A City Girl Can Survive

I survived.

A bear did not attack me, a bug did not bite me and I did not have to substitute dry leaves for TP. And for those things, I am extremely grateful.

However, it wouldn’t be an accurate reflection of our mini get-away if I didn’t share the minor details.

On our way to the state park, which is about 45 minutes from our house, we passed a Starbucks. And, since I was driving, I decided that, yes, I would love to start my trip off with a Salted Caramel Mocha latte, thank you very much. Especially since it was cloudy and cool and the weather people were forecasting chances of rain. Aside from a forest fire or being invaded by skunks, that would probably be right up there as worst case scenario for me so I was praying that the rain stayed away. And it did, thank goodness.

As we made our way up the hill to our campsite, I will admit that I started to have difficulty breathing. Because of the elevation changes? Okay, I’ll go with that. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that, with every turn, I watched the bars on my phone decrease. Not power bars but service bars. Once we reached our ‘stomping ground,’ I not only had no signal, I had the dreaded ‘No Service’ indicator.

Seriously? No, really. What am I supposed to do all night? I can’t get texts? No status updates? This is 2011, after all. Where are the towers? Surely someone at AT&T can climb a few oak trees and set something up. After I had a speedy meltdown alone, I did what I had to do. I turned my precious little friend off for the night and proceeded to unload.

We spent the rest of the evening visiting with friends while the kids played football. After dinner, we did what was probably my favorite part – roasted some ‘mellers and made some S’mores. I’m pretty sure I ate my weight in those darn things and I enjoyed every last drop.

Soon after that, we headed to our tent for the night. Oh my word, it was painful. And cold. Not the see-your-breath cold but a damp cold, nonetheless. Although the tent was set up on an official camping pad specifically designed for tents, the ground felt like a concrete pad. We only had blankets under us {no sleeping bags – we’re amateurs, remember?} because an air mattress wouldn’t fit. After we all lay down, we covered with about three blankets along with scarves and hoodies.

Five minutes after we are all buried in blankets, d1 says he smells something on his hand. We told him to just forget about it, that it was probably something from his last bathroom trip {ick!} and to just go to sleep. Then he jumped and said something was crawling on him. We put a light on him to find he had smashed half a spider and was holding the rest of the remains in his hand {he thinks he smelled his blood - what in the world?}. That gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling that makes you want to go back to sleep, doesn’t it? Good thing I couldn’t if I wanted to.

Thinking back, it’s funny how my fears changed. Before we headed to camp, my fear of going to sleep in the tent was that I would wake up in the belly of a wild beast. Once we actually got there and lay down for the night, I realized that I was more afraid to turn over for fear that I was going to hurt my back. Now if that doesn’t show my age…..

In any case, the night was long, I woke up bruised on each hip from attempting to change positions BUT I did not go to the van. Yes, I am quite proud of that.

And I’m not the only paranoid fool in the family. The next morning, when d1 heard a dog bark, he popped up and said, ‘Was that a coyote?’ We said no and he laid back down. A few minutes later, someone was using a hammer and he popped up again and said, ‘Was that a gun? Is someone shooting at us?’ I guess the apple doesn’t fall far, huh?

After breakfast with the friends, we set out for a hike. As much as I’m anti-nature, I can’t deny that it was some beautiful scenery. We made it to the first ‘check point’ up the mountain and headed back down. I did enjoy it but I did also have anxiety over every single step the boys took so 0.5 miles was plenty.

We headed back to the camp site, ate some lunch {we did A LOT of eating in an 18-hour period, which was awesome!} and then headed back home.

So, in the grand scheme of things, I would call our overnight camping trip a success. I did enjoy the fresh air and the feeling of having NOTHING to do. Will I be doing it again anytime soon? Not in a tent. A camper, maybe, but not a tent. I’m too old for that mess.








**Dear Table Rock State Park Marketing Department,

False advertising is not cool. Your website said Wi-Fi capabilities but it didn’t say that the Wi-Fi is only available within 50 feet of the front gate. Let’s go ahead and add a disclosure statement to your brochure to prevent any further headaches and breakdowns from loyal customers.

