Niether rain, nor sleet, nor foot in the fire will keep us from our mission.

Posted on August 6, 2013 by Natalie

Pamplin Grove 2013. This was FINALLY my summer vacation – OUR summer vacation. Three solid days of not working. Hanging out in no-reception-cell-range awesomeness. All four of us together. I couldn’t wait.

We arrived. 4 people, 2 cars, a trailer full of gear, and 150 days worth of food.

This isn’t just any camping. This is a weekend where every person in the campground is part of an interrelated family-friends gathering. The gate closes behind us and within the confines of that campground we become part of a giant tribal community. The kids run in packs, the dogs run in packs and the adults do their best to channel low-rent parenting tactics with cocktails in hand and camp-chairs permanently affixed to our butts. Kids are encouraged to scram, armed with a base set of ground rules, checking in only if someone is bleeding or in need of hydration.

We hung our site flag, unpacked our litany of tents and chairs and food and bikes, and joined in the festivities already underway.

Then came day 2.

As I lay in my tent trying very hard to doze and ignore the ridiculously loud prattle of 6 high-pitched child voices around the early-morning campfire, I all of a sudden hear a loud scream emanate from my youngest child, a scuffle and Steve’s voice yelling. Then another more pronounced scream that made me bolt upright and scramble out of the tent. It was all pretty chaotic, and by the time I was out, Steve was already headed out of camp with a screaming Porter. It took what seemed an eternity before I was able to find the mob of kind and helpful fellow campers huddled around my husband and son at the water spigot. Porter’s bare foot had gone into the fire.

It was a bit difficult at first to actually assess the damage. Porter was pretty hysterical, and looking at his foot, the extent of the burn wasn’t immediately visible. One thing was, however, readily clear: it hurt like a mother. Thankfully one of the guys helping us had the dressing materials we needed to get the area properly hydrated, covered and gauzed. From there, one thing was clear – this kid needed some pain meds. And so it was, we headed out to the nearest ER – all the while trying to calm the wails coming from the back seat. “IT FEELS LIKE A THOUSAND ARROWS SHOOTING INTO MY FOOT!”

At the ER, Nurse to Porter: “Okay, so on a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain and 10 being… -NINE!” (the poor nurse wasn’t even able to finish asking the question). Meds were administered and a little more calm evaluation was able to take place. First and 2nd degree burns, side of the foot, most likely no permanent damage, good that it wasn’t on the sole or toes. “You may want to think about cutting your camping trip short.” Steve and I kind of look at each other like, “Um. Yeah, no.” He is going to be fine. We will keep it clean and dry, use common sense if anything looks amiss and you send us back with that nice prescription of pain meds. We will take it from here.

By the time we left, Porter was describing his visions of rainbows and unicorns and proclaiming a gleeful “ZERO!!” when asked by the nurse about his pain level. We got into the car, headed to the nearest pharmacy for a bottle of pills, a bag full of gauze and tube of Neosporin and headed back to camp.

Once back, Porter got a hero’s welcome and the men got right to work on a proper shoe in which he could hobble around. Out. Came. The. Duck. Tape. And that, as they say, was that!

Camp on!

We celebrated Liam and Melissa’s birthdays in appropriate style – with a PBR-themed cape, water balloons, presents and treats. We ate deep-pit pig and lamb, watched the large gaggle of children perform skits and songs around the main communal fire-pit and roasted an insane amount of marshmallows. Somehow, Lynn, Melissa and I all ended up with these sweet Momgyver shirts that another camper had brought for the moms of the group. Porter hung in beautifully. He was disappointed he couldn’t be in the river, but made the best of the situation by parking himself on the beach in a chair while each of us took turns playing rounds of UNO with him.

Last year’s gathering had a broken leg. This year not only had a burned foot, but also a foot-in-wasp-nest episode. Each one slowly fossilizing into legends.

(Psst. You can find the entire photo set here.)

Numero Cinco (er, make that thinko)

Posted on March 10, 2012 by Natalie

Signs that your kids are watching too much Mythbusters.

Posted on February 12, 2012 by Natalie

It all began when I overheard the following statement: “Okay Porter, now don’t scream when I do this.”

Watching Porter’s front teeth twist and turn over the last weeks has been an infinite source of family entertainment. He has been guaranteed that at least one of us throughout the course of the day will walk up to him and ask, “hasn’t one of those teeth fallen out YET?” Myself included – which you think I’d be a little more sensitive about considering I was asked “haven’t had that baby YET?!” about 600 bazillion times with both of my insanely overdue pregnancies. But I digress.

So ANYWAYS, teeth. Loose. Insanely loose and crooked. There were days when I would look in the rear-view mirror of the car and see my son’s face with a single tooth resting atop his lower lip. Kinda like this (but in place of the bird is his nasty smelling blanket):

nanny mcphee

I tried to do some documenting the evolution of this process on my own:

Flash forward to yesterday.

Stella had finally reached her limit. Action needed to be taken. And big sisters can be very persuasive. Her plan involved one packet of purple embroidery thread from her friendship bracelet kit, one remote control all-terrain vehicle, and a whole lot of trial and error. Once she had successfully a.) gotten Porter’s buy-in, b.) figured out how to successfully attach the string to the tooth and the remote control car, and c.) gunned the car with just the right amount of slack in the line, she achieved her goal:

I still laugh each and every time I look at this photo. The blood. The look of victory on Stella’s face. The look of I-Don’t-Know-How-She-Convinced-Me-This-Was-A-Good-Idea on Porter’s face. It pretty much tells the entire story all by itself.

Leaving the Nest

Posted on August 29, 2011 by Natalie

So it started with Kindergarten orientation – no, wait – make that soccer – no, no, no back that train up. Make that day camp. Day Camp is when we started seeing the writing on the wall. The writing that said “Oh Here Go Hell Come”.

The last couple weeks with Little P have broken down like this:

Day Camp:
1st week number of days signed up = 4
1st week number of days actually attended = 2
Through some miracle of I-don’t-know-what, we seemed to figure out just the right combination of clicks, whistles and twirls that got us through the remaining weeks without incident.

Soccer:
Number of practices attended = 2
Number of practices participated in = 0
Number of games = 1
Number of games participated in = 0
Number of times the uniform has been on his person = 0

Current Theory: He may have more of a future as the team photographer.

Kindergarten Orientation:
Number of minutes it took to put on the nametag = 20
Number of pictures the teacher’s aid was allowed to take of him for the bulletin board = 0
Number of pictures I had to take of him for the bulletin board = 1
Number of times he was more than 6 inches from my body = 1

Here is the singular photo I was able to take of him while attending orientation (it was the only time he was far enough away from me that I could actually focus the camera to get a shot):

First Day of Kindergarten:
Number of times we barely averted chaos before leaving the house = 2
Number of hours I anticipated being late to work = 2
Number of times I expected to receive a phone call once at work = 5
BUT…..
Number of minutes it took to put on the nametag = .0025!!!
Number of whines and/or leg clings = 0!!!
Number of photos taken = 11!!!
Number of hugs/kisses/waves goodbye = 1, 1 & 3!!! (respectively)
Number of phone calls to work = 0!!!
Number of tears shed (by either of us) = 0!!! [I felt so much relief and joy that I was, literally, unable to feel sad or sentimental.]

And as for that other girl of ours, well 3rd graders tolerate their mothers for about 5-7 minutes before giving them the side-eye and telling them to move along already. At least that is my first-hand experience.

And so there I was – watching the one who I had to gently scoot from the nest and the other who bolted at a dead run. I can’t help but wonder if this is how it will always be.

(click the photo to see the entire set)