Daily Diatribes

First of all, thank you for that outpouring of genuine love and support. There’s nothing like getting comments only after I threaten to pull the plug on the whole enterprise….the blog I mean, not the ship. Anyway, I am rotten enough to take what crumbs I can get! Now on to the weekend.

I love girl scouting. I truly feel I might be making a difference in the lives of these girls. If nothing else, I kept them off their cell phones for an entire day and that is a huge accomplishment in itself. This past weekend I took my 7th grade girl scout troop camping.

I use the term camping somewhat loosely. We are certainly capable of tent camping and we have proven it in the past; check out my blog from November 2006 entitled “A Bitch Slapping in the Woods”. I can tent camp but I don’t have to love it.

So this past weekend, we opted to stay in the cabins at the girl scout campsite. This included climate controlled rooms, a full kitchen and indoor plumbing. There was no outlet in the bathroom for my hairdryer, but other than that, it was pretty plush. There were nine girls and four moms when we checked in Friday night. I am truly blessed to have a group of mothers I get along with and who are willing to pitch in and help to make every experience a memorable one. We work well together.

Saturday was absolutely gorgeous. The princesses cooked their pancakes without burning down the kitchen. They even got the kitchen clean before we left. We made it to our activity on time. It was all going so well. They had a great morning and then we went back to the cabins for lunch. Lunch was another huge success; the girls were working together and learning new skills and I was beaming. There was no doubt in my mind that I was heading toward canonization as the greatest girl scout leader on the planet.

That afternoon, we finished canoing and I had the brilliant notion we should go hiking. Our planned activities were over, but it was just too gorgeous to go inside. So despite the vocal protests from the girls, I marched them toward the Birdsong trail.

It started out great. The girls tromped resolutely up the hill, not complaining too much. I was chugging along, only huffing moderately (the treadmill paid off!!). We were doing great until we got to the boulder field. The trail is not well marked at the top and consequently, we got lost. At first, it was sort of fun. We picked our way through rocks and boulders, and I kept chirping stupid little platitudes like “a girl scout is never lost, she’s just exploring!” Ass.

We were working our way down hill, searching for the trail markers in vain. The ground was covered with a heavy blanket of dead leaves, which served beautifully to hide the numerous rocks under foot. As we moved along, I hit a slick spot and pulled the old Banana Heels Maneuver. My feet went up and I landed solidly on my back. Fortunately, not too many people witnessed it and I was fine other than having the breath knocked out of me.

I got to my feet and strode forward, ready to tame the trail. That’s when I stepped on a rock and fell again. Only this time I managed to land on an upright stick which then punctured my left butTOCK. The pain was excruciating. I cannot describe in words how it feels to have your butTOCK punctured. I can only tell you childbirth pales in comparison.

I lay there for a long moment, afraid to move. Mostly, I was afraid if I stood up I would discover a tree branch protruding from my ass. I was afraid they would have to call a helicopter and Med Flight me out of the woods so I could go in for an emergency branchectomy. Finally, I stood gingerly. I reached back and pulled the branch twig out of my butTOCK. There was a huge tear in my jeans. To my great relief, there did not appear to be any hemorrhaging going on back there. You know that phrase “she walks like she has a stick up her butt?” I can now say I know how that feels. I have lived it.

Fortunately, we found the trail and I hobbled on down the mountain with no further incident. We got back to the cabin and one of the other mothers graciously agreed to examine my butTOCK and reassured me it was only a small puncture wound. Fine, but it still FELT like I had been impaled with a log of epic proportions!! You can call me Forrest Gump, since we both were wounded in a similar fashion!

We all cooked dinner, which was a huge production event for the girls involving menus, waitresses and appetizers. Then we held a meeting, made smores, and then we tried to settle them down for the night. I thought it would never happen. They all took showers. They all ran around like maniacs. I was desperately tired and my butTOCK was throbbing. I needed to become prone.

Finally, we got them all in their respective rooms and turned out the lights. I lay down, taking care with my wound and settled in happily. Only to realize my bladder was full. This happens to me a lot. I have a bladder roughly the size and diameter of an English pea. I ignored it for a few minutes, then gave in to the pressure. I got up and hobbled quietly for the door, closing it as quietly as possible behind me.

