Camping, Day Two

Morning is a surly time on the best of occasions, but when morning starts at 5:52, you know we're in for a special level of torture.  Here's how I imagined morning on a campout being: crisp morning air, sun rising over the mountains, we're swinging on the porch swing, sipping hot chocolate while taking in the serene, calming beauty.

Here's how the morning really went:  Up before the sun, hot chocolate getting dumped on the ground causing a Zack-level eruption, porch swing being used as ammo in a game of Whack-a-Brother, me shushing for an hour so neighbors (and spouses) can hopefully get a little more sleep, being told that my shushing is too loud, finally giving up and ordering Zack inside to watch Toy Story on the portable dvd player.  Surrounded by natural beauty and all of God's wonders, and I still, STILL have to resort to plugging one of my kids in.  This is an epic camping fail.

Although maybe I'm being too harsh.  In all honesty, take out the outdoors part and the hot chocolate part and this is a typical hotel morning.  Any morning that I have to deal with the kids at 5:52 a.m. is going to be lousy.  Trying to keep kids quiet so other people can sleep is a documented cause of parental insanity. (Trust me, I know.)  This problem isn't camping-specific - it's a symptom of traveling with children.

One problem that IS camping-specific, or more accurately, KOA-specific, are the cabin doors.  The cabin is solid wood, floors, walls, ceilings, all of it.  The doors have a locking mechanism that is vaguely reminiscent of the bars medieval castles used to close their doors to invaders.  A handle on the outside pulls a rope that lifts the bar on the other side, allowing the door to be pushed open.  Nifty, right?  The only problem is that it is the loudest door-opening mechanism ever invented by man.  The invention of the doorknob is what catapulted medieval man into the modern era.  The wooden bar scrapes and clanks, the handle rattles, the door itself sticks and has to be forced open.  We may as well attach a bell to it - no one is coming or going without waking the entire family.

An exchange taking place at, oh, 8:00 or so.

Noah:  Are people still sleeping?

Me:  Probably.  I would be if I could.

Noah:  Geez, people sleep for hours!

I don't want to sound completely negative, because overall we had a very nice day, but I have one more complaint:  Google Maps.   We've all had minor maps-related snafus - being directed to a dead end, going to a business address that no longer exists - a friend recently had to walk through a field to show up at the back door of the address she was looking for.  That's the cost of convenience, I say.  Well, I say wrong, apparently.  Because today Google Maps failed on such a massive scale I wouldn't be surprised if this was a belated April Fool's Joke.  From our campground in Green River, Google instructed us to take US-6 westbound, i.e. back toward home.  So we did.  For 45 minutes.   The promised left-hand turn that would take us to Goblin Valley never appeared.  And, naturally, neither did our cell service.  We turned around and finally got a hold of the camp, asking for directions - we should have been on I-70 westbound.  What should have been a 30 minute drive ended up being about two hours, which would make this a Mudgett-scale "shortcut."  Fortunately, everyone handled it really well - no one freaked out, although we endured an extra 1.5 hours of "are we there yets" until I threatened to leave Noah on the side of the road and let him walk to Goblin Valley, see how long it takes you then, buddy.

(I was just kidding about that.  I wouldn't actually make my kid get out of the car and walk.  But it made him stop asking, finally.)

Goblin Valley itself is just too cool for words.  I forgot to pack my USB adapter for my camera so authentic pictures are going to have to wait, but here's a picture I found online and I can attest, yup, it looks just like that in real life.

(Thanks for the image, Google, but you haven't made it up to me yet.  I'm still sulking.)

The kids took off running and pretty much didn't stop for an hour.  They climbed over and through these crazy rock formations.  The sun was shining but there was a cool breeze - it couldn't have been more perfect weather.  They slowed down and a couple started to get testy, so we hiked from that far rock wall in the picture back through the goblins to the parking lot for lunch.  The kids were done at that point, even though we had only been there about 1.5 hours.  We've learned not to push things, though - the extra hour we could have squeezed out of them would have come at a great price in whining.  Not worth it.  We'll go back tomorrow before we head home, though.  Ryan brought his stormtrooper armor in order to take pictures with that alien planet-like background.  That's going to be a spectacle.  I'm salivating already.

