The AZ Experience…

I promised a more “positive” vacation story to tell you.  So, here it is.

We visited the Sonoran Desert Museum (I think that’s what it’s called).  Here are a few pictures:

This is the view that we saw as we drove to the museum.

This is part of the mountain pass we drove around and down to get to the museum. (Don’t ask me the name, there are too many damned mini-mountain ranges.)

I thought this looked rather… phallic.  This is of a tall cactus towering into the blue sky. 

And, last but not least… at least for now:

This, my friends, is the safest way to view a mountain lion–from the BACK and behind a series of mesh and chicken wire fences.  But, in light of the tragedy at the San Fran Zoo (in which two boys tormented a tiger until it mauled them nearly to death), I think I’m going to think TWICE before taking my kids to a place that had so many killing machines separated from us by chicken wire and mesh. 

I wanted to credit my middle son for his pictures.  I, on the other hand, did not take my camera, but opted instead to take my video camera.  I haven’t yet figured out how to post videos here, so in the meantime, just imagine me documenting our visit to the desert museum by walking, talking, and filming such dangerous creatures as a HUMMINGBIRD.  Trust me, it was hairy there for a while…

Needless to say, it is MUCH more enjoyable to visit Arizona in December when the median temp was around 40, than it was to sweat my way through a week with temps hovering around 110. 

Anyway…

The day we returned was an extra special treat.  My mother in law decided that it would be FANTABULOUS to make us suffer through breakfast and gift-exchanges the morning we climbed off of the plane after a 4-1/2 hour red eye flight.  (I’ll have to REALLY thank her for that later.)  Then, after we dragged ourselves home and onto the couch, my husband and I only had a few hours before we had to attend a friend’s wedding. (Oh, sense the happiness…)  So, we didn’t get to suffer through our jet lag until SUNDAY, after we returned from the wedding (which was an hour away). 

Needless to say, even with a 2-hour difference (thanks to the gods of time change), it still kicked our asses.  We were functioning on Arizona time (which means, going to bed at midnight when it was really 10pm in Az, OR getting up at 10, which was 8am in Az).

New Year’s Eve, my son, in a spur of last minute decision-making, called me from asshole’s house to let me know that he’d invited a bunch of friends to hang out at our house.  We had TWO hours before these boys were to show up.  I ran to the store and stocked up and ended up making them cheese and pepperoni platters, chips and dip, quesedillas (homemade chicken and cheese), pigs-in-a-blanket (which I again made for his one friend who ONLY eats hotdogs), homemade chili, and a veggie platter. 

They ate for an hour or two… then played video games… then came up to watch Live Free or Die Hard (which I’m still waiting to see the entire movie), then back to his room to play games… only to be dragged upstairs to watch the ball drop… and the congratulatory “Happy New Year” thing… followed by an hour of video games until I pulled the plug and told them it was lights out.

Oh, by the way, did I mention that the boys slept over? Yep, three of them.  That made 5 teenagers in the room (including #2 son), and by morning, it had a strange smell of… quesadillas and hot sauce.  As a matter of fact, #1 son used up his entire bottle of Febreeze spray masking the smell of one particular boy who has the table manners of a hienna.

At one point, during the eating fest, #3 son, thinking he was a part of this gaggle of teenage boys, blurted out, “Hey, [so-and-so] farted! Mommy! Tell him he can’t do that at our table!”

This, spoken by a 4-year-old who uses his internal gases as a defense mechanism.

I told him, “Honey, I’m not his mother.  But, you can let him have it.”

And, he did.  “YOU CAN’T FAHT IN MOMMY’S HOUSE!”

Everyone stopped chewing long enough to look at the bag’o gas stuffing his face at the table.  They burst out laughing.  I winked at #3 son, who looked at me with a big smile, as though he effectively policed the room.

My oldest son said he’s not inviting that boy to sleep over anymore because all he did all night long was pass gas.  The rest of them were so grossed out that they let out a continuous stream of Febreeze until the can was empty.  Unfortunately, *I* got to experience the stench when I opened his bedroom door at 10:30 (we kinda slept in) and said, “OH LORD, SOMEONE’S GONNA GET IT!”

Talk about being disrespectful.  I had already spoken to him the night before and told him that if he respected MY house, that he’d go to the bathroom and do his thing there… then SPRAY afterwards.  Apparently, the child has no respect for anyone… because he said, and I quote, “I do this all the time at home and my mom doesn’t care.”

Well, I care and it’s MY house.  You want to stench up the joint? GO HOME.

And, that’s what #1 son told him. 

Anyway, everyone’s back to school and work today (and I’m back to looking for a job).  I hope everyone’s NYE was nice and wish you all the best for ‘08.