Last week I posted the first email written from the summer of 2007 when our family spent two months in Richmond, VA, while Brian was there for work. We decided to make an adventure out of the trip and hauled our 19 foot long toy hauler RV to live in. The following is a portion of my "email diary".
We’ve arrived in Richmond! Now that I have a new email address, please feel free to email me any time. I plan to be on the computer whenever I’m not protecting the kids from all of the pedophiles I know are lurking in the camping park. I hesitate to use the term “trailer park” because it brings back scary childhood memories; however, I can already see that “trailer park” is going to be the word du jour for the summer. Sigh.
The trip was fairly uneventful, other than the scented pond with beautiful power lines providing icing. We did stay at the “Hillbilly Park” in eastern Indiana. At least that is what the entrance sign said. I now know that Brian was trying to break me in slowly. Our current housing situation is workable (I say that loosely), if you forget the family living in a tent across from us, the strange girl who rides her three wheel bike by our site hourly while going in circles so that her stares can get a better gander at the new folks (can you say “feeling stalked?”), and the pallet factory behind the tent family (it’s safe, there is a chain link fence separating them from the pallet workers).
We awake in the morning to the sound of forklifts backing up…..”beep, beep, beep”, which is the same sound Brian makes when I’m pregnant and trying to back into a chair. He’s actually quite funny. When I’m not pregnant.
The only accessible road to our community is a mile from the nearest retail establishment. Said “retail establishment” is, in actuality, a truck stop. This bustling truck stop is just off of I-95, the main interstate between here and Washington D.C. and a main artery along the east coast. Let’s just say it is a slightly busy interstate. I do admit to some surprise, since I had initially envisioned a beautiful state park with the sounds of birds and rustling trees when Brian first proposed staying in the RV. I’m sure we will become quite accustomed to the flow of traffic as it lulls us to sleep each night.
Our one road is an industrial frontage road (see: pallet factory, among others). I decided to take the kids on a leisurely stroll a few mornings after arriving to get breakfast at the lovely truck stop. It contains a Cinnabon and since we DROVE I was unable to enjoy my usual Cinnabon at the airport. The stroll was to culminate in a wonderful breakfast for us, slathered in cinnamon and icing. Shortly after beginning the “stroll”, with Marah marching along beside me and Brody wiggling in the stroller, we were run into the ditch by a large semi. After getting ourselves together, we tried it again. The second semi honked and I think I saw the driver mouthing the words “are you stupid?” as he flew past us. After digging the dirt out of Marah’s mouth (she didn’t really mind and thought it might be a regional snack until I told her it wasn’t edible) and bending one of the stroller wheels back into place, I made the responsible decision to return to the campground. North Richmond, the site of our new home, is “not the best part of town” according to Brian, but I didn’t want to let the bars on the windows or yard art scare me. Besides, our campsite is monitored. It just isn’t safe to leave if you aren’t in an automobile.
You might be wondering why we didn’t drive in the first place, which is a very logical question. You see, I don’t have a car and Brian has to drive the truck to the job site each day.
Let me preface this next paragraph: I'm not a demanding wife, not in the least. In fact, I'm downright easy going, so when I type words like "demand", please keep this in mind. When the “camping“ proposal was first presented, I made only two requests. No, I didn’t think they were unreasonable. The first thing I sweetly requested was a new lap top. Brian promptly returned home a few days later with an old one they had laying around the office. He’s not known for comprehension….that, or he must’ve been distracted when the word “new” preceded the request. I wasn’t complaining, though, and the lap top is working just fine. The second demand, and it was a fairly clear one, involved transportation. He was to get me a rental car while we were there. This is where marriage and communication becomes an issue: I MEANT a rental car as soon as we got there. I think he THOUGHT I meant a car, any car, when he got around to it.
This is the new automobile development. Brian decided it might be a BETTER idea to look for an older used car to buy with cash for me to drive while here instead of renting a car, as originally planned. See where this is going? He wants to pocket as much of the per-diem as possible and sell the car at the end for what we paid (it’s a special talent he possesses).
While watching him shop on Craigslist for work vans, which he thought might be cool so that we could store the bikes in it while we are here, I had to remind him that they don’t contain back seats, eh hum, for the kids. Was that before or after I beat him upside the head?
He also thought it might be best for us to “hang out” in the camper this weekend while looking for a car and “settling in”. We’ve been here since 6:05 pm on Monday night. There’s no way in HELL I’m “hanging out” in the camper for several more days. The kids are becoming so attached to me that I peed on Brody yesterday (don't ask; the camper is only 19 feet long and has a VERY small bathroom). He was already traumatized because the six year old boy with black teeth and a lisp at the pool tried to hold his head under water to see how long he would last. I’m all for kids finding their own way, but the Linda Blair in me came out and I think I scared the poor little lithsper.
Someone save me. Please.
Motto: Remember, we have our health and are together.
P.S. After a warm and loving talk last night I convinced Brian to get me a rental, at least for the weekend. He just needed a little persuasion (under threat of mutiny).
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