The drive back to the camp was substantially shorter, thank goodness.  Ryan stayed behind to take a nap but when it was apparent that no children would be joining him (*shakes her fist in anger*) I took them to a beach.  All these years of people talking about Goblin Valley and no one mentioned that there's a beach in Green River?  It was awesome!  I no longer feel the need to drive to California this summer.  The beach was situated at a bend in the river, deep into a canyon - the water was swiftly flowing in the middle but created mild wavelets on the shore.  The shore was fine sand and there was no seaweed/decomposing fish smell from the ocean which is nice, but the water was freezing.  Didn't stop them, though - the kids jumped right in.  We stayed well past the point where Darcey was shivering and blue-lipped because they were having so much fun.

Brad's campfire prowess showed itself tonight when he lit the fire with a single match.  We cooked hot dogs for dinner then shared s'mores with a family that used to live in our neighborhood who happened to be here.  The kids are looking exhausted at 8:30 p.m. - I'm not far behind them.  My fingers are crossed that we all make it through the night without nature calling.  Curse that astronaut-stalker for ensuring that we can never wear diapers for convenience.  (Ryan thinks that reference was too obscure- tell me if you agree and I'll take it out.)

One last thought for the night.

Zack:  I'm so cold.  I wish Jesus would come down and give me a coat.  And I'd say, "Thank you, Jesus!"

Bug Count:

3 gnats orbiting my head at the playground

1 anonymous possible bug that fell out of a tree and hit Ryan on the head

Several more gnats attacking the laptop screen while Ryan and I watched Thursday's Survivor

1 spider on the door to our cabin that Ryan had to chase around in order to stomp on

Things I've Forgotten To Bring:

Pocket knife

Cold cereal (Did not forget the milk, bowls, spoon)

Garbage bags

Zack's coat

Chapstick

White-noise machine

USB cable

A-Camping We Will Go

Ryan and I are taking the kids camping tomorrow.  What's that sudden chill - oh, my goodness, hell has frozen over!  If you've known my family for any length of time, you would know that we are not, as they say, "camping people."  We are hotel people.  Ryan and I can both safely blame our parents for this lack of ruggedness.  My dad thought "roughing it" meant a hotel without cable.  Ryan's parents never went camping either, plus he dropped out of Scouts well before overnighters were required.  He pretty much loathes camping.  The annual Fathers and Sons campout is always scheduled on the exact same weekend as Ryan's Whine-a-palooza.  Funny how that is.

I've had this growing inclination over the last year or two to spend more time out in nature.  Something about communing with beauty and simplicity and growing things has been working its way under my skin.  Which is strange, given that I'm not a real big fan of being outside.  In general, I'm not fond of: bugs, extreme heat, extreme cold, dirt, and campfire smoke.  I'd prefer a clean, climate-controlled, bug-and-smoke free space to vacation in - a.k.a. a hotel.

So the fact that we're taking our kids camping - voluntarily, no less - is something of a wonder.  A friend told me about a deal that the KOA campgrounds (I refuse to call them 'kampgrounds' like they do - purposeful misspelling makes me want to throw things.)  Their (c)abins this weekend are buy one night, stay the next free.  So we get the whole weekend away for about $100.  You know me and a good deal - even if it means sacrificing bodily comfort, we're doing it.

Here are a few things I'm expecting to have to deal with this weekend:

-not having the right equipment, i.e. sleeping bags, camp stove, cooler

-sleeping/temperature issues

-not knowing how to build a fire

-waking up at the crack of dawn

-bugs, dirt, and campfire smoke (if we can get a fire lit, see above)

But I'm not one to back away from a challenge, no sir!  I come from tough stock, Connecticut farmers who worked from sunup to sundown in blistering heat and freezing cold.  Am I going to let some measly bugs and dirt stand in the way of connecting with nature?  No!  I'm going out there and I'm not coming back until I'm a tree-hugging, dirt-loving, dutch-oven-cooking, honest-to-goodness camper.  If I had pioneer ancestors, I'd make them proud.  This is going to be a great weekend!

(Plus they have free wifi at the (c)ampground so worst case scenario, I can order Domino's online.  Or send an S.O.S. on Facebook.  Wish us luck!)

That's What I Get For Waking Up In Vegas

Before you say it, yes, I know, I'm a giant hypocrite. Every time I pass through/stay in Las Vegas, I blog about how much I can't stand the place. Casinos are huge, money-sucking pits that trap the poor and the elderly. They are glamorized in television and movies as the kind of place where you're likely to find Julia Roberts or George Clooney in formal evening wear. I don't know about you, but I've never seen anyone in a tuxedo there, certainly not the 80 year olds dragging their oxygen tanks from one slot machine to the next. I don't gamble myself, but when I pay $35 for a room in a casino, I feel like my good deal is being subsidized by Grandma's Social Security check.

