I blame Apple for my lack of recent blogging. Ever since I migrated over to the new Photos program and syncing with iCloud (for greater ease and convenience, natch) getting my photos off my phone and onto my computer is a colossal pain-in-the ass.
I know I should call tech support (again) but I can think of so many things I’d rather do than hang out on hold for two hours.
However, since I’ve pretty much given up making photo albums and scrapbooks, I have to bite the bullet and do the upload to iCloud, download to my Mac, upload to WordPress bullshit so I can preserve some memories on my blog.
I love the idea of my boys reading this when they are 40 and wondering how they didn’t turn out completely fucked up.
Summer is 2/3 over and I’m still not hating life.
Yes, I have moments where I want to throttle my kids. And yes, I have been on Prozac for the last two months (coincidence?) but I still can’t believe that I am not ready to kill someone/myself.
It has mostly to do with my kids being old enough to enjoy fun things (like camping) while not being too old to want to do them with me.
A couple years ago (Jesus, how time flies) we went camping at Rocky Mountain National Park with Alana and Ben. We looked forward to doing it again but they went and had a baby so we had to skip a year.
I remember camping with my kids when they were little. I did it a lot but I’m still impressed that she was up for camping so soon. Alana is one of the most easy-going, mellow moms out there.
I love camping with her because she pretty much does everything. All I have to do is pack our tent and sleeping bags.
I mean, I love camping with her for a lot of other reasons but I’m not going to lie, it’s wonderful not being in charge.
If there is a theme to my style of camping, it usually involves me being as uninvolved in the planning as humanly possible. Now that I am surrounded by mothers, it’s a whole lot easier than when I was the only person who knew a thing about meal planning and prep.
We stayed in Rocky Mountain National Park’s Glacier Basin campground. Moraine Park (our site of choice) no longer allows group sites because of noise. While we were disappointed, Glacier Basin wasn’t exactly shabby.
The kids are at a wonderful age where everything isn’t hard all the time. They eat most everything, helping them get dressed only involves me throwing a wad of clothes into their tent, and all they need to entertain themselves is a knife.
Loony brought pocket knives for the kids and showed them how to whittle a stick to a sharpened point. It was love at first sight.
There is nothing my boys love more than using a weapon to make more weapons.
They sharpened sticks, walked down to the creek, played Magik, ate s’mores, slept under the stars, and got filthy.
I forbade them from running with knives because I‘m not driving you to the ER if you stab yourself or someone else!
It was childhood perfection.
I had great time myself. I didn’t feel overly burdened or resentful because 1) Alana did all the work and 2) what meager efforts I undertook weren’t rewarded with whining.
Our number one goal was to build up an appetite between meals. Number two was getting through all those bottles of wine everyone brought. Loony couldn’t stop yapping about how uh-mazing bacon grilled over a campfire tastes (from the last trip) and finally got to relive the ecstasy.
There’s nothing like the threat of a grease fire to keep everyone entertained. It’s better than Benihana.
On our last trip to RMNP we did a big hike and it ended in me giving Scratchy a piggy back ride all the way down. This time the boys powered up to Bear Lake with no complaining.
They might have complained but I couldn’t hear because I was up front with Sean’s wife.
She likes to walk as fast as I do. We got to power hike to our hearts’ content and we didn’t have to listen to asinine conversations about some stupid game.
The only migraine inducing moment of the trip revolved around a rather intriguing looking chair I had dragged out of the neighbor’s trash.
It wasn’t long until I realized why it was in the dumpster.
Despite the fact that the experience of sitting in it can only be compared to getting the worst wedgie of your life, the boys treated it like the supreme object of desire and fought relentlessly over it.
Why? Because there was only one. So I did what any good mom would do.
I wrestled a knife out of a kid’s hand and attacked the chair with it.
Naturally it didn’t stop them from “sitting” in it but I taught them the very important lesson that violence is always a good way to resolve conflict.
I got to spend the weekend with some wonderful friends, the kids got to run around in the woods, and now we are back and the kids are in an awesome camp for the week which means I get to do pottery.
Look what I made!
I learned how to transfer images onto clay and had a blast making this birdhouse nightlight.
I also made this bitchin’ salad bowl.
So yeah, I’m this alien happy Vivienne replacement pod person. Don’t worry, I’m sure shit with the city will flare up soon enough and I will go back to being miserable. But for now, I’ll take it.