MURRIETA, Calif. - I plan my spontaneous moves very carefully. Had I known when I woke up one morning last spring that I'd be witness to a chainsaw/mountain bike/bowling ball juggling act, I may not have wandered onto the Santa Monica pier with my two boys in tow.

It wasn't the worst sight of the day, but given the thousands of things to see and do in the greater Los Angeles area, I probably would have skipped the juggling act. It was cool, but we hung around way too long to see if the man would drop something. I suppose we were hoping for a fiery explosion and lots of chaos.

People from all over the world pay good money to vacation in Los Angeles. They gawk at our celebrities, surf our waves, and enjoy a plethora of shopping opportunities.

I live a California commute from one of the metropolitan giants of the western world, but don't get into the city nearly as often as I like.

Oh sure, when I first moved out from New Mexico, my husband and I made it a point to check out the scene. We enjoyed everything from beaches to Beverly Hills. He'll probably never forgive me for saying so, but we auditioned for the "The Newlywed Game" show. We flopped miserably. The hired help who prep you for tryouts kept prompting us to "be funny!" I don't do funny on command.

Mike tried, and inadvertently (he says) made me look idiotic, so I got angry. Funny-Angry works, but Really-Angry doesn't fly on television very well. So, we never got to meet Bob Eubanks and we never auditioned for any thing else in that town again. Ever.

I'd wanted my sons Dominic and Vincent know Los Angeles better. They'd been to the city but I felt they knew L.A. akin to how most people living outside of California did: via the television set. So, after throwing a few things in my pickup truck I announced to my husband that on that last day of the kids' spring break, I'd be taking them to the City of Angels.

He asked if I'd checked the oil (I hadn't) and to make sure I took a map (I didn't). So, on a wing and a prayer, sans husband, a map or a plan, the boys and I drove west.

My kids think I'm nuts most of the time, and that day they had to listen to a lecture on why we were taking a drive when all they wanted to do was play video games. I have a couple of bright boys, who, when promised food and the possibility of swimming in the ocean, will go along with most things.

It was fun driving without a map, and frankly, without a husband who critiques my every lane change and missed freeway off-ramp. I just drove along using landmarks as a guideline. Our first stop was in the heart of downtown, where we bought bagels on a street lined with big, tall buildings. Next stop, after finding my way out of a maze of one way streets, was a car wash. What can I say? The truck was filthy, and we were headed to Beverly Hills.

We were smart. We didn't buy a "Map to the Homes of the Stars." I heard they just lead you to tall, ivy-covered walls hiding the far off mansions of the rich and famous. We wanted to see how the common man lived in Beverly Hills. Just like you'd think: picture-perfect, manicured landscaping leading up to super-sized mansions. Typical 90210 trappings.

My kids were impressed. My youngest son promised to one day buy me a house in Beverly Hills. I'm holding him to it. My older son studied the architecture. Maybe he'll build me a house.

Leaving Beverly Hills, we got lost. We viewed the Hollywood sign from three different vantage points. We saw Griffiths Observatory off in the distance (the smog wasn't in full force that day). We surfaced in Hollywood and cruised Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards. We stopped at Grauman's Chinese Theatre and did the touristy thing.

That day we ate our lunch on the beach at the same location the sitcom character Joey Tribbiani kicks back to check out the Santa Monica pier.

A whole carnival is actually situated on top of the pier and it hangs over the Pacific Ocean. The boys rode a roller coaster and another spinning ride. This was right after we dropped a couple of bucks for the street performer with the challenging juggling act. And if you're wondering, yes, the chainsaw was on full power as he tossed it in the air.

The kids were a little bored but I had to take them down Rodeo Drive. Twice. I couldn't figure out how to turn around, so we looped around and watched some obscenely wealthy people go into stores with names like Tiffany & Co. and Cartier. We left that highfalutin' area for a more middle of the road shopping experience: the multi-tiered Beverly Center. The BC was a hangout for Valley Girls back in the day.

Out on the mall's patio, we again sighted the Hollywood sign as the sun went down. After a second pass at the food court (these were very hungry boys) we ventured into the night, driving through Hollywood to the freeway that took us back to Murrieta. Outside of an hour, we were home, back in the relatively safe enclaves of suburbia.

Like most parents, I want my children to experience life first-hand.

Day-tripping in Los Angeles is but one of the California Adventures they've been on. As long as we can lure them away with food and a promise of some fun, they'll likely become the worldly young men we hope them to be.

Dolores Sanchez Badillo, who grew up in Albuquerque, lives with her husband and two kids in Murrieta, Calif., dude.