Table Rock Trip
Goal: Get up at 8:00 am. Have leisurely morning time for breakfast, snack packing, dressing, showers, doggy details, kitchen cleaning, coffee drinking, bed making, general routine. Leave house by 10:30. Have cooler of snacks that make every body happy packed and ready to go. Don’t forget margarita makings. Hit Fresh Market for hot dogs, potato salad, cilantro and buns. Be at friend’s by 11:30. Watch the clouds go by on the way up the mountain while singing “She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain”, or John Denver’s “Country Road”. Relish in nature with our children and friends.
Reality: Hit snooze 7 times until the thing just won’t go off anymore. Oldest son to awaken us at 9:46, asking aren’t we going to Table Rock? Bolt out of bed and turn on shower. Decide all three children’s finger nails are disgusting and insist on trimming while naked and about to get in shower. Make hubby get up and feed two of the three children who had not yet served their own breakfast. Tell third child 11 times to come upstairs and put on pants. Ask second child repeatedly where are his Spiderman boots? Never get answer. Hear third child tell Daddy that Daddy’s oatmeal isn’t made like Mommy’s and it burned his face. And isn’t smushy enough. Convince child that yes it is indeed like Mommy’s. Ask child where are his pants. Get no satisfactory answer. Step on dog three times. Find out that after sending second child upstairs more than four times to brush her teeth, she has yet to do so. And she replies I only had crispy rice cereal - it’s not stuck in my teeth, do I have to brush on fifth request. Refrain from shaking second child into common sense. Try on two pair of pants to see which one makes butt look less butt-like. Still looking for Spiderman boots. Send all children up to make beds again. Start packing snacks while in a bra. Field requests for chewing gum. Look for drinks. Have second child pack extra clothes for after playing in mountain stream. Put two backpacks of clothes by back door. Forget margarita makings. Dry hair while the Colonel wrestles two of the three children on our unmade bed. Burn mouth on coffee. Where the flip are the Spiderman boots? Cover zits with concealer. Curse zits. Change pants. Call all family members to the car. Load. Tell child to get in the car. Tell child to get in the car. Tell child to get in the car. Load cooler. Load another cooler. Remember margarita makings (whew). Trick dog into bathroom and lock him up. Load one backpack, forget other. Tell child to get in the car. Look for keys. Look for keys. Tell child to get in the flipping car or else. Pull out of drive way in a sweat at 11:46. Forgot breakfast. Race to Fresh Market, take too long for the Colonel’s satisfaction, tear out of parking lot and push the minivan to it’s limit all the way to Pickens County. Arrive at friends’ at 12:22. Tell husband, see that wasn’t bad, we’re not that late. Get the stare. Remind husband who did all the prep and packing. And found all the children’s clothes. While he showered and wrestled on the bed. Narrowly escape fight as friends come out to greet us. Give apology eyes later on the way up the mountain.
The mountain: children racing ahead on trail. Third child soaked immediately. Spiderman boots full of water. Moans about the heat. Moans about how long the trail is. Moans about hunger. Moans about not getting to go out over the cliff on moss covered falled tree that dangles 20 feet over the water. Lots of laughing. Several heart stopping slips down rocks children are specifically instructed to stay off. I didn’t want apple juice. I wanted orange juice. I don’t like this kind of orange juice. He ate the last granola bar. But I won’t fall. I won’t I won’t I won’t. He gets to (fill in the blank). High blood pressure. Some bugs and sweat. A few leaf races in the stream. An unknown snake sure to be highly poisonous and definitely designed to make young children shriek at extremely high pitches. Administering of the ibuprofen from the emergency med kit to all adults. Daddy will you carry me. Mommy will you carry me. Stop right there stop right there stop right there. Time for a margarita. Or three. Arrive at car with dripping 5 year old. Discover his bag was the one left behind. Strip him naked in the parking lot to his horrifed embarrasment. Put only dry shirt on him, which is pink, to further mortification. Watch him try to cover his little self and have a good laugh at his expense. Head for the house, the grill and the blender. All in all, a great day.
