Midadventures

Misadventures. Our adventures are always more misadventures than anything.

There is always good intentions in the beginning. Some idyllic, lofty daydream that features our family harmoniously playing at our campsite after a beautiful day hiking in some national park that just happened to have free entrance that day. The boys enjoy a root beer, organic sarsaparilla of course, while dad and I have our IPAs. There is lots of laughter and fun. Some frisbee and soccer is played. The boys scoot or skate around the campsite while Meadow takes her nap wrapped up close to me. The dogs are well behaved. We make jiffy pop and tell ghost stories. We make s’mores and hot cocoa. The sugar doesn't affect them at this altitude. The kids all go to bed without a second thought. Dad and I stay up talking underneath a canopy of stars. It is a three day weekend and there isn't even an inkling of discord the entire trip.

I should know better by now.

At one point tonight I whispered to my husband "It must physically hurt them not to speak at all times." We were an hour and a half late getting on the road and while we normally leave the dogs with a pet sitter because of severe anxiety of our oldest pup, we decided today would be a good day to go against everything we know to be true in this world and take them. Thundershirt on and puppy prozac swallowed and she still barked at every single car from our house to the beach camp. Every. Single. One. We forgot one of the blankets so we had to go buy one. One of our headlights is out and our brakes are shot which makes just getting anywhere a misadventure already. We realized about 13 seconds after we arrived that we didn't bring anything for the baby to sit, rock or play in all weekend. I took the kids for a walk to go collect wildflowers for our picnic table and Everett parked his scooter in the middle of the road, which caused a woman who was skateboarding next to her pup to have to stop so she didn't hit it. Her kids were riding bikes behind her and didn't get the memo. They slammed into this poor lady. We couldn't have been here for an hour at that point. We didn't bring IPA, my husband bought a 30 pack of Natural Light. For old times’ sake. And it is just as awful as the last time he brought home a case. Our one dog peed on the other one. And at that exact moment I thought, "Yeah, that's about right." Everett threw a tantrum to end all tantrums. Our neighbors hate us. Who can blame them. Our dogs bark at everything that walks past the campground while we're constantly trying to shoosh Everett repeating "ME NO GO POTTTTTTTTY". There are no s’mores to be made tonight. No stories to be told. We are halfway considering begging our amazing babysitter to come get the kids and the dogs and give us a day to recoup after this day of "vacation". And I couldn't get the damn fire started. I always get the fire started. Quickly and easily, it's my camp thing. And we all sucked tonight and there's not much else to say.

Except that tomorrow is not today. Tomorrow is a clean slate. Tomorrow, we will wake up to the waves of the ocean (and more than likely our dogs barking at some kind soul). Tomorrow we will try harder. We will play soccer in the sand and we will scoot our happy bums up to the camp store and find a thing of Jiffy Pop.

Tomorrow will be better.