Man-Camp 2010 - The OTHER Half-Day of Nature (Part 4)

What??? Are you still here reading about our boring camping trip?  I would stop writing about it but I'm in too deep now.  I have to finish!  So just sit back and enjoy part 4 of 5.

When we last left our heroes...

We decided to go hiking.  We had just hiked the day before so it probably wasn't the greatest of ideas.  But we were in the wilderness... what else was there left to do?  We had firewood and our clothes were drying.  So we decided to hike farther down the trail to see what else the mountains had to offer.

Since we were in the valley between two mountains, the trail generally followed a mountain stream about 50ft away.  A very COLD mountain stream.  I remember it being cold the last time we were there because we all bathed in it's Arctic frostiness (not at the same time, mind you).  It was Spring we when made the trip last time but I promise the water could have held an iceberg or two if it had been deep enough.  So there would be no stream bathing on this trip.  I would be carrying this manly musk back home with me.  And that's the way it should be!

The other two people (the Scoutmaster and the Dr.) who were veterans on this trip wanted to find a little water hole they had found before.  They remembered how cold it was but they didn't care because there was a deep pool of water to swim in and a little waterfall to accent the scene.  It all sounded fine and dandy but I wasn't going to get in it!  One of my friends wondered why.  So, I told him.

You won't hear me do this a lot but I'm going to make a racial (NOT racist) statement here.  I don't know a lot of black people who enjoy water.  And I'm going to go out on a limb and say YOU (as in ANYONE reading this) don't either.  Sure, you might know one or two but they are about as rare as the elusive jackalope.  I'm going to let you think on that one for a moment.  Now, to add to the thinking process, how many black people do you see at the beach?  THEN think to yourself... How many of those at the beach do you actually see in the water?  I'm going to guess (with confidence) that you won't find too many.  Years ago there was a HUGE argument about the TV show Baywatch (I told you YEARS ago) not having many black people represented.  People were calling the show racist (NOT racial).  Personally, I think they were being pretty accurate.

Racial (NOT racist) statement part two: You don't see a lot of black people in places where it's cold.  Do we need to take a break so you can think about this one too?  We are just not fond of cold ANYTHING (minus drinks).  When you watch the Summer Olympics we are everywhere.  When you watch the WINTER Olympics we are not even at the indoor events.  We don't ski.  We don't play hockey.  We don't ice skate.  And I will repeat this...  You might find your one or two but you will not find a number that's even statistically recognizable.  I don't know why but that's just the case.

Now combine the two previous paragraphs and tell me if you have ever seen a black member of the Polar Bear Club.  Just the thought of that BLOWS my mind!  I can't imaging perfectly sane people WANTING to strip down to almost nothing in subfreezing weather and jumping into a pool of water that's probably colder than the subfreezing air.  I can't even wrap my brain around that one.  I'm sure there is an exception but I have looked at photo after photo and have yet to find a single one.  (This might be a good challenge to my readers.  If you have a pic of a black Polar Bear Club member, send it to me.  I would love to see it just so I can mark it off of my bucket list.)

And THAT'S why I didn't care too much about the swimming hole.  It wasn't even something I was going to look back on years later and go, "Man, I wish I had risked hypothermia and drowning just so I can say I did it." But I'm not a party pooper so I was on the lookout for it as well while we were making out way down the trail.

I'm not sure how far we went (but it wasn't even a mile) when the Scoutmaster thought he saw it.  So he went to investigate.  And by investigate I mean he cut through the overgrowth to get to the stream and starting making his way back upstream.  I think we all learned a lesson that day. We learned that is a lot has changed since we were here during our late teens.  After going from rock to rock (then eventually just walking in the water itself) he realized he couldn't find the original spot.  Too much had changed.  But, of course, he wasn't going to let that stop him.  So he and the Dr. found a different spot.  And all was well... until the next trip when they try to find this NEW spot again.

I decided to make my way back to camp.  So did the Rookie.  We made it back and enjoyed the last few minutes of direct sunlight left in the day.  The swimming hole adventure didn't last as long as I had expected it to so the other two were back at camp not too much longer after that.  It was definitely lunchtime.

This is also when we got to what the camp was really about.  As we ate MREs (the same food that the fine soldiers of the US military enjoy) we finally took a few minutes to just talk.  We talked about life.  We talked about politics.  We talking about the state of the US.  We even talked about time travel and physics (that conversation didn't last long).  We talking about where our lives are and how different it was the last time we were in the exact same spot.  We talked about the Butterfly Effect.  We talked about religion.  We talked a little about everything and a lot about nothing.  That was easily my favorite part of the whole trip.  There were a lot of funny and crazy things that went on in the VERY short time I was there but those conversations were the most memorable.  If life sees to it that we NEVER get to go back again, I will at least have that moment to keep me company.

