Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Charles, Tents, & Grit Man: Chapter 1

During the summer of 2007, our family made some very significant changes. Brian had been handed the largest project of his career (the largest project his company had ever run, by a large margin). Schweiger was the General Contractor on a new data center being built in Richmond, VA; Brian the lead. The project lasted two years and by the summer of ’07 he was well into the first year. Leaving early Monday morning and not flying home until late Friday evening was taking a toll on him, our family and on my job. As a result, and after a deep period of soul searching, I walked away from a 15+ long year career in juvenile corrections to stay home.

The first order of business involved how to spend time as a stay at home mother. Since summer was arriving, and we had spent the previous year with a weekend only dad, the choice was easy. The kids and I would travel to Richmond for the summer and spend it with Brian, catching up on some much needed family time and attempting to renew his spirit, which was sagging under the pressure of the project.

Brian, in a nutshell, is very frugal. It's an admirable quality, one that this girl badly needs to learn. He was receiving a very adequate per-diem allowance that would’ve allowed us to rent a corporate apartment for the two months the kids and I planned to stay there. He thought it would be exciting, however, to pull our 19 foot toy-hauler camper to Virginia and pocket the difference….which was significant. As we embarked on our journey, it became clear to me very early on that there would be memories I needed to preserve, and so began an email correspondence with friends while there. The number of “subscribers” grew rapidly and by the end of our stay I was inundated with new people saying “OMG, those stories are so funny, add me to the email list”!!! It should’ve been my first blog, but better late than never.

So…..for your reading pleasure…..here’s the first installment of "Charles, Tents, & Grit Man”!

We successfully survived the first week here in Virginia! Thank you for all of the supportive emails. I forgot to share one other story from the drive here. Brian, still recovering from the apparent trauma of the incident, recently reminded me of the tale.

During the drive to Richmond, we decided to stay one final night on the road in a West Virginia KOA camp. This one is fairly new and was supposed to have all the amenities! When we pulled in we noticed quite a few kids swimming in a pond by the camp office building. It contained a small make-shift beach. I say “beach” loosely.

Marah immediately seized upon this and begged us to go swimming. The ride had been long and the kids had been beautifully behaved (this is before our family began having “Fing” contests….yes, I added this statement to the old Richmond story….if you want to know what a “Fing” is, please refer to a previous March blog titled, drum roll, “the Shulda Fings”). They both deserved some fun.

After settling in, Brian grabbed his trunks and we got the kids ready and headed to play. As we walked along the side of the pond towards the beach (did I mention “beach” loosely?) I noticed an overwhelmingly nasty scent. Many of my friends and family know that I’m a freak about smells. I figured I was being my usual freakish self. The closer to the water we got the more, um, pungent the smell became. Yes, I think I'll go with "pungent".

Did I mention the funkish gunk on top of the water around the edges? Actually, it wasn't funkish; it was pure, unadulturated funk. With a capital F. Before we could stop her, Marah flew into the water with glee. She doesn’t seem to have inherited my phobias; in fact, she takes great joy in eating her buggers in front of me to watch me retch ( caveat….she only just turned six at the time of this writing and no longer eats her buggers; I’m adding this with the hopes of avoiding later family therapy and having to apologize for humiliating her in front of hundreds of people). Brody (at the tender age of 2 ½) followed close behind. During those days, he plodded along quite hysterically on large, wide, borderline club feet. He really was a cute little guy (I joke; they weren’t really borderline club feet, really). I firmly told Brian there was no way in hell any part of my skin was touching that water so I set up camp a good distance away and OFF of the so called beach.

From a distance, I saw Brian making a face and realized he was wrinkling his nose in disgust, meaning the smell had registered with him as well. He's not gifted with a superior nose like his wife. There were a number of, let’s just call them “outdoorsy”, kids playing in the water just like it was the Great Wolf Lodge. In laymen's terms, since I'm not holding back, they were actually dirty and feral looking. I really need to see a therapist about this clean thing I have going; and DON'T judge me on the feral statement - you didn't see these kids. They were scary.

Marah, as usual, just seemed unable to help herself as she drifted closer and closer to the funk over at the edge. I think she is telepathic and secretly took pleasure in building her mother’s anxiety. I could feel myself starting to breathe rapidly, the panicky kind of breathing one gets that ultimately results in a 911 call or, at a minimum, in passing out. Brian refused to let his swimming trunks touch the water (such a prissy) so after much screaming, waving of hands, jumping up and down, and bringing attention to ourselves, we got her out of the pond and headed back “home”.

As we walked away, the smell was overwhelming and gaggifying (I made that word up; it’s cute, huh?). I quickly realized that now it was emanating from our two children. Brian pointed out that he had been panicking not just over the scent and scum....not because he was a sissy (my words)....not because of the feral children.... but because of the electrical wires that were hanging low over the entire swimming area of the pond. Seriously, someone 6’5 and taller could’ve reached out and swung on them like a vine. Actually, I'm pretty sure some of those mountain children probably DID swing on them later, most likely having built up a tolerance for randomly swinging electrical wires. I could hear them snorting at the "city folks" as we all but ran screaming from there. Sometimes I forget how smart and observant Brian can be. I’m worried about stink and dirt; he’s worried that his kids may die a horrible and electrically induced fiery death. It is times like these that I’m quite pleased with my choice for a mate.

Once back in our small RV, I had to hand wash their suits (Brian's too, even though it hadn’t touched the water....big baby) TWICE in order to keep the camper from stinking. As I wrung them out, Marah quietly said “hey mom!”. Looking over my shoulder, I felt a familiar gag in the back of my throat as she gleefully popped a bugger in her mouth. I knew then that this would be a summer to remember.

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