I’m a California girl.  Born and raised in what’s now a cozy wine country town.  Where vineyards line the hillsides and world-class wineries dot the map.

Back in the day the wineries weren’t nearly as prevalent as the horses and cattle.  I was born in the wrong decade, apparently.

Marrying into the military proved to be a one-way ticket out though.  And–at the time–I looked at a cross-country move with wide-eyed wonder, imagining all the seeing and the doing.

All that only to find out that it’s true what they say: there really is no place like home.

Yet here I am.  At home all over again.  A new home.  One that doesn’t come close to rivaling the real thing.  But home it is, nevertheless.

There are thoughts tumbling in our heads.  Opportunities swirling.  Lots of maybes.

And so I’m looking at this home through different eyes.  Slightly more romantic eyes.  Nostalgic ones.

Driving does it to me every time.  This desert terrain makes my heart yearn, in spite of the fact that we haven’t gone anywhere just yet.

I’d miss the topography: the charcoal mountain outline backed by a bleeding sunset.

I’d miss the cuisine.  The fresh, far-from-greasy Sonoran tacos and enchiladas and fajitas.

I’d miss the monsoon.  Especially sitting on the porch mid-July and watching as the midnight clouds in the distance give way to sheets of summer rain.

I’d miss the night sky.  How it stretches on and on, interrupted only by the city, blanketed with lights.

I’d miss prickly pear margaritas.  {Some of the} curious creatures that find their way into our backyard.  And the friends we’ve made.

I’d miss the home we built, with all of its just-the-way-I-like-it charm.

I’d miss the Catalina mountains.  The midnight howls of coyote.  Pink, yellow, and magenta blooms of the cacti in spring.

I’d miss the Ocotillo.  Desert jackrabbits that scurry about each morning.  The promise of an early fall.

All of this I’d miss because even though it’s not really home?  It sort of is.

How about you?  What would you miss?

Today there was rain.  In the desert.

And there were peanut buttered jelly sandwiches.  And boiled eggs.  And itty bitty cartons of orange juice with itty bitty orange straws.

There were homemade Valentines.  Toes warmed by the fire.  Hiccups.

A blue balloon.  Jumping jacks.  Homemade bread cooling on a wire rack.

Cinnamon tea.  Clean sheets.  And–oh yeah–a speeding ticket.

All the while, the pitter patter.  The gentle song of it–the soundtrack of one February day.

Like a pulse it hums along: a soft and welcome patter.

I listen as it falls.  I watch the drip.  I breathe in its crisp folds.

I snuggle him.  Brush her teeth.  Give welcome home hugs and goodnight kisses.

Tomorrow the sun will peek through.  The desert will dry out.

But today there was rain.  In the desert.

And in our own way, we danced right along.

We had an unexpected guest arrive tonight.

Don’t you just hate it when company drops in without calling?

Especially when they’re difficult to accomodate.

You know the kind.

They use all the hot water when they shower.

They make long distance calls.

They eat the last doughnut.

Sigh.

Our house guest was even worse.

He wanted a foot massage.

Or, feet massage, as the case may be.

As if I have that much time on my hands.

Jeff showed him the door though.

Via the shovel.  Cut him split in two.

And he still had the nerve to crawl away.

Headed two different directions.  Presumably trying to throw us off the trail.

Smart.

But not smart enough.

We’re seasoned desert dwellers.

Don’t take my word for it.  Ask the scorpion.  Maybe you’ll run into him in creepy invertebrate heaven.

We’ve lived in this house for four years come October.

In that time, we’ve had snakes.  A tarantula.  Countless big, hairy spiders.  A gecko.  A gazillion and one lizards.  Horny toads.  I could go on.  But you get the point.

After having lived here for one year I came across a scorpion.  A bark scorpion.  Which, wouldn’t you know, is the deadliest kind.  Jeff promptly disposed of it without incident.  We went about our business, paying extra attention to shaking out our shoes.  Our vigilance lasted a couple of weeks.

