Again

Once again we packed the whole Rancho into our SUV to make that twelve hour trip back to the place of mountains – the second time in one week.

The trip was unplanned as this time we were returning for a funeral. And once again I wondered if the wild two-year-old should have some Benadryl; why one of my offspring peed in a water bottle instead of telling us he needed to go; if the teenager could please be a little nicer; and what passing cars thought upon seeing the five-year-old licking the windows.

I thought about funeral potatoes, a military salute, a handwritten personal history, laughter while remembering, and tears while missing. And I thought about family, and about how in times such as these it is good to be surrounded by loved ones.

And along the way I learned some important truths: NEVER stay in a hotel whose name contains any type of number, and if the billboard says, “Pet Friendly” it should be avoided at all costs.


Before leaving it was decided we would stay the night at the half-way point. In search of a good deal, I looked for a hotel online through one of the many travel sites available on the world wide web. So when this numbered hotel came up with a room that “sleeps five” for half the cost, I immediately made the non-transferable, non-refundable reservation. I soon learned, however, that in cyberspace four stars really means two, and two stars is more like ¼ a star.

The first clue should have been the bare-chested biker dude who told me to turn off the SUV so he could talk on his cell phone while we waited for Mr. V to check in.

The second clue came when the girl at the front desk told Mr. V with a wink, “All we ask is that you don’t party like a rock star.”

And then there was the man carrying a bag of microwave popcorn who muttered to himself as he took his two little Cockapoos to the “pets only” area behind the parking lot.

And finally, there was the swimming pool smaller than the water trough in our front pasture. These were all signs, but we were just too tired to notice.

But we did notice after the first child used the bathroom and we realized there was no bathroom fan. The five-year-old then looked around and loudly announced, “This hotel smells like c**p!” We chose to overlook his creative use of language as he was exactly right.

Upon closer inspection it was determined that the beds looked “clean enough”, and were free of any bug infestation, so we decided to stay (mostly because Mr. V and I were too tired to fathom hauling the whole crew to another location).

And so we slept, all seven of us, in two supposedly queen sized beds. The air conditioner rattled, the windows shook, and the room was in dire need of potpourri, but we were “making memories.”

When the 5:00 a.m. alarm sounded Mr. V turned on the heater before waking the kids. What happened next was definitely a memory made. The heater started spewing thick black smoke setting off the fire alarm.

Like Nacho Libre flying across the fighting ring with his Eagle Powers, Mr. V jumped to the ceiling and disconnected the alarm. In a record thirty seconds we had the whole Rancho clan packed and out the door.

As we rushed to the SUV the teenager exclaimed, “I didn’t want to swim there anyway. The last time my friend and her family swam at the Super 8 they all got sick!”