We decided to go camping this weekend, as it is Labor day weekend and is a very American thing to do. So naturally, we planned it on Friday, the day the weekend began. I got home from work and we loaded up the car to head to the hills of Ohio. (There are no mountains here.)
On our late drive to Lake Alma (yes, Alma actually lived there. It's in the Book of Mormon) we stopped at a tiny town's tiny shop that advertises donuts and is open 24 hours. Who doesn't need a donut at 4:00 am, 2:15pm or 8:30 at night? Guess what? They were out of donuts. Ok... we'll take 4 ice cream cones, please.
So we travel on and arrive to a very crowded Lake Alma where every camp site is taken except for the tiny camp spot that we reserved online. It is a good thing we only have one tent because it was tight. All our large RV neighbors watched as us city slickers arrive and set up our primitive tents that we have had for 20 years. I am sure that they were impressed as I set up the tents sporting my spanx, work clothes, and later, my yoga pants. Guys, we did not fit in. These people are there to live...for at least 4 days. I was hoping to get through one night.
We had some tasty hot dogs and "mountain pies" which are pizza pockets cooked in small cast iron cookers. (you can click the link and see what I am talking about).
Anyway, despite the wet ground, the night went pretty well. I have found a new friend to take camping with me - Advil PM. It resolves all the weird night sounds, neighbors who are loud or snoring, children who want you - everything. We are BFF's.
The next morning, I have an altercation with my teenager. She keeps playing on her phone, which we have discouraged since we are there to enjoy "the wild" so I end up taking the phone away. A few seconds after it was in my hands, I am abruptly hit by an object from said teenager. I look down at the water bottle that has just caressed my arm.
Now, we are in full view of all the outdoor enthusiasts who have come to enjoy nature from their enclosed and furnished vehicles, so I am trying not to make a scene, but this child does. not. care. She has confronted me in a manner that should not be ignored. But I don't care for crazy people so I am trying to walk away from her, but to no avail. I finally have to stop and calmly tell her to get out of my face.
She, of course, refuses.
At this point, my normally levelheaded and nurturing manner is screaming for justice to be served. I cannot refrain from calmly explaining that my foot is about to accost her person if she doesn't remove herself from my area. I rationally explain that I am counting to 3 - the magic amount of time that all children should be allowed to evaluate their options - and then I am going to forcibly remove her from my path.
When she does not move, I swing wide so as not to really hit her, but to send a strong signal that I am tired of this game. To this, she finally gives up and begins to walk away while exclaiming, "That's child abuse!"
That's... child... abuse? Are you freaking kidding me? No, child, that is parent abuse. I am incredulous and I turn to see that Jeremy, who has decided not to engage in this tango, is laughing at the irony of the whole thing. We are both aware that you have to laugh at crazy people or you might end up like them, but this made me mad. However, due to all the sets of eyes on our little rendezvous with crazy, I had to turn the other cheek and walk away.
This might be a sign that we don't belong in the great outdoors, or that we just don't belong with a teenager. So we packed up our car full of "necessities" and we city slickers headed back to town where we can beat our children privately in the comfort of our own home.