So why exactly did I find myself voluntarily taking a spring break trip to Vegas this week? Because it was warm there. And the sun was shining. In Orem, we had Eeyore weather, gloomy and miserable, making me walk around with a frowny face and slumped shoulders. I had to get out of there, and fast. St. George wasn't even warm enough, so I decided to throw personal standards to the wind and go to Las Vegas.  That's how the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah were lured there, by the way - it wasn't out of evilness or rebellion, it was because they had nice weather.  And cheap hotel rooms.  And all-you-can-eat buffets.

And you know, once you decide not to hold yourself up to your personal standards, life can get pretty fun. I could walk through smoky casinos and almost not cringe at the man shuffling past using a walker with tennis balls on the feet. I justified our trip by paying substantially more for a room at an Embassy Suites, instead of a casino hotel, which is basically like pitching my tent on the outskirts of Gomorrah. I could have the self-righteous satisfaction of disdaining everything that Las Vegas stands for, but still keep my commute short.

Seriously, next trip is to someplace with absolutely no ethical dilemmas. Like Wyoming. I can't see anything in Wyoming getting me all worked up.

We had a few requirements for this trip: 1) Be relaxed. No strenuous must-see lists. 2) Swim in the indoor pool as much as the kids want to. 3) Eat at Baja Fresh, or any other place that we don't have in Orem. The first two worked out pretty well, the third, not so much. We played things by ear, stayed flexible, and had no expectations. The kids had a blast in the pool. Unfortunately, we ended up eating at a pile of fast food place that were completely unremarkable. We aimed for a Baja Fresh a couple of times, but either Google had the address wrong, or the place had closed, or we just really blew it, because we never got to eat any of that fantastic, breath-killing salsa. I spent an hour driving around in search of a Dairy Queen that I had seen not 8 hours before, but was long gone by the time I got there. It felt like we were in Hogwarts and all of the hallways and staircases kept moving around. (If only there was a Room of Requirement full of ice cream...) At one point, Zack said we were in "Lost" Vegas because we kept getting lost. Clever kid, that one.

The only thing that was a complete bust was Ethel M's chocolate factory tour. I'll take a tour of just about any kind of factory - I don't know why, but I have a fascination with seeing how things are made. Maybe it comes from watching too much Mister Rogers and Sesame Street as a kid. (Do you remember the crayon factory? Or the milk one? Loved those!) A chocolate factory tour is like the best of both worlds! Unfortunately, Willy Wonka this wasn't. There was nary an Oompa Loompa in sight. In fact, there were no regular humans in sight either - the whole factory was shut down; nothing was going on at all. What a complete disappointment to drive 20 minutes to walk through an empty factory for one minute and then end up in a gift shop. Interestingly enough, Ethel M's has a cactus garden outside that ended up being way better. Who would have thought? A chocolate factory-slash-cactus garden? Anyhow, it worked. Here are some pictures:

I switched to the new Blogger format, and now I can't figure out how to type underneath photos.  This one, with Darcey crying, was basically what you would have seen most of the trip - she was always crying about one thing or another.  Although on Friday she came down with a cold, so it's possible she was actually sick the whole time and not protesting Las Vegas with me.  Also, the reason she looks like a homeless child with no mother is because she lost every single hair thing I brought with us.  I tried to put the last remaining clip into her hair (one of mine) and she refused.  I tried, I swear.

On Friday we went to a children's museum that the kids really liked.  It was just like the one in SLC.

Zack loved all of the building toys.

They had this crazy little booth where you go inside to know what a hurricane feels like.  The wind inside went up to 78 mph!  The boys loved it.

They decided to put on a show - Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney would be so proud.  Brad was in charge of costuming and he had probably too much fun.  No one was in charge of story, or dialogue, or props, so it was a very brief show with lots of costume changes.

On the way home, we stopped in St. George to see Ryan's family.  We kept waiting for the magical "the drive home feels a lot quicker" but it never hit.  New dvds that we borrowed from Bob's collection made the drive more pleasant, though - that's the last time I let the kids decide how many dvd's to bring - four was not enough.  We came home to a house with no hot water, and the nasty smell in the refrigerator didn't suddenly disappear, but the dorito crumbs on the floor hadn't attracted ants, so we count ourselves pretty lucky.  Somehow, being away from home for three days was enough to make me really like my house again, and my bed that has no two year olds in it, kicking me in the back all night.  I think that's the best part of this trip, being happy to be home again.