On Friday I got the wild idea that WE SHOULD TOTALLY GO CAMPING ON SUNDAY NIGHT! WE CAN TAKE THE LITTLE TENT!! INSTEAD OF THE GIANT TENT!!! IT'LL BE A BLAST!!!! I got the husband on board and we were set. Except I needed to find a campsite.
And that proved to be a bit difficult. What with Sunday being Memorial Day Eve and all. Troy and I simultaneously had the same thought, "BACKYARD CAMP OUT!" Mostly because, after ten and a half years of marriage, we've started thinking each other's thoughts. Or something. The boys, who did not know that we had considered going actual camping, were thrilled.
We BBQ'd hamburgers and hot dogs, ate corn on the cob, fresh fruit and potato chips. Then we washed all of that down with Cookie S'mores. (S'mores, take away chocolate, take away graham crackers, add chocolate chip cookies.) Also, it has been brought to my attention that no backyard camp out is complete without a Power Ranger.
I texted this picture to my mom and, approximately five seconds after doing so, Garrett declared, "Put away your phone! Put down your Internet! THIS IS A CAMPING TRIP AND WE DON'T HAVE THOSE THINGS ON CAMPING TRIPS!" I did as I was told.
The universe is almost short one neighbor. You see, when a dog barks All. Night. Long. I don't actually get mad at the dog. I get mad at the owner. Because. SERIOUSLY? Can you not hear that? And if you really, truly can't, I recommend having your ears checked. I thought about banging on the door at 4:15 am to say, "BRING YOUR DOG IN NOW OR YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE IT IN THE MORNING!" I considered putting the dog in my own house so that maybe, just maybe, it would shut up so that my family might sleep. I considered murder. I did none of these things. I have no follow through to my grand plans.
At 8:30 this morning we met our friends at their house and headed across the valley to Bell Canyon.
And up, up, straight up, we went for two miles that took forever and a day because the trail is narrow and everyone (EVERYONE AND THEIR MAMA AND THEIR SISTER AND THEIR ELEVEN KIDS--because, Utah.) decided to hike that trail for Memorial Day. There was a lot of, "Sorry!" "Thank you!" "Coming through!" "Good morning!"
First, we stopped at the reservoir which was less than half a mile up the trail.
My boys were thrilled to be hiking with their best friends in the whole wide world.
One of the adults in this relationship might have said to the other one, "I'm sorry. Are you really going to let it ruin your day?" Because the other adult might have been about to have a hissy fit over it. The near hissy fit thrower might have decided that probably the other person was right. Even if she (or he) hates to admit it. She (or he) was happy to have a phone that takes good pictures.
Our kids were troopers, climbing, climbing, climbing the fairly steep trail until we reached our destination.
Unfortunately, we had to slide down a very muddy hill to get pictures of the waterfall and there just wasn't a great angle. Plus the sun was making it impossible to see my phone so I just clicked away and hoped to get something decent.
My children were covered (from head to sneaker clad toe) in mud. So much mud, they had to ride home in their undies but don't tell anyone because this brings the almost eight-year-old a great deal of humiliated feelings.
Also, I am WAY TOO HARD ON MY OLDEST KID and WAY TOO SOFT ON MY YOUNGEST and HOW DID THIS HAPPEN BECAUSE I AM AN OLDEST CHILD. The oldest fell into the mud first. In large part, I think he wanted this to happen. He is always "accidentally" falling into water. Or mud. Or whatever it is we probably don't want him falling into. The probability of it always being an accident is very low. So today, when he fell and covered himself in sticky muck like a pig in the dead of summer, I yelled, "GARRETT! COME ON! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO RIDE HOME?" (In his undies, actually.)
Not five minutes later, Matthew did the same, exact thing. Having been present for the oldest's lecture, he quickly said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to do that."
"It's okay, baby. Hop up."
For real. Those were my reactions to my two children getting covered in mud. Now, in reality, I saw both happen. The first one looked like the acting in a B rated film. Controlled fall, covered in mud, "HOWEVER did that happen?" The second looked like a legitimate slip. But still. It's like I expect Garrett to act like a sixteen-year-old girl in an etiquette class and I expect Matthew to act like a two-year-old cross between a golden retriever and a real, live boy. What is wrong with me?
At least I recognized it, right? Does that get me some points? After careful self examination I have declared myself NOT mother of the year.
I'm going to take parenting classes. I think I'll let my first grader teach them, just as a way of saying, "Apparently, I expect way more out of you. Whoops. Sorry for that. Also sorry for that ulcer you're developing. Here's 200 bucks. That oughta pay for your first therapy session."