It’s very scary at camp at night. I had been making cracks all day about being at Camp Crystal Lake and waiting for Jason Voorhees to emerge from the woods brandishing a machete. Suddenly, this did not seem so amusing. I made my way to the bathroom, keeping my eyes peeled for maniacs.

Only my vision didn’t seem to be too clear. I was having a really hard time focusing. When I got to the bathroom, I realized it was because I had put on MA’s glasses instead of my own. Since she is only mildly nearsighted and I am blinder than Helen Keller in a dark room, they were less than effective.

I entered a stall and opted against closing the door. I don’t know why; it just made sense. I had just sat down, when I thought I heard the door open. My heart started racing immediately. Then I heard strange footsteps. I am not exaggerating for effect. It literally sounded like CLOMP SHUFFLE DRAG CLOMP SHUFFLE DRAG and it was coming my way.

I was absolutely paralyzed. Again, not exaggerating. My heart started racing and I sat there on the potty, cute stripey pajama pants around my ankles, and listened to the footsteps draw closer. A tall, blurry shape hunched past my stall and spoke in a guttural tone. I screamed.

And my friend Lynn stuck her head in and said “I tried to warn you I was coming in.” All I can say is THANK GOD I WAS ALREADY ON THE TOILET!! Otherwise, I most certainly would have wet myself. Apparently, she got up right after I did but she didn’t bother to put her feet in her shoes. She was just clomping along in them. She is pretty tall for a woman and has the feet to support her height!! She says she spoke when she opened the door, but I was apparently too paralyzed with fear to hear her.

The rest of the night was not quite as exciting, although the dog that had taken up residence at our lodge decided to howl at 3:00 a.m. I didn’t get much sleep and I was up and ready to go by 7:00 a.m. We had a great weekend and the girls had fun, but I need a break from girl scouting. At least until my butTOCK heals and my heart rate returns to normal!

Besides my electronic problems, Girl Scout activities have been keeping me away. Saturday, I took my Brownie troop to camp for a Fairy Tea Party. No, there were no gay men there as far as I could tell, just lots of wholesome, crunchy girl scout leaders. Frankly, I think a gay man or two would have jazzed it up, but no one asked me.

The tea party was about as bad as you probably think it was. The girls learned about table manners and telephone manners and every day manners. I wriggled and stretched and yawned and generally tried to keep from chewing my arm off out of sheer boredom.

But what I really want to address is an issue I became aware of that day. It pains me to write this, but I witnessed the Girl Scouts practicing actual discrimination. At the end of the day, after our wholesome “tea”, which consisted of Hawaiian punch, pink cupcakes and chips and dip, the girls were given their recognitions for participation. These included two patches and a fairy.

This is where the discrimination began. Everyone knows fairies should be colorless. But no, each leader was handed a bag of fairies in shades of blue, purple and pink. You can imagine what happened next. One bossy Brownie declared Blue to be the desired color for fairies. This set off a frenzy of trading as girls tried to lose the unfortunate pink and purple fairies. Do you see why a gay man might have been helpful here??

How could the Girl Scout organization create such a situation? I mean clearly, this was an episode ripe for discrimination. How did the pink and purple fairies feel as they were thrown back into the bag, left to languish as their superior blue counterparts were snatched up by little girls? Well, ok you’re right, they were probably feeling pretty damn lucky, but THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!

How do you think MLK Jr would have felt about this blatant discrimination? What would JESUS DO? Jesus loved the little fairies, pink and purple, black and blue…you all know the song!! Of course my child, spoiled rotten goddess that she is, was not fortunate enough to get a blue fairy. I would like to tell you she handled it gracefully. I would like to report that she cradled the sad purple fairy she got close to her heart and soothed it gently, telling it it was as good as any stupid blue fairy.

