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.

Walk it off...

My leg still hurts.  More today than yesterday.  Oldest Boy is very compassionate when one of us is injured.  He BELIEVES it when you say, it really, really hurts - no, I mean it really hurts.  He has said to me many times this week, "What can I do to help you Mom?"  He's a better mother than me...

About four years ago we drove to Arizona to visit my folks.  We stopped at a gas station in Kanab, Utah for the typical pit-stop things.  We usually dehydrate everyone so we don't have to make bathroom stops.  We like to cram an 11-hour drive into nine or less if possible.  We must have shown some mercy on this particular trip.

The pit-stop was over and it was time to assume our positions in the car so Speed Racer and Trixie could set a new record.  Oldest Boy was moving fast and appeared to fall off the curb on to the greasy, black gas-station pavement.  He was crying, "My foot, my foot, my foot!"  I said, "Get up!  The ground's disgusting!" [humiliating, but true]  Chris and I helped him into the car, both of us telling him he was fine.  "You're okay, just calm down," we said over and over.  Oldest Boy said "It's broken.  You're not listening to me.  It's broken."

A month later, Oldest Boy was still limping on that foot.  In addition, he was complaining that he couldn't see very well.  A complaint I thought he was using so he could sit closer to the television.

I casually called the pediatrician's office and said something like, "Hey, this isn't red alert or anything, but Oldest Boy has been complaining about a sore foot for several weeks, AND he says he can't see very well.  It's probably nothing, but when you have an opening...  I just don't want to be one of those overly concerned mothers."  [which by the way, I've been an overly concerned mother at times - likely why I swung so far the other way - BALANCE, BALANCE - must be my mantra]

A broken foot, a cast and a pair of glasses later, Oldest Boy was on the road to recovery.  Forgiveness of his parents would come later.