And then we went two full years.  Without a single scorpion sighting.

Last weekend we had some friends over for dinner.  After the meal, we locked occupied the kids in the playroom with a movie while the adults played a board game and imbibed.

At one point our friends’ son came crying from the playroom, saying his toe hurt.

His toe showed no signs of injury.  No marks.  No swelling.  Nothing.  But he was clearly in pain.  He described it like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

Ouch.

I assumed that maybe we had a staple coming up from the carpet and that he’d caught the wrong end of it.

I went on assuming that until last night.  When we solved the mystery once and for all.

We sat down after dinner to watch the Chronicles of Narnia with the kids.  We pulled out all the pillows, cushions, and blankets, just as the kids had done the weekend before.

After the movie, Jeff was cleaning up popcorn kernels and blankets when he, too, got a toe injury.

Only he wasn’t so quick to pass it off as a random carpet staple.  Mostly because his injury didn’t occur on the carpet.

At first he thought he’d stepped on a leftover popcorn kernel.  But when his toe went prickly numb he had second thoughts.

A scorpion.

A bark scorpion no less.

A bark scorpion that stung him not once, but twice.  The first time when he initially, accidentally stepped on it.  And the second when he went back for the kill.

That second sting may have slowed him down, but the kill eventually came.

Squished that sonofagun and flushed him.  Taught him a thing or two about showing his nasty exo-skeletal self around here.

I guess we’re true Arizonans now.

We’ll be shaking out our shoes for awhile.

81:  the digital number displayed on my thermostat even as I type this at 9:41 pm.

102: the forecasted high for tomorrow.

2: the number of air conditioning units our home is equipped with.

0: the number of air conditioning units currently functioning.

You know what all those numbers add up to?

One.

Yes.  One.

One very overheated desert-dwelling Mama who may just have to kick some serious butt if those AC guys try to pull any crap.

For real.

You might remember me mentioning that Jeff was gone all last week on a business trip.

Normally he gets the better end of those deals because while he’s dining out on the company dollah and coming “home” at night to a whine free zone I’m stuck wiping poopy tushes, cleaning spilled milk and refereeing countless screaming matches.

Not quite a fair trade right?

But this trip was a little different seeing as how he was held up in rainy Baltimore working a gazillion OT hours.  Yeah, I was still on tushie duty but at least I had the weather on my side.

Not to mention National Mom’s Night Out to look forward to.

He made it home on Thursday and I turned promptly around and headed out the door to hang with my two favorite Tucson bloggers, Nicole and Stephanie.

Nicole {Apron Strings Aflutter} was a perfect hostess and served up the most fabulous munchies.  Her coconut cupcakes were SCRUMP-tious and can I just say that she was a little Martha-esque in that instead of putting out sugar packets for her iced tea she whipped up a fancy simple syrup and served it in the cutest mini pitcher EV-er.  If you’ve not stopped by Nicole’s blog you simply must.  I totally dig her.  She’s technically gifted for one thing so if you’re looking for a new design for your blog she’s the girl to call.  She’s honest and kind and responsive.  And what’s more is that she’s got a super cute (testosterone filled) family and a little Chihuahua named Nacho who wants me to adopt him.  But shhhh! I promised Nacho I wouldn’t tell.  He’s afraid Nicole will turn him into taco topping if she hears about it.

Miss Metropolitan Mama herself was there too.  Stephanie is one smart chickadee let. me. tell. you.  I’m not big on degrees and stuff so I can’t speak very intelligently about that sort of thing but Miss Metro is, like, brilliant or something.  And she is a great resource for learning all about the buisnessy side of blogging.  Seriously.  But all that stuff aside she is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.  For real.  I’ve never heard her say an ill word about anyone and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if her nose literally grew if she ever were to tell a lie.  She’s got two beautiful little girls to whom she is completely in tune with.  It’s the cutest thing ever.  Totally reminds me of how I was as a mother before I started letting the kids play in the freeway and stuff.  Oh c’mon.  You know I kid.  But really, Stephanie is a very inspiring blogger.  You should check her out if you haven’t already.  At the very least cruise over and look at her picture.  I discovered last night that she has the most flawless skin I’ve ever seen.  Honest.

