and treat for scabies when we return home.

Lysol, Creed, and Tom Ford are tricking our brains into thinking we're enjoying a high-end experience.  (BTW, if you haven't been turned on to Creed fragrances, allow me to convince you to splurge.)

In addition to massaging our olfactory senses, a little something to take the edge off has helped us all.  Toddler Child has an embarrassing addiction to milk that we keep closeted.  Shhhhhh.

A good poop makes everything all better too.