Camping Facilities

We recently got back from a week of camping.

This is the sort of news that not everyone shares my enthusiasm for.

There are the people who hear my family (as in Mom/Dad/Brother/Sister-In-Law/Nephew) were along and get a bit wide eyed.

There are quite a few people who hear we brought the boys (boys in my case always refers to my dogs) and raise an eyebrow questioning my decision making skills.

My boys, re-named “Fish Dog” and “Snail Boy” by the end of the first day due to their respective new odors.

There are even more who find out we brought all of our supplies to an island (Okay, this year it was actually a super long skinny peninsula, but it felt like an island) by boat and make some sort of surprised exclamation.

And then there are those who inquire and find out that our toilet facilities consisted of a nice long trail with a raised toilet seat over a pit in the woods and declare that it would never happen in their world.

Fortunately we only had a bit of rain (with awesome double rainbows as a reward for all the wet) the family got along well (and also there was Rum), the boys were fairly well behaved (if stinky), my brother and my dad had motor boats so we didn’t have to canoe all the stuff in (which was very nice) and so it was really quite an excellent trip.


I wasn’t totally in love with that open air bathroom.

It wasn’t the long walk up the trail through the woods. That was quite nice and usually populated by cute tiny toads.

This is not a tiny toad, it’s a tiny tree frog. Toads are cute, tree frogs are cuter. Sorry toads.

It wasn’t the open air experience. I’ve been a camper all my life, a “throne” with a view is excellent perk.

It wasn’t the mosquitoes- well sometimes it was the mosquitoes – but it was pretty breezy so they weren’t much of an issue.

This face had nothing to do with bathrooms and everything to do with the smell of dead snails. Not coincidentally they smelled just like my dog Snail Boy.

It was the lack of locking door.

At home my kids, like everyone’s kids have magic sensors every time I go into the bathroom. In case it’s been awhile since you’ve had kids or you’ve yet to experience the fun, let me explain.  Once a mother goes toward the bathroom their magic sensors pick up on it and they come down with severe cases of “questions that must be immediately answered” or break out in rashes of “crisis’ that aren’t”. At home there is a door, and it locks and yet it’s still hard to break away from the children.

See how happy she is? It’s because her mom wasn’t trying to go to the bathroom while this picture was taken.

At the campsite there was nothing but a long trail.

I was at their mercy.

Our “island” home.

Good thing I like camping.


The Fight

My two older girls were fighting. They ripped things out of each others hands, and they cried, and they yelled, and they stomped, and they slammed doors, and they came running to tattle on each other.

“MOM! She won’t let me clean the toilet!!!”

Ivy and Clara

The children of which I speak not fighting. (I had to use an rather old picture because ever since we got a kitten I no longer photograph my children.)

As the mother I’m taking this as one of those good news/bad news situations.

The good news is that now my toilets are really clean.

The bad news is that some days my kids will use anything as an excuse to pick a fight.

Toilet Paper

Thirty Six.

I’m thirty six years old.

I have three children that I haven’t manged to lose or have taken away from me. I can put food on the table on a regular basis. I take care of dogs and cats and chickens and ducks and geese and pigs and bees and a dove and they all seem content with my care. I can do the laundry and build tables. I can write blogs and repair minor electrical issues. I can shoot a shotgun and cut up the hindquarter of a deer. I can do a handstand, race a canoe and grow my own vegetables.

I am in many regards a totally successful adult.

So why, why, can I not remember to buy toilet paper on a regular basis?

Why are we always making an emergency toilet paper run?

Why do I do things like beg my friends for a roll of toilet paper so it doesn’t have to be an emergency and then forget it ?

Why have I done that exact same thing twice this year?

And why, why is it that it takes a half a roll of toilet paper in a house with four girls before I realize that we are out.

Every. Time.

Come on all you lovely readers, it can’t be just me! Make me feel better, what’s the one thing you always forget?



I’ve Been Looking Like This…

For the last week I’ve mostly looked like this:DSCN0780-(2sm)

Well, less fur,shorter snout, but same general position.

Two varieties of antibiotics later and I am hoping that soon I’ll be back to my normal blogging self.

Until then I shall leave you with a bathroom conversation with Clara.

Clara:” MOOOM!!!!! MOOOMMMM!!! MOM!! MOM!! MOM!!”

Me (go into bathroom to find Clara on toilet): “Yes?”

Clara: “People don’t eat bugs – cause they yucky.”

Me: “Yes….”

Clara: “…..”

Me: “???”

Look Before You Sit!

John, having been raised in a home where he was the only male, is fantastic about always putting the toilet seat down. This is a habit I have always appreciated and admired in my husband and for years I have not had to worry about what sort of condition I might find the toilet in.  But this morning my complacency almost lead to catastrophe. I need to remember that now I am in a home that is raising three girls and I must look before I sit.

You just never know who might have used it last!