Yeah, so that about sums up my night out.

It was well-deserved and much appreciated.

Maria Bailey (MomSelect) deserves a huge pat on the back for thinking up such a brilliant excuse reason to celebrate.  Heck.  Forget the pat on the back.  Someone buy that woman a martini.

When I moved to Arizona nearly five years ago, it wasn’t all that much different from my home on California’s central coast.  The climate is definitely drier, but very similar.  It’s a western state so there was no culture shock there.  And there was plenty ‘o’ Mexican food to be had just like my home in sunny C.A.

But there were some things that took some gettin’ used to.

Take, for instance, the rear auto window dedication.  You know what I’m talking about?  Apparently Arizonans are big fans of this practice, though I can’t make any sense of it myself.  I’ll be driving down the road and there, on the car in front of me, I see:

In Loving Memory of Mama.
6-12-54 to 9-1-2005
She’s Been Given Her Wings

What?!

Seriously?  Who does that?  What’s wrong with a headstone?  Or do you really think that honor and respect is brought to Mama via the dusty back window of your 2002 Buick?

Moving right along though.

I also am amazed at the vendors who set up shop right there on the roadside.  I’ve seen everything from rugs, to metal yard art, to locally harvested honey to slot machines.  Yes.  Slot machines.  Because if that’s not a spur of the moment purchase I don’t know what is.

Not all of the strange sights are bad necessarily.

Just this weekend we were stopped at a red light and noticed some nice folks in neon vests camped out in the median.  They had positioned themselves at a few of the major intersections in town and were offering cold bottled water to motorists.

How cool is that?  I was telling Torri that visitors to this fine city of ours would be so impressed with our hospitality.  Don’t ya think?

Unfortunately though we also seem to have our fair share of homeless people.  They, too, camp out at major intersections and don the neon vests.  Instead of giving out bottled water, they sell newspapers.  Where they get the newspapers from is beyond me but at least they’re trying right?

Last week I saw one homeless lady trying extra hard.

She wasn’t selling newspapers; she had a different approach.

An approach that involved a pillow shoved up her dress in a misguided effort to appear pregnant.  She even delivered her best rendition of a pregnant waddle.  If the corners of that pillow hadn’t been so obvious she may have convinced a passerby (traveling at a very high speed and in need of vision correction) or two.

Lots to see here in the desert southwest.

I’d be happy to play tour guide should you ever venture my way.  :)

First rattlesnake spotting of the season.  And yes.  It is suspiciously missing a head.  Don’t ask.

I think a colony of bees has invaded our jacuzzi.

Spa.

Hot tub.

Whatever.

I went out to chlorinate the water this afternoon.

Chlorinating the water is not normally my duty.

Let me clue you in on a little secret though.

The best way to get your man to do what you want him to do is not to ask him.

Or sweet talk him.

Or even bribe him.

The best way to get your man to do what you want him to do is to do it yourself.

If you do it yourself one of two things will happen.

#1 – You will do it wrong.  If you’re lucky, you’ll just fail miserably.  If you’re not, you’ll do irreversible damage.

#2 – You will guilt him into never, ever making you do it again.

(We all know that #1 isn’t really an option.  Of course you’re going to do it right.  We do everything right.  If you don’t think number two will work for you though, screw up the chore and make him think you did it wrong.  He won’t want you tinkering with stuff again and therefore he’ll do the dang chore in the first place.)

Back to the bees though.

Asking the man was doing me no good so I had to resort to the ‘do it myself’ method.

So I went about the doing it myself.

I lifted the cover and saw a dead bee floating in the water.