Unfortunately, the child has not earned the goddess moniker for nothing. “BUT I WANT A BLUE FAIRY MUMMY,” she cried as her troop mates each managed to score the coveted blue fairy. It had already been a long day and I still had the thirty minute ride home to face. A daydream bubble formed above my head and I saw me cruising down the highway as the goddess howled in the backseat “I’TS NOT FAIR…..I DIDN’T GET A BLUE FAIRY….I HATE YOU MOMMY….I HATE GIRL SCOUTS…..WAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” I saw my knuckles whiten on the steering wheel and saw myself driving the whole carful of Brownies through the guardrail, plunging us to the rocks below. Heard the goddess still screaming as we plummeted “A BLUE FAIRY MUMMY…I WANT A BLUE FAIRY………”

Normally I am the most hard ass of mothers. I will callously look at a child and say “fine don’t eat it….starve to death….more for me….” and dismiss him or her. But on this day, the arrow on my mommy meter was way up in the red, boiling zone. I was done for. The thought of listening to her complain all the way home about the grievous injustice perpetrated upon her was more than I could bear.

I snatched the offending pink fairy out of her tiny fist and marched into the office where the head honcho was distributing fairies. “For the love of God and all that is holy, can I PLEASE SWITCH THIS FOR A BLUE FAIRY???? SO I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO THE WHINING ALL THE WAY HOME?????!!!!!”

The lady was nice enough to trade me a blue fairy for a purple fairy. I stalked back to the goddess, threw it at her and snarled “I don’t want to hear another word, understand?????”

She nodded mutely, gazing at her blue fairy adoringly. As we marched out to the parking lot, I heard another child in the background wailing about her pink fairy. I sympathized. I really did. But I was loading up my Brownies and their blue fairies and getting out while the getting was good. And I will be writing a strongly worded letter to the Girl Scouts advising them of their discrimination problem!!

One of the highlights of being a girl scout leader is going out to girl scout camp. It’s so moving and humbling and far away. Yesterday, I took my Cadette troop and we went out to camp to learn its history. When we participate in these activities, it’s one less thing I have to teach the girls. There’s always a silver lining.

We got to camp at the appointed time and the girls started their first activity. Myself, having downed two diet cokes in an attempt to prepare myself for the day, I went to the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, I looked at myself in the mirror. Frighteningly enough, I LOOKED like a girl scout leader. The best adjective I can come up with is, well, CRUNCHY. I looked CRUNCHY. Crunchy denotes a woman wearing a long prairie skirt over her unshaven legs, birkenstocks and a tie dyed peasant top made out of yak wook she spun herself. She lives in the woods and makes her own cheese. Unlike Snow White, she doesn’t befriend the animals; she snatches them out of the air and serves them for supper. I was wearing jeans, but still the image persisted.

I hardly ever wear make-up. It has nothing to do with animal testing or synthetic chemicals or anything noble. I’m just lazy. So my face was naked and glistening from the excess oil my body started producing after age 35. The excess oil which allows a monster crop of super charged acne to sprout up around my face. I don’t know why the government hasn’t tapped middle aged women as an alternative oil source. My face could power a Hummer.

My hair was scraped back in a ponytail. Some women, like Angelina Jolie, can pull their hair back and look glamorous and exotic. I look tired and oily. And since my hair is layered, pieces pop up all over the place. Gray hair is not a different texture, according to every women’s magazine I’ve ever read. That’s an old wives tale.

Well, I’m an old wife and I swear every gray hair (and there are a LOT of them!) is wiry and gnarly. The brown hair on my head is stick straight. It would never lift itself up to see what’s going on around it. It lays there, minding its own business. The gray hair, however, pops straight up inquisitively, wanting to see and be seen.

I washed my hands and then used my damp hands to drown the gray hairs on my head. I flattened my palms against my skull and dragged them across my hair. The brown hair was cowed and immediately returned to its resting place on my scalp. The gray hair impudently stood up higher and stuck out its tongue at me.

I stuck my tongue out at it and moved over to the paper towel dispenser. I yanked out a towel, muttering to myself and dried my hands. I started to throw the towel away, then noticed several paper towels on the floor around the can. “A girl scout always leaves a place better than she found it,” I intoned under my breath, then bent to pick up the towels.

As I picked up the scattered towels, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Ok, really I was feeling superior to every other leader there, because I was LIVING the scout way. Hubris will get you every time. As I stood up, the top of my head connected forcefully with the paper towel dispenser. The gray hairs managed to scoot out of the way at the last second, leaving my bare scalp open for contact.