Signed,

Not So Happy Camper

{Just helping out my fellow FB/Twitter/Pinterest addicts…..}

Bug Bites, Barettes and Bears - Oh My!

Before I had children of my own, I always hoped for a boy as my first born. I realize I had nothing to do with that outcome and I do accept that God gave me THREE boys and ZERO girls for a reason.

Some days it’s not hard to see why. I mean, I don’t wear dresses ‘just because’ – I reserve those occasions for weddings and funerals. I think that others look stunning in them but I just feel weird in them and can't seem to pull off the intended look so I opt for the jeans. Another reason I’m pretty sure I didn’t have a girl is that I don’t have patience for French braids and barrettes. I would probably give it a shot one time and then force the kid to either wear a Cardinals baseball hat or get in line for a buzz cut with the boys, thus scarring her sweet little self forever.

So, now that you’ve read those confessions of where I lack some femininity {yes, it’s a word – I checked}, one might assume I am a total tomboy. Most days, I might agree with that. However, I’m pretty sure the definition of a tomboy means that they love all things outdoors. That's not so much the truth with this chic. Don’t get me wrong - I enjoy the outdoors but if I'm going to spend more than a few minutes outside, I do have a few {small} requirements. I need to be in the shade, it needs to be no hotter than 75 degrees but not so cool that I can see my breath. I don't do port-a-potties, all insects need to stay at least 50 feet from my flesh and there shall never be a substitute for toilet paper. Period.

Here's another confirmation that I'm not falling under any tomboy stereotype. We're going camping this weekend. I should be pumped up.

Except I'm not.



But I'm going and, no matter what, I am going to put my biggest smile on and make memories with my men. Maybe good ones, maybe not so good ones but memories nonetheless. I will take my camera and I do fully intend to snap some pictures for the scrapbook. And who knows? Maybe one day my boys will see the sacrifices I made for their happiness and want to reciprocate the love by sending me for an indoor spa day. Okay, maybe not. But who knows? Maybe I'll end up enjoying the experience.


Unless something crazy happens.



As comical as that is, it's really got me freaked out. Did I mention that we're sleeping in a tent on the ground of a state park? I'm not interested in becoming Cujo Bear's 2am snack. I can't express my fears in front of my children because my self-induced panic attack might permanently traumatize them but it's a valid concern. Are you laughing at me? Is the city girl in me shining brightly right now?

I will say one thing with absolute certainty. I'm not a fast runner. In fact, any time I do pick up the pace {usually chasing d3 when he's running with a sharp object or headed to the toilet with my iPhone}, I hear giggles from the peanut gallery. That's how infrequent it is and how awkward it looks. However, if I see a bear, you better believe I'm grabbing one kid in each arm and hightailing it to the nearest shotgun-armed park ranger. And you know what they say about running from bears - you don't have to be the fastest, you just have to be faster than the slowest person. GOT IT.

Oh, I hope someone brings coffee.

Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Love Note and A Grilled Cheese

If I had a quarter for every time I’ve heard, ‘Wow, never a dull moment in your house,’ I’d be loaded rich because it’s so totally true. Some of those ‘moments’ make me laugh, some make me cry and some make me just walk straight to my filthy master bathroom that the boys view as their personal urinal and sit while I practice my breathing. Not so much the pregnant, hoo-hoo breathing but more of the ‘I’m gonna break something or someone in half if I don’t calm down and count to ten’ breathing. Last week was no different……

And because my boys know my OCD tendencies and how I like things to be equal and balanced, they all gave me their own individual funnies to write about. These actually made the laughing moments list….well, eventually I laughed at d1 after a few minutes and d3 after a few days…..

Let’s switch things up a bit and do last born first…..

One of the hazards of d3 being a boy is his love for outdoors. He loves all things sports {duh} but when he’s at pre-school, it would appear that he loves to spend his playground time in the sand box. I know this not because his teacher tells me so but because every day when we get home and he takes off his shoes, he dumps out a cup of sand onto the floor. Every day. No big deal, really. We have a stellar vacuum and this carpet has seen way more nastiness than a few thousand grains of sand. We do have a garage where he could easily kick his shoes off but getting that kid to do something he does not want to do is not an easy task and we choose our battles rather than fighting day and night. Oh, the similarities I see in him to another certain lad in our family but that's beside the point.

