A Thousand Miles From The Place I Was Born

So guess what I did last weekend? I spent three days and two nights of sheer torture tent camping with six Brownie Girl Scouts. Yeah, I know. I don’t know what I was thinking, either. I wasn’t alone, however. I was accompanied by two of the most saintly women I know, who shall heretofore be known as “N” and “C”. (They begged me not to reveal their identities.)

“N” spent the entire time with me, corralling wayward 7-year-old girls and trying to stop the neverending-oh-for-hell’s-sake-what-are-they-crying-about-NOW tears. We later estimated that 80% of our girls burst into tears at some point over the weekend. For things such as “I lost my Dream Box!” and “She has my pillow!” and my personal favorite, “SPIDER!” I consider myself to be a fairly patient person, as I’m sure “N” does as well, but by the end of the weekend we were both a little snippy when the water works began. Sue us.

“C” on the other hand, was the lucky one who got to go to work during the day and only join us at night. Unfortunately, that also meant that she had middle-of-the-night latrine duty because “N” and I had HAD ENOUGH! Thanks, “C”, for letting me sleep.

The weekend began innocently enough, with “N” and I loading our respective cars with enough provisions to last us a year, and driving up Provo Canyon to the beautiful Trefoil Ranch. It took us a while to get from the gates of the ranch to our actual campsite, and much to my dismay, it was like 400 miles up a steep rocky hill from the lodge. A hike that we probably negotiated upwards of 3,000 times a day. Ok, maybe I exaggerate a little. It was really only 1,000 times a day. And I don’t know if I have mentioned this or not, but I am not what you would call “Physically Fit”. I am, in fact, squishy and soft. CCB likes me that way, and Lauren thinks I’m fun to cuddle with. But Squishy and Soft do not lend themselves well to “hiking up a damn mountain a billion times a day”. I think it’s safe to say that I was tired.

But I brought my Ambien, and after all was said and done the first night, I climbed into my sleeping bag, zipped myself in, and waited for the pill to kick in. I don’t remember anything else that night, but apparently there were many trips to the bathroom with the girls, and also a wet sleeping bag/pillow/stuffed animal incident (from a water bottle, not man-made) that required intervention by the other two women in my tent while I snoozed blissfully away. Apparently I was so sound asleep that I was making moaning sounds. (This is not a surprise to me — I have been told that I talk and moan in my sleep on occasion.) I assure you that these moans are not in any way associated with the quality of my dreams (if you know what I mean), but they probably appear that way. When “N” and “C” overheard said moans, they tried to wake me up and tell me that I was making noises. I think they are big liars, too, because they insist that I told them that I was having sex dreams because “my honey doesn’t live with me”. I think this is false, and entirely unlike me, but they maintain that I said those very words. And they apparently laughed hysterically for upwards of ten minutes when I said them. Whatever.

The second day at camp was filled with activities (line dancing, anyone???) and more tears. At one point, “N” and I were perched near the fire pit at the lodge, which proved to be a lovely spot for people watching. I found it quite interesting that there are essentially four types of Girl Scout Leaders:

1. Super-cute crafty Moms who tie dyed t-shirts for all her girls to wear, and found color-coordinated bandannas to match.

2. Enormously overweight Moms (I am talking 300 pounds-plus) whose only activity is in searching out a place to sit down. I do not include myself in this category, for the record.

3. Very masculine Moms. I have never seen so many potential Lesbians in my entire life. It became kind of a sport for “N” and I to guess whether a given Leader was a woman or a man. The whiskers made it hard to tell.

4. Us and those like us. AKA “The Normal Ones”. I think it goes without saying that we were the minority.

The last day at camp, we were awakened by the sound of rain on our tent roof. At first, it was relaxing and tranquil. And then I realized that it was turning our entire campsite into a Roman Mud Bath. I have been home for five days now and have taken approximately 45 showers and baths, but I am still finding dried mud in assorted places. Oh, and let us not forget the rogue caterpillars who hitched a ride to the suburbs with us.

All in all, it was actually a splendid time. I bonded with my sweet little Girl Scouts (yes, even the ones who cried hysterically half the time) and killed more spiders than I have seen in a lifetime. I discovered that my dear Lauren is not willing to kiss and cuddle her Mom when friends are around (and that I can embarrass her without much effort at all). I also discovered that a cold Diet Pepsi with Lime in a camp chair with caterpillars in your hair is a pretty relaxing thing, believe it or not.

Oh, and I also discovered that camping is a LOT more tolerable with Ambien. AND good friends to share it with.