I staggered backwards, little moons and planets circling merrily around my head. I clapped my hands over the offended spot and slumped against the wall, waiting to slip into a coma. It didn’t happen. My head simply throbbed and pounded. I slunk back over to the sink and looked in the mirror. My ponytail was disheveled and the gray hairs were springing up all over my head.

I conceded defeat and turned away from the mirror. I shuffled out of the bathroom slowly, head aching, gray hairs riding proudly aloft in the wind. It was their parade and I was merely the float. However, deep inside, I was busily plotting when to get the first dye job of my life.

There are not enough words in the English language to express my gratitude to Carmen for sending me this link. It really made getting up this morning worthwhile.

http://www.wesh.com/news/14052662/detail.html?taf=orl (gonna learn to do a hyperlink thingy one day…)

I especially love the part where the day care workers started throwing things at the squirrel while it was evidently still attached to the three year old boy. I guess they figured a little collateral damage was justifiable in the end. The squirrel managed to escape after its murderous rampage. I think Florida is going to issue an Amber Alert.

Even Jim Davis has joined the squirrel hating bandwagon:

Please be alert; constant vigilance is necessary to keep the squirrels at bay. Remember, it might be day care centers today, but it’ll be the Pentagon tomorrow!!

I would be remiss if I didn’t take a few minutes away from my charges to update you, my faithful, on the status of our trip. For those not in the know, I am on a pilgrimage to the girl scout mecca in Savannah. I am here with 10 girls of the pre adolescent variety and 8 other women. Yes, it takes 9 women to keep 10 twelve year old girls in check!

I insisted that we leave at the crack of dawn yesterday so we would get to Savannah in a timely manner. Another leader had made the trip earlier in the summer and they missed their first activity. I was determined not to make the same mistake.

So at 6:00 a.m. we were off! We made excellent time; as a matter of fact I completely blew by the first pre-arranged stop because I was busy running my mouth and I didn’t see the rest area sign until I was passing it. I am a great leader.

We stopped for lunch at Cracker Barrel and I stood over everybody, monitoring their fluid intake and ruthlessly snatching biscuits away from those who were lingering too long. We were on a schedule and I was determined we would be in Savannah on time.

Well, my persistent nagging paid off and we rolled into town three hours early. By the time I got us registered and everyone settled in their rooms, we still had two hours before we had to be downtown for our carriage ride. So everyone was relaxing, taking their time, picking out the perfect outfit to wear.

I was doing none of those things. I was running from room to room like a maniac, trying to keep everyone on task and probably succeeding only in getting on everyone’s nerves. I was running around so much, I didn’t notice the time, and suddenly it was 4:35 and we were supposed to be on the road to the first activity five minutes ago.

I sprang into action, screaming at everyone and prodding them with cattle prods. We loaded up the cars and roared out of the parking lot, girl scouts in high gear. I had pre printed all the directons off of Map Quest. What a handy tool that Map Quest is. You type in your destination and it spits out neat directions that get you where you need to go.

Unfortunately, the directions I printed took us nowhere near where we were going. We drove through the projects of Savannah, admiring the architecture of the public housing. We drove into the historic district. We drove through the historic district. We drove out of the historic district.

It was as the historic district was fading behind my in my rear view mirror that I realized something had gone horribly wrong. I started trying to call other cars and no one answered. I was alone, isolated in my lostness. Finally, in desperation, I whipped a U-Turn and pushed the On-Star button.

There’s a bit of lag time with On-Star and as I was cruising back into town, she helpfully told me to make a U-Turn. “I’ve already done that,” I snapped.

“Oh, sorry,” she chirped. What did she care; she wasn’t lost! She told me to go five blocks and hook a left. We disconnected and Kiki called, wanting to know where we were. She had a good navigator in her car and she was sitting in the parking lot waiting on us. I saw my turn, hooked a hard left and there she was on the right.

Problem was, I had already sort of driven past her. I slammed on the brakes and was going to do a three point turn but my navigator had a fit. So I told the girls to get out of the car and run to the carriages, which were on our left. They piled out and I hollered out the window “We’ll be back!!!”

