She: There’s nothing like coming home after spending thousands of dollars on a vacation, driving thousands of miles on the road, and having your child say his favorite part of the Grand Canyon was using the hotel key cards.

Z: In his defense, when you pulled the card out it did make a little green light flash.

She: Worth every penny.

Z: And at least he stopped reading long enough to look at it.

She: Only because we made him.

Z: He’s not completely antisocial. He said his other favorite thing was playing with the kids at our friends’ houses in Vegas and Albuquerque.

She: Yep. Basically we could have had a big playdate for spring break and saved a ton of money.

Z: But then we would have missed out on the iPod experience.

She: True. Koss singing at the top of his lungs was not to be missed. He’s definitely got your gift for filling in blanks when he can’t quite get the lyrics. I don’t think U2 really sings, “Hello, Ola. You are really hair-e-o.”

Z: And I’m pretty sure we heard “Five-Hundred-Twenty-Five-Thousand, Six-Hundred Minutes” five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand, six-hundred times.

She: You also learn a lot when you stay with friends.

Z: I thought you already knew that everyone else’s garage is bigger than our house.

She: That’s not what I mean. I mean stuff like other people really like to cook and hang out at home.

Z: We would, too, if we liked to cook or had a home where we had enough room for a whole other person.

She: Honestly, I kind of agree with Koss. The best part of the vacation was just hanging out with friends. I would have been happy with a big spring break playdate, too.

Z: There’s nothing like those midnight chat sessions.

She: Absolutely — even if half of us are falling asleep and gaseous.

Z: It was the altitude. I mean, it was Ramey.

She: Always the gentleman.

Z: I think America is badly designed. I think it should be designed so that all of our friends live in town with us, and there’s a huge house where we can all play together.

She: With a mom there to cook and clean but not listen in our conversations.

Z: Sounds perfect.

She: And there’s a huge bathtub, where I can go if I need to retreat from everyone for a little while or long while. But no one can talk about me when I leave the room.

Z: You mean like Koss asking that guy in the bathroom in Williams, Ariz., if he had heard of the famous writer, Leslie Dinaberg?

She: Exactly. I laughed until I found out the guy lived in Montecito. Bet he won’t forget my name now.

Z: Oh, well. At least we’ll always remember Archie.

She: That’s true. The beauty of endless car trips is that you do get some lasting family jokes.

Z: When we were writing last week’s column, we were working on the line, “Koss, stop reading and look at the scenery,” and Koss would stop reading and look at the desert and go, “What?”

She: Right. So to stop bugging him, we made up a code name for him.

Z: Jeff.

She: Which seemed fine to me.

Z: But eventually he poked his head up from behind his book, and said, “Who’s Jeff?”

She: We explained. It annoyed him. Turns out, he doesn’t like the name Jeff.

Z: And then, without missing a beat, he said, “Call me Archie,” and went back to reading.

She: You wouldn’t get that if it weren’t for the endless desert.

Z: Yes, dear.

She and Z are finally back home, and will be checking e-mail at leslie@lesliedinaberg.com.