Just for fun!
I left this A-Z Blog Challenge from 2015 on here because I had such a good time doing it.
If you've got time to kill, read some of the older posts.
Just to give you a clear picture of my husband, here's the conversation I just overheard with Bill talking to my brother-in-law.
"How's the camping trip going?"
"It's good, it's raining like a cow pissin' on a flat rock."
I don't know about you, but this gives me a very clear picture in my head. The sad thing is he's not the writer! How does he come up with this stuff, where did he hear it? Must be his humble, country beginnings. Apparently, I missed all that colorful, descriptive language growing up in the city.
Anyway, we're camping. It's never been one of my favorite pastimes. My idea of time away has more to do with room service, romantic dinners and spectacular views. By spectacular views, I do not mean sand in a kid's ass crack.
We did it all the time when the kids were small. Mainly because it was the only vacation we could afford. Our first camping trip was before we had any children. It involved driving miles and miles back in the woods with tree branches slapping against the car. At times I didn't even think we would fit on the trail, but we did and after a long time came to a clearing in the woods. There were a number of people who had pitched tents and were drinking beer around some fires. Think of countrified hippies. One large bearded man tended the biggest fire all night. They called him Igor, and he didn't speak much to anyone. When I finally got up the nerve to talk to him, I asked why he kept the fire going. He replied calmly with one word, "Bear."
I suggested to Bill that maybe we should head on home.
"To late, to dark and the trail is to narrow."
Later we progressed to tent camping, with children. Dirt, bugs, dishpans, ugh!
Then we got a pop-up. This was a little better and we used it a lot, until the fateful trip to Nick's Lake in the Adirondacks. I should have paid more attention to the 'Don't feed the Bears' sign.
By the time I realized this was not a good place for me, it was too late.
The kids were sleeping and I had just mowed down a Hershey's Bar while laying in our pull out bed that hung over the side. Now as a conscientious mother, I'd made sure that not one scrap of food was exposed to temp a bear, then I realized that I was lying there with chocolate breath and the only thing between me and a bear was an old, worn screen.
What if a bear smelled it? Would his giant paw sweep in and rip off my face before having a meal of my poor children that likely had something sweet and sticky somewhere on their little bodies?
Climbing over Bill, (why do I always get stuck on the inside) I stuffed my feet into my sneakers, threw my hoody over my pajamas and grabbed the flashlight. Traipsing through the pitch dark, I made my way to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.
There, all fixed! No more chocolate breath, therefore, no bear. Children safe, my work here is done. Getting back to the pop-up, I crawled over my sleeping husband, satisfied with my mothering skills. Then I tasted it, the mint of the toothpaste, crap! Can they smell it?
Grabbing my flashlight, I found a book and got up to read.
"We're leaving tomorrow," I informed Bill with an elbow in the cheek of his ass as I climbed over him. He only grunted.
Then we moved up to a camper, well more like a tin can on wheels, but I let him have his fantasy. Here's what my day consisted of with five kids and one husband:
Get up at the ass crack of dawn.
Make breakfast while juggling baby and trying not to trip over other children or camping neighbors.
Dress children and send them out while praying it does not 'rain like a cow pissin' on a flat rock'.
Heat water for dishes in pan on fire, wash and dry dishes, clean camper, start lunch.
Wash kids, feed family, wash kids again (getting sand out of hair and ass cracks), sweep sand from camper, repeat until bedtime. Make smores, repeat again.
Find a big stick to poke fires.
Visit other campsites to visit brothers and brothers-in-law, poke their fires with his big stick.
Send someone for more beer.
Sit and tell lies about size of fish and other assorted body parts.
Have trouble starting fire, get fan and put to close to flames and melt blades, sleep in sweltering tin can with 6 others.
Go home and put an add in paper to sell camper!
By now you're probably wondering why we are camping. What can I say, I had a weak moment and bought him a used camper for Father's Day. His health is not great. All of our kids are grown and we brought along our oldest daughter. She's doing most of the work. I cook, she cleans up. Yesterday we spent a good part of the day out on a party barge fishing. It was wonderful. Our youngest son camps here seasonally and paid for us to have a waterfront site for 4 days. Of course this camper has beds and a bathtub, hot running water and a toilet. It's a far cry from the way things used to be. I'm actually enjoying myself.