We roared off down the street looking for a place to turn around. I wisely decided to make a block, so I turned left and started looking for another left to take. Only all the streets were One Way and going the wrong way.

We were gettting further and further away from the place where we had just thrown a bunch of twelve year old girls into the street, alone, so I was getting a bit nervous. I was pretty sure this was not appropriate girl scout leader behavior.

So I took the next left. It was a One Way Street and I was heading the wrong way. It’s amazing how bent out of shape people get about that. They started screaming and gesticulating wildly and I just waved bach cheerfully. “Yes, I know it’s One Way, thank you,” I hollered. And through some creative manipulating, I managed to get back on the right street. See, it all worked out. You just have to know how to use those one way streets!

I roared up to the parking lot in time to see my girl scouts disappear around the corner in a carriage. My joy was short lived, however, when I realized MA had all the cash and I was facing a parking attendant who wanted $8 for parking. He was not amused when I explained my harrowing adventures, including the One Way Street fiasco. He crossed his arms over his chest, unwilling to overlook the $8 for a pathetic girl scout leader.

So I called Kiki who answered with “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” and I said “IN THE PARKING LOT AND I NEED $8 NOW!!!!”

Thank God she is a skinny ass bitch in good shape because she came loping up a few minutes later with the cash. I paid the attendant, parked and slunk off to the carriage. I had gotten up at the ass crack of dawn to avoid precisely this turn of events!! Auuuuuuuughghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Stay tuned for the further adventures of the DYSFUNCTIONAL GIRL SCOUT TROOP IN SAVANNAH!!!

Five Things of Significance:

1. Nancy S. is absolutely right: the bathing suit changes every day are enough to make Mother Teresa cuss a blue streak. Imagine shepherding 11 little girls into a bathroom with six stalls and waiting for them to change into a spandex swimsuit. Each little girl emerges from her stall, looking confused, with an armful of clothing: one shirt, one pair of shorts, one pair of panties, two socks, two shoes and several other items. All of these items are being juggled by the child in question while she attempts to walk in a straight line. By the time she covers the ten feet to me, the panties have dropped, one of the socks is missing and the water bottle is nowhere to be found. So add five minutes per girl for locating lost items and rearranging swimsuit straps so they are not cutting off the blood flow to vital organs.

2. Imagine, now that the little darlings are dressed, applying sunscreen to the same 11 little girls. All are translucent, with skin that is turning pink even under the fluorescent bathroom lights. These girls are third degree burns, just waiting to happen under your care. Each girl must be painstakingly coated, head to toe, with 55 SPF sunscreen. Don’t forget the ears and between the toes. Of course, some of the sunscreen with make its way into an angelic little eye, necessitating a hike to the nurse’s station, which is conveniently located half a mile away down a rocky road.

3. Everywhere we go, we have to carry a stupid sign on a stupid piece of stupid PVC pipe. We are the “Tikki Trekkers”. I wanted to be the “Hawaiian Hula Hussies” but I got voted down as usual. We hike down the rocky road hollering “Tiki Trekkers” at the top of our lungs. The little girl carrying the sign cannot hold it up straight and is constantly bashing me in the head with it. Every couple of minutes, the PVC pipe comes down squarely on my skull. Two of the Tikki Trekkers are painfully slow. When one of them has to carry the sign, we lag a full mile behind the rest of the troop. One day we will be lost in the woods, but it’s ok, because I can construct a shelter with the PVC pipe.

4. One of our little campers got stung by a wasp today. The ear splitting shriek she produced had some people thinking the severe weather siren was sounding. I piggy-backed her down the rock road to the nurse’s station, while she hung on for dear life, obstructing my jugular vein. I nearly blacked out and had visions of floating in a cool lagoon with a tropical drink melting in my hand. Alas, the vision eroded and I found myself instead sipping lukewarm water from a Solo cup while the sting was doctored. I really did feel badly for her; if I get stung by a wasp, I am DONE!!!