Back to the story. I recently determined something else about his travels to the sand box that I really didn’t want to. As I was changing a blowout nappie of his last weekend {potty training is next on our to-do list and we can’t hardly wait }, I was having a hard time wiping his hiney. It felt….gritty. How could that be? He hadn’t been in the sandbox for at least 24 hours and he had had a bath the night before. A few hours later, he had another doozy of a diaper and, again, I couldn’t help but feel like I was exfoliating his bum. What in the world?

Oh wait. I get it now. Gritty-textured diarrhea can really only mean one thing – this kid is supplementing his two meals plus two snacks at pre-school with a helping of parasite-enriched sand! ICK. Should I be worried that he’s lacking some important nutrient that makes him crave this crud? Sheesh. I am hopeful, though, that he had enough and realized it’s really not at all tasty because I haven’t changed anymore of said diapers since last weekend. Whatever bug he swallowed {literally} must have made its way through and taken all the playground padding with it.

Now for a priceless quote from the middle son during one of our conversations on cooking…..

d1: Mommy, how do you make grilled cheese?

Me: You butter two slices of bread, throw a piece of cheese in the middle and cook it in a skillet. Easy as that.

d2: Well, what makes it black?


Bless his honest, itty-bitty self. He really had no idea that he had just insulted my cooking. And I did burn the last couple of sammies so I just chuckled. Although he’s never really been a picky eater and typically the one asking for salad before pizza, he’s gotten into a bad habit lately of complaining about what we’re eating and how I cooked it wrong so the fact that his question wasn’t really a complaint but more of an observation was somewhat refreshing.

And for the finale from my first born son, never to be outdone….

This week has been a struggle for him in the behavior department, specifically backtalk. Actually, I think D1 and I are the ones struggling with it because he really doesn’t seem bothered much by it. So far, he’s only popped off his mouth to us and not his teachers, which is good. That is, until this past Wednesday night when he took it with him to church. Unacceptable.

The consequences were steep for this offense – weekend sleepover cancelled. He.Was.Devastated. For two days, he asked over and over and over if we would change our minds and each time we said no, he melted down. Over and over again. I’ll admit – a lot of times we’ll soften up and let him ‘earn it back’ but not this time. It was clearly having an impact on him and we needed something to help the lesson sink in.

Here’s where the humor comes in. This morning, the day of when the sleepover was set to occur, d1 wakes up and asks me if I found his note. I have no clue what he’s talking about but he told me to go back to my room and look around for a note from him. Um, okay. So I go look on my night stand and dresser. I look under the bed, on top of the mounds of dirty clothes on the floor, under the bag of chips on D1's side of the room. Still, I see nothing. I glance over at my rumpled up covers on my bed and do a double take when I see this…..




Surely not. Is that blue ink on my cream colored sheets? Why, yes. Yes, it is. He wrote me a note, alright. On my SHEETS. Oh, the thoughts going through my head were not motherly. Maybe not even legal. So what if the note starts off with a declaration of love? That was merely the preface to a plea so, in my mind, it kind of cancels out the sentiment.

Here’s the funny part, crazy as that sounds. I thought he wrote the note to me directly on the sheets but, if you look closely, the writing is actually on a piece of Scotch tape that is stuck to the bed.



Apparently he came into my room last night when I was in the shower and wrote it on the tape {which now explains why I saw the craft bucket randomly dumped out on the bathroom sink last night} and then placed on my side of the bed. I think he knew he would have been shipped off to that boot camp place I refer to far too often had he gone and scribbled directly on the linens. He must also think that I carefully climb into bed each night and examine my sheets thoroughly before falling into a peaceful slumber. Not so much, kid. More like collapsing every night from exhaustion and fatigue, hence the reason why I slept on top of your love note.

Sleepover ruling was not overturned, despite the innovative appeal. Nice try, though.