Everything was going great until people started showing up.  Apparently, everyone got the memo that I was going to be at that particular campsite and wanted to come and see if the rumors were true.  Of course, THAT wasn't the case (I don't think) but people did start showing up.  As stated in an earlier camping post of this trip, we saw very few people the last time.  We also didn't have to share the area the entire trip.  Now, already, on this trip we had another person sharing the area (the Fisherman) and other people were coming through OUR campsite.  We didn't mind the Fisherman being there because he was.. well... out fishing pretty much the whole time.  But we had a few smaller groups of people come through first looking for a good campsite.  We directed them away.  Then a larger group came through looking for the same thing.  We gave ALL of them the "this is OURS, go get your own" look.  And they all obliged.  That was until the LAST group showed up.  I can't remember what group they were with (mainly because I didn't speak that much to them) but they decided to make our cramped campsite even crampier. (For some reason, spell checker didn't like crampier.  Oh, well.)

We didn't know this new group of people so we didn't trust them either.  (That meant all of us kept our weapons of choice close just in case.  My little knife was easy to conceal.) We also noticed that they were ill prepared to camp.  They were fine for hiking but not for camping.  This is especially true since there was a frost warning in the area for that night.  I kinda felt bad for them and so did the Scoutmaster.  So before going to bed, he made sure that the fire was a large, good one and that they had plenty of chopped wood ready in case they needed it.

We decided before we went to bed that we would move the tent a little.  I spearheaded this movement because through the course of the day I found out that not EVERYONE was sleeping with a root in their side.  So we moved the tent and changed the sleeping arrangement.  I really felt good about the new move until it was time to go to bed.  I put my sleeping bag in it's new spot.  I placed my trusty knife next to where my head would be for quick access. (You can't trust those squirrels.  Every good camper knows that!)  I get in my sleeping bag and there it was.  Mr. Root's cousin.  ANOTHER FREAKIN' ROOT!!!!  You've got to be kidding me!  Was this thing following me?  I moved my bag around to try to find the best spot.  But even the BEST spot left me with a root press in my back.  I just had to make do.

There was a problem with this night's making do with the root.  I don't even know if this is medically possible but I'm blaming it on THAT root even if it's not!  But for some reason, that root in my back kept making me have to go pee.  And I'm not talking every 30 minutes to an hour.  I'm talking like 5-10 minute intervals.  There were several problems with that.  I didn't have my glasses on so I couldn't see.  The tent was dark and I was on the side away from the entrance.  So that meant every 5-10 minutes I was getting out of my WARM sleeping bag, putting on my shoes, stumbling over everyone, opening the tent (letting in MORE cold air and making me have to pee worse), making my way down a trail (blind and in pitch darkness), peeing, making my way back (under the same conditions), opening the tent again (more cold air), stumbling over everyone, taking my shoes off, getting back into a (NOW) cold sleeping bag, and finally snuggling up to my favorite ROOT in the whole wide world.  I don't know how many times it happened as I stopped counting at 42,007.

I'm sure this ritual was annoying everyone but no one said anything.  The Scoutmaster DID finally offer me a foam padding to go under my sleeping bag.  It was something short of turning water into wine (probably not a good analogy for someone who was peeing a lot).  But it worked!!!  I didn't have go pee after that.  Granted, it could have been the fact that there was ZERO water left in my system after the many, MANY trips to the bark covered port-o-potty.  But, as I said before, I'm blaming it on the the root.

I would like to say that things ended there.  We were in the tent.  It was dark.  It was cold.  It was time to sleep.  But someone decided to put the final exclamation point on the evening.  Someone... And I'm not naming any names because that would be RUDE.  Isn't that right, Scoutmaster??? Someone decided that the night wasn't complete until someone sounded the evening tuba.  Someone (Scoutmaster) ripped on of the loudest, most explosive farts to finish the day off.  Does everyone remember that we were in a closed tent to keep as much of the cold out?  Nothing says camping like trying to decide of you want to freeze to death or die a painful death from paralyzing gas of a butt bomb.  The rest of us zipped up our sleeping bags over our heads and prayed for mercy.  Sometimes that's your only option.  It did, however, insure that if someone or something was going to attack the campsite that night we were protected by an invisible field of toxic gas.  Sorry other campers... you have to get your own!

That simple (yet hilariously disgusting) act also led me to believe that, though, there were a lot of things different on this trip from when we made it almost 20 years ago... some things were still the same.

Stay tuned for Part 5 and FINAL chapter of the Man-Camp 2010 Saga.

It's Pee-ple Training Time

This is not the original post I was going to write.  But you didn't know that so this could actually BE the original post I was going to write disguised as the NEW post I'm presenting.  In the grand scheme of things that really doesn't matter much, but in the micro scheme of things I'm smiling on the inside with one of those nanny-nanny-boo-boo-I-know-something-you-don't-know thoughts.  And.... it's gone.