5. Some lucky campers got to see a gen-u-ine copperhead snake in the middle of the trail. It was only five feet long. I am not particularly scared of snakes, but I can only imagine the reaction of the Tikki Trekkers were we to encounter one. Do snakes have ears? Cause if they do, they would be trying to cover them when the Tikki’s started screaming! I figure the PVC pipe is for whacking snakes!

I am spending the week at Camp Komoniwannahula….read it phonetically and you’ll understand why everyone is wearing Hawaiian skirts. I wish I could claim credit for the name!

Day camp is a very sadistic event. Foolish people who are guilted into volunteering spend the day shuffling a group of whiny, hot, sweaty, tired six and seven year old girls all around the camp while pretending to be enthusiastic about it and pretending they are not also whiny, hot, sweaty and tired. The little girls used bow and arrow sets. They made leis. They learned how to camp. I sweated away 2/3 of my body.

Today can only be more fun than yesterday. I believe it is supposed to be slightly hotter, if that’s even possible. Today may be the day I run screaming into the deep woods of Shelby county, never to be heard from again. So if I don’t post again, you’ll know why!!!

Today my girl scouts will celebrate World Thinking Day. This is the time when girl scouts all over the world learn about their sisters in girl scouting and learn that girl scouting is a world-wide movement. This is the time when leaders all over the globe scratch their heads and wonder how they got suckered into being a leader in the first place.

What makes this day even better is I am hosting a Thinking Day event for over 100 girl scouts! So today, while all of you are sitting at home watching spring training baseball games or Lifetime movies or just taking a moment to enjoy the peace of a Sunday afternoon, I will be spending the entire afternoon blowing a whistle every fifteen minutes and shouting “next country please.” The only real justice is I have roped Kiki into doing this with me, so at least I won’t be alone!

So gobble your Sunday morning pancakes at leisure. Read the Sunday comics on the toilet, while eliminating your Sunday pancakes. Enjoy your day as I groom the youth of America, systematically warping them with my twisted world view. Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow with some really good stories. Or maybe you’ll be reading about it in USA Today tomorrow…..Crazed Girl Scout Leader Opens Fire at Thinking Day Event With Potato Gun!!

I, your humble correspondent, sit before you in the same jeans I put on Friday morning, smelling of soot, unwashed, uncombed, unhygienic, to capture the essence of the camp experience. Actually, if I could bottle the unwashed, soot smell, I would have a new perfume: Eau d’ BO or maybe the one word dramatic title….EARTHY, by Jennifer….I like it, marketing people, get on that right away!!

Can you tell I am a wee bit delirious? It all started out so well. We met in the appointed place, at the appointed time and we actually left on time. We got to the camp site, set up and had a great evening. The lights were out at 10:00 p.m. and everyone snuggled in for the night.

Around 1:00 a.m., it began to thunder and all hell broke loose.

I am a strange combination of alarmist and fatalist. I am alarmed about dying at any given moment, but I am also resigned to the idea of my eventual demise. So being outside in a thunderstorm does not particularly frighten me. You hardly ever hear about campers getting toasted in their tents, right, so I figure it must be pretty safe. I also happen to feel the same way about being in the pool during a storm; when was the last time you heard of a pool full of toddlers being boiled alive from a lightning strike?

Well, I am apparently alone in my nochalance regarding storms. My co leader, usually competent and fearless, cannot handle storms. She popped up and watched the sky for thirty minutes and kept coming to the tent and telling me it was about to storm. Duh, like I can’t hear the thunder. Finally, she woke up all of the kids and herded them down the hill to the parking lot. Did I mention we were at the top of a hill and the path was about 1/4 mile and strewn with rocks?

I was angry, but did not assert myself, because I have no trust in my own judgement. I hate that about myself, but I believe this experience has opened my eyes to that particular character flaw. When I realized not all the other moms had gone, but their children had been herded down the hilll without them, I started to get mad. So when the storm stopped, I stomped down the hill to get the kids.

I am not proud of this, but I hit the bathhouse screaming. “I am the leader and this was dangerous and you were wrong,” and other things like that came spewing out of my mouth. Well, this other mother, who I really just cannot bring myself to like, threw her umbrella down and said “Just listen to me for a minute!”

