Husband and I finally went on a date this evening, we even had our children’s blessings.  The tyrants, I mean children are not usually so generous.  I recall tears and sobbing the last time we tried to go out, and it was so frustrating we stayed in and I cleaned the bathroom instead.  Not.happening.tonight.   I know, I know- the children are not suppose to be the boss.  And they aren’t.   Really.  It’s just that these bosses get tired of leading the masses and troubleshooting for the  (free) labour, and I for one sometimes feel a little too much like I am Michael Scott and living an episode of The Office.

Anyhoo, Son came up to me before I had finished mopping the bathroom floor and as I was still frantically trying to make the girl’s beds at 7:00 p.m. before we left (yes I am crazy; I stripped the sheets on two beds this morning because both of my older girls insist on going to bed and sleeping in between the cover sheet and the quilt.  The dirt has nowhere to settle, and it just rolls around on top).  He said to me, “What are you doing on your date?”  Quite honestly, I hadn’t thought that far.  All I knew was that I had not been out of the house past 8:00 p.m. in a very long time, and I needed to see what the sky looks like after dark.  After I admitted I did not have a plan, he recommended that his father and I might like to go watch a romantic movie at the theatre.  His suggestion.  Not sure what that would look like to an eleven-year old boy, but I like the fact that he thought of it first.  I will try not to believe it was for the selfish reason that a pretty babysitter would be in the house.

Our date: looking for a camper for our month-long reservation at KOA Cornwall.  Just the thought of a month away is enough to propel me toward a stroke or in like manner, congestive heart failure.  I can hardly wait.  We can finally say goodbye to the pop-up trailer and live the life of luxury afforded by a R.V.  Ah, one can only imagine coasting into the campground, squeezing one’s camper into the 12’ by 12” postage stamp-sized lot and then letting it all hang out for the neighboring campers to see.  And I do mean let it all hang out.  We have camped enough to know that camping families are a breed of their own.  One of the most memorable neighbours we had was a friendly marijuana grower from down along, and let’s just say that this mother wished she had bought hospital approved face masks for all her children to use during this particular camping experience as the man might as well have been sleeping inside our tent trailer for all the privacy our walls were able to muster.

Another particularly memorable camp-out was one of the first we took as a family of six.  All I remember was the baby crying all night and the rain that came down in sheets the following morning.  I don’t know why that night didn’t do me in forever.  It was a horrible experience.  And as it was too wet to continue on with four children in a soaking wet tent, we packed everything up drenched the next morning and made like a Ben’s Bakery truck and got our buns out of there as fast as was humanly possible.  I’m sure my mother has still not gotten over sight of the six of us arriving in the rain with our water-logged gear that specific morning.

So it is with a tinge of sadness and a pound of mad love that I bid adieu to our little Love Bug, a.k.a. our tent trailer.  I hope she will once again see green pastures, or at least get to live out her days on a crowded field with children’s muddy feet tramping grass throughout her unstable floors once again.  She served us well.  She certainly lived up to our very low expectations and then some.

So I say, long live the tent trailer!  And let me hear a whoop, whoop for the R.V.