Himself and I have not taken a vacation in 34 months - not since we went to Boston to see Boston College take three overtimes to beat BYU in September 2006. Prior to that, we took a vacation to Newport, RI, in 2005. Before that our last vacation was our New England honeymoon in 2003.
Oh sure, we've visited family several times during the course of the last 34 months. Little road trips here and there (or long airplane treks before relocating to The Frontier), but while we love our families, it's not exactly going on vacation.
Therefore, I have been hellbent on having a real family vacation this year. I didn't care if it was overnight as long as it was not within 100 miles of The Frontier and didn't involve staying at a relative's house.
Given the fact that we have a baby arriving sometime in the next 8 weeks (ish), with all of the accompanying financial output, this vacation had to be cheap (not that I'm not already the queen of cheap vacations). And, given the fact that I'm chronically exhausted, it really couldn't involve a long distance, because who wants to spend the entire vacation sleeping?
Sometime this spring I hit on the (then) fabulous idea of heading to Yellowstone for a long weekend. Cooler temperatures, close enough to drive, cheap (National Parks Pass doesn't expire until month's end, camping is $12/night, etc.) and beautiful. The original plan was to do it sometime in June - but then June was the Great Job Quandry where we weren't exactly sure what was going on and Himself's schedule was about as predictable as the weather report.
So it got moved to the only other weekend available with three open days prior to me becoming as big as a whale and no longer interested in leaving the basement of the 70s palace (too hot to stay upstairs)...of course, it coordinates with the same weekend the rest of America converges on the Great American Roadtrip, but having endured the I-95 corridor during every major holiday possible, we figure it couldn't be that bad.
Then Himself, who has long professed to be a camper but in reality actually rarely camps, confessed that camping was fine as a kid, but as an adult "it's entirely too much work." DESPERATE for a vacation, I made a deal with the devil: I would do all of the trip preparation/packing myself if he would go and act excited. He agreed.
It sounded easy enough: all the camping gear is in one confined spot. It's only for 3 days and 2 nights. We're eating basic camp food, in order to limit our pot-packing to one and our cooler space to the Igloo in the garage.
Sometime around 7 p.m. last night I realized I'm probably insane. I started with the clothes - that would be easy. Except, Yellowstone is 30 degrees cooler than The Frontier and will require jackets/long sleeves/long pants in the cool morning and late evening hours. I had to climb up to retrieve Woodstock's fall clothing from the top of her closet, then make her play mannequin as I tried them on to see if there were any camping-appropriate pants that wouldn't droop around her ankles. She thought it was fun - except each clothing changed involved her racing through the basement saying, "Cute clothes, mama!" and giggling as she tried to out-maneuver me in order to not have to change. Then came packing for me. Trouble is, I've never been 8 months pregnant in cold weather before, limiting me to about 1.5 pieces of clothing that actually fits and is appropriate for camping.
As of this morning, less than 24 hours before our slated departure, the camping gear is packed (tarps, tent, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, thermarest pad, lantern, batteries, etc.). The non-perishable food is packed (hot dog buns, marshmallows, instant oatmeal, cereal bars, granola bars, goldfish, fruit, and other assorted edibles). The clothing is (mostly) packed ... still trying to figure out how not to be naked on top this weekend and wondering how silly I'd look in one of Himself's shirts which are 4 sizes too big even while pregnant. Woodstock's diaper bag/backpack is packed (diapers, wipes, changing pad, epi pen, benadryl, etc.).
It's all piled on the living room couch - making it slightly less possible for Woodstock to re-arrange the piles. Problem is, I'm so tired, I'm ready to come home already, and we haven't even left yet.
Then I glanced at the weather ... it is one of those times I'm really praying that the weatherman is wrong in his assessment of this weekend. I might be crazy, camping in a tent at 32 weeks pregnant, but I'm not crazy enough to want to do it in a soggy tent.
Next time, we're picking a vacation destination that involves a massage, a butler, a maid and a personal chef.
No comments:
Post a Comment