The post I was going to write is better than this one. (Or is it???.... OK. I'll stop.)  At least the subject matter is better because this one is about Potty Training (for the 3rd and LAST time).  And to all of my friends who are thinking of taking a shot at me for that statement... Yes, yes, yes.  After this many decades I have finally decided to learn to use the potty.  HA. HA. You are SOOO funny.  Now for everyone else... I'm talking about my almost 2-year old.

In my (not so) professional opinion, I think she is ready for this.  She's giving all of the signs. (Warning: All of my friends without kids... I'm about to lose you right here.  That's fine.  I will let you know when it is OK to come back.  All of my friends with kids... Well, these signs are all too familiar.)

1. She knows the the words pee-pee and poopie.  She can even repeat the phrase, "Pee-pee and poopie in the potty."  Of course she is just repeating at this point and hasn't made to true connection to it's meaning.  She doesn't know that it means, "Right now... you are pee-peeing and poopie...ing on yourself!"  And that's not where that stuff is supposed to go.  Oh, sure it's fun.  But the novelty wears off very quickly when you get into high school so it's better to take care of this now.

2. She's at the stage where she knows that the act of pooping in public is not smiled at and is often frowned upon in society.  We have 3 kids. (Yes, I know DAWN... I'm a rookie! No, DAWN, my wife and I don't need any more!  We are happy staying in the minor leagues on this one.) The 2 youngest of the 3 kids LOVE to fight each other.  That's the bad news.  The good news is that we always know where they are.  When they both get quiet we know there's trouble brewing somewhere.  But when the youngest is the only one that is quiet, we know there's a different kind of trouble brewing.

She likes to poop in Vegas.  I say that because I think she believes that whatever happens in Vegas... stays in Vegas.  And Vegas is located in the next room, or behind the love seat, or on there other side of the kitchen table or just any where she thinks no one can see her.  She hasn't figured out that when you do the doo in private, the smell follows you in public.  And even if you find her in the process of filling her PMP, or Personal Mobile Potty (a diaper for those not getting it) she will deny any knowledge of event as if she was a major league baseball player on trial for steroid use. (And you all know how that always turns out.)  Just follow the evidence trail (so to speak) and you will find a dirty diaper and a little girl with that same nanny-nanny-boo-boo-I-know-something-you-don't-know look that I had.  The only difference is... I know.

3. She has enough LITERAL intestinal fortitude to NOT poopie in the wet diaper of the morning.  Every morning when I'm getting the kids ready, she waits until I change her wet diaper to leave me a soiled one (just so I have to change two).  Some might think that it's just the timing of the whole thing.  You know... The kid wakes up and after about 5-10 minutes of being awake it's THAT time.  To those people I say, "NAY! Thou art wrong!"  I have waited longer than the 5-10 minutes on purpose just to see what happens.

(A side note: This is mainly how WE fathers learn.  I have learned a many a lesson by mentally thinking, "Let's just wait and see what happens."  Most mothers don't typically learn that way.  This method has a very high failure rate on the action but also shares a very high "lesson learned" rate. 

A side note to the side note: Just because WE fathers learned the lesson does in no way guarantee that we won't try the same thing again at a later date. I know... definition of insanity. Yada, yada, yada.  Just deal with it!)    

But after waiting forever to see what happens... nothing.  She won't do it.  If I don't change the wet diaper, she won't go.  Then after a long enough time, she'll start pointing at the diaper and saying something that I can only assume means, "Change my wet diaper NOW so I can complete the morning transactions!"  Maybe that's why they call it #2 because when you reach THAT age it's how many diapers it takes to get the morning job done.

4. She cuts into daddy time.  As if the first 3 weren't enough about me in this whole process, this last one is COMPLETELY about me.  She wants to come into the bathroom when I'm in the bathroom.  She hasn't figured out that the bathroom is my Throne Room.  All of my greatest ideas have in some way started in the Throne Room.  No constructive ideas are happening when the little one is in there.  I like to sit on the Throne and work on my sudoku puzzles. There's no sudokuing going on.  (I'm really upset about that one.) Out of all of the places in a house with kids... the Throne Room is my place of peace and quiet.  There's no peace or quiet when the little one is in there.

Not meaning to be rude, but I can't even focus on the task at hand.  I have to make sure she's safe and can't destroy the place.  She's trying to measure the bathroom with the toilet paper.  She wants to put everything (including herself, toys and books) into the tub.  She wants to climb on me.  She wants to talk to me in baby language.  She wants to pull everything off the sink.  She wants to cry when daddy can't play right at that moment.  (He's busy!  Those sudoku puzzles won't work themselves!) Basically it's a lose/lose situation for everyone involved.

(OK. Kidless friends.  You can come back now.) I know that kids will reach this all-important milestone at their own pace.  I'm not going to push her past her limits.  We are going to go at her pace.  But I will be going back on the day shift in a month so she needs to hurry up and figure this out... at her own pace, of course.

(Because of the subject matter, I purposefully left out pictures.  

You'll thank me later.)