I’m afraid I screamed in her face “No you listen to me. I’m the leader, you’re not, you don’t take these kids unless I give the ok. I’m personally liable for their safety, not you.” She kept talking over me, and one of the other moms was holding me back, obviously afraid I was going to become violent. I have to admit, it was a possibility. It was 2:00 a.m., I had only been asleep for an hour before they got up and started milling around worrying about the rain, and I was out of my head. I DO NOT like the woman I was screaming at and I had a powerful urge to take her down.

This was not going well and then she snapped me a salute and turned her back on me. Readers, never in my adult life have I desired to hit someone like I did right then. I could actually feel my hand lifting from my side to bitch slap her right there in the bathhouse in front of God, the kids and everybody. I had to actually grab the hand with my other hand to keep it from acting on its own volition. I battled the urge and won, but it would have been so incredibly satisfying to smack the crap out of her.

Except that I probably would have gotten my butt kicked, so I’m glad I didn’t. She’s annoying, but muscular, and I’m pretty soft and marshmallow centered myself, so it would have been no contest. I’m glad I didn’t smack her because it would have been deeply humiliating to be whupped in the woods.

I wheeled around and ordered all the girls up the hill. Everyone went back to their tents, no one saying much. Of course I was in the same tent with the two women who had ordered everyone down the hill, so you can imagine how comfortable that was. Eventually, everyone drifted off for a two hour nap.

Believe it or not, the camping trip wasn’t ruined. Although I was ready to slither out of camp in embarrassment, I managed to get up and apologize (sort of) and we actually had a good day.

Part of this trip was to make the girls do a lot of their own work and for them to work together. They chose to make pancakes for breakfast and they bought their own mix, since mine is not to be trusted. Well, the mix came in four packets and the box only had directions on how to make two packets at a time. So the little darlings could not figure out how to make all four packets at once, added too much water and came up with crepe batter. I later asked MA “why didn’t you just double the recipe for two packets?” and she looked at me blankly. This is a math problem that needs to be added to all math books: If you have four packets of pancake mix and the directions for two packets call for 2 2/3 cup water how many cups of water do you need for four packets?

Well, their pancakes were a complete disaster. Every time they would try to flip them, their thick rubber spatula would just scoot the batter across the griddle and bunch it up into an accordion. They actually had a metal flipper in their box, but none of them bothered to look, a theme that would be repeated throughout the weekend. Kiki’s daughter, AM, finally managed to create some edible pancakes. They were about 1′ in diameter, but dotted with syrup, they weren’t bad.

At the leader’s cook site, Lucy had brought her famous homemade pancake batter for the adults. Our pancakes were looking like IHOP specials, perfect golden brown circles of goodness, topped with real butter (no margarine here!!) and absolutely fabulous. Every girl managed to wander by and moan about how good our pancakes looked and how they had nothing. When our sausages started to sizzle, they really went nuts and said “how come you get sausage???” “it was on our list,” I replied sweetly, grease running down my chin.

They brought eggs to cook, only the eggs fell in their cooking box and broke all over everything. Then they had to clean all the eggs out of the box, only the eggs had mixed with the hot chocolate they also spilled in their box, so it was difficult to clean out the cocoa salmonella sludge that had formed in the box.

Let me take a moment to say my daughter, MA, and Kiki’s two girls, AM and Zee, were nothing short of amazing. The other girls helped here and there, but these three in particular were the work horses of the group, not shying away from working, not arguing, but just doing what needed to be done. I was so proud of them. When we’re at home, MA will not lift a finger, but at camp, she realized she was part of a team and I was proud of her.

Anyway, breakfast took about 2 1/2 hours to make and clean up and everyone was tired and grumpy and cold when we finally took off for the canyon. Once we got to the canyon, our woes pretty much fell away, replaced with awe at our surroundings. Discovery Channel filmed part of a special on dinosaurs in this canyon because stepping into it is like stepping back in time. Also, it was considerably warmer in there, since we were sheltered from the wind!