I poured in the chlorine granules and the other chemical stuff that reacts with the chlorine to add pH to the water thereby creating yada yada yada, you see where I’m going with this.

When I turned on the jets to toss the chlorine around a bit I noticed a few more bees.  They were hanging out by the water filter.

Did I just say the bees were hanging out?

Any-who, then they started coming out of the little air hole in the cover.

Bee after bee after bee.

And then I remembered hearing once that funny sounds can aggravate bees and cause them to swarm.

As the jets blasted away.

I picked Jayce up and made a beeline for the house.

Beeline.  Get it?

So anyway, I had to work up a whole lotta courage to go back out and shut the dang thing.

And for this experience, my friends, the man will pay.

As for the bees…I’m unsure of how to proceed.

I’m guessing they like the heat and moisture our hot tub/jacuzzi/spa provides.

Problem is, so do I.

And since they aren’t contributing to the monthly costs of keeping up the hot tub/jacuzzi/spa…I’m totally gonna win this one.

Just not quite sure how to manipulate the bees the same way I manipulate my man into doing what I want.

Somehow I doubt the ‘do it myself’ route will work with them.

Yeah so Jeff was out of town for a business trip again this week.  You may remember how during his past business trips I’ve had issues with the indigenous wildlife.  This week has been no different.

On Wednesday morning during our walk Jayce spotted a snake on the road in front of us.  He pointed at it, saying, “snake, Mommy, snake,” all from the safety of his jogging stroller, surely in an effort to protect his snake-fearin’ Mama don’t you think?   Anyway, upon closer inspection I discovered that it was indeed a snake.  A rattler at that.  A baby one even.  I’ve heard those are the deadliest kind because they are not yet capable of controlling their venom. 

Lovely.

This one in particular wasn’t what I’d call deadly.  He was what I’d call dead.

Just the way I like ‘em.

Moving right along though…

So today I took Torri to an orthodontist appointment.  After returning her to school I was taking the backroads home.  And by backroads I mean dusty, deserted, cacti-infested roads.  Really they could just as easily be referred to as front roads seeing as how they’re the ONLY roads that lead from our rural desert home to the school.  Ah, but I digress.

So I’m driving along doing my best to keep Jayce from falling asleep in the car.  I come to an intersection (if you can call it that) and as I make the turn I watch as a cattish animal crosses the road in front of me.  

I think I can honestly say that since having moved to Arizona four years ago I’ve yet to have a cat cross the road in front of me.  Cats aren’t really outside here much.  I suppose the coyotes keep them at bay.

Anyway, this cat in particular was on the large side.  More like a small dog.  But it wasn’t a dog.  Or a coyote.  I’ve seen my fair share of those too.

When I reached the area of the road where the cattish animal had crossed I stopped the car right there in the middle of the road and peered into the desert.  And wouldn’t you know it was staring right back at me, probably just as curious.

Upon closer inspection I confirmed that it was indeed a cat.  Only not the domesticated kind.  More like the bobcat variety.

So when I got home I googled an image of a baby bobcat.  The pictures I found didn’t look like the cat that had crossed my path.  It’s ears were certainly similar, but not quite right.  And the animal I saw was slightly spotted, not striped.   

Just for kicks I googled an image of a baby mountain lion. 

You know what’s coming don’t you?

Yep.  It was a baby mountain lion.  And that, of course, begs the question: where’s his Mama?

Wherever she is I would rather not make her acquaintance.

And Jeff has always called me crazy when I tell him how I’m scared to go walking in the mornings for fear of being eaten by a mountain lion. 

“There aren’t any mountain lions in our neighborhood.  But you definitely want to be on the lookout because I think the sky is falling.”

Whatever.

And the kids?  The kids find it hilarious that I keep a hammer in the basket of the stroller for just such emergencies.

Who’s crazy now huh?

*Editor’s note: This post is being filed under the “Times I Was Right” category for obvious reasons.