The hike took about two hours, but it was not especially strenuous and we stopped often to take pictures and to just savor the beauty around us. We took some time to climb to the top of a crevice called Fat Man’s Misery. It was not easy, but I actually made it to the top. You have to inch sideways, steadily uphill. Halfway up, you have to grab a root and pull yourself up to the next level and it’s hard to get out at the top, but I did it. I celebrated this by promptly falling on my butt as soon as I got up there! It was a wee bit slippery. When we all got back down safely, one of the moms read the sign and discovered we weren’t supposed to climb to the top at all. Oooops, guess cause it was slippery up there.

I celebrated our safe descent by falling on my butt again as we were heading to the next spot, and actually sliding halfway to it on my rear. Yes, reader, these are those same jeans. And they smell sooooooooo good! As we speak, they are actually packing up and moving on, having taken on a life of their own and now wanting to see more of the world. Bon voyage, I say to them. Less laundry for me.

After the hike, we went back to our camp site for lunch. Luckily, it was just sandwiches, so there was no measuring involved! The girls kept coming over, asking “where’s this” and “I can’t find that” and we kept sending them back and ordering them to look. They had white bread and peanut butter. We had had turkey, ham, swiss, provolone, Farmhouse sourdough white bread and honey wheat bread. Just because we were in the woods, we didn’t have to be savages!! Besides, I was in charge of the shopping!

The afternoon passed by uneventfully and that evening, we cooked stew and cornbread over the fire. Then everyone went to see the Dismalites in the cave and I stayed behind to tend the fire. The Dismalites are some kind of glowing gnat that are only found in three places around the world and they eat mosquitoes, which makes me wonder why someone hasn’t cloned them and made them available to the whole world. Probably has something to do with the gay Mafia and the asthetics of glowing bugs.

I used that time to whip up a delicious dessert in the dutch oven (I felt just like Ma on Little House on the Prairie, especially when I almost fell in the fire trying to put another log on) and ponder why I always feel I have to be the one to apologize. I am always the good person who says I’m sorry, and sometimes I get tired of it. I want to be a bitch too and show my ass once in awhile. So I decided right then I was no longer going to be passive. We’ll see how that works out.

Well, everyone got back, ate dessert, cleaned up and went to bed. We were all wiped out and it was cold!!!!!! I crawled into my mummy bag and zipped up and went straight to sleep. I slept eight solid hours, which is a good thing because in the morning, I discovered I was trapped in the bag. The zipper was stuck in the fabric, and I had to call Kiki to extricate me. I am so glad there was not another emergency in the night. How much more face would I have lost by hopping out into the camp like a deranged kangaroo, ordering everyone around? Hard to bitch slap someone when you can’t move your arms!!!

We got home in record time and we were all friends again by the time we got back. I was so glad to get home, even though it took an hour to unload all the crap from the car. I gave MA three things to carry, but apparently the sense of responsibility and teamwork was only good in camp, because she took three steps, dramatically tripped over a bike, and sank to the ground in slow motion, keening all the while. Ah, what bliss it is to be a parent.

Now it’s Monday, I am still in my pajamas, and I plan to stay in them ALL DAY!!!

I

We are almost ready to leave. I have been working like a field hand for AN HOUR, packing up the car and gathering all of our gear! I HATE CAMPING!!!!!! I AM A CREATURE OF COMFORT AND SLOTH. I DO NOT LIKE HARD WORK!!!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, thank you for letting me get that out of my system. I feel much more resigned to my fate. I purchased a large bottle of Advil PM, and I am determined to OD every night until I can no longer hear the children. I have chocolate, I have caffeine, no liquor allowed, but it’s ok, I can handle it. I am woman, hear me roar (whimper)!!!!

MA is in high drama mode. When I asked her to pack the cooler with the girl’s food, she stomped to the refrigerator, stubbed her toe, and sank to the ground, sobbing quietly for several minutes, before finally opening the refrigerator. I must say, she has it refined to an art form. She is currently moaning because she knows I am writing about her. I love to torture my children. I don’t know why people physically abuse their children when there is so much pleasure to be had from torturing them mentally. I can do this to Abby by simply appearing in front of her friends, preferably dressed as the Wal Mart sex goddess.

I cannot wait to regale you all with tales from the great outdoors. Until then, pray for a clear day, a warm night, no rain, and MY SANITY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!