Saturday, August 22, 2020

A Time To Barf

 It was Grandpa Camp week.  A time of togetherness, as the extended family gets bigger and the cousins get larger, um older.  After the girls and I spend an enjoyable couple of nights at Ensign Ranch earlier in the summer, I suggested that we take Grandpa Camp on the road. Nature! Kayaks! Trails! Mosquitos! What's not to love?

My in-laws rented a couple of rustic cabins, and I rented one for myself.  Ryan was unable to join at all during the week, working practically from sun up to sundown.  Even if he is home before dinner, his phone chimes constantly demanding his attention.  If I was attending Ryan's family reunion on my own, I was going to have my own space.  I have the introvert's decided need for quiet down-time.  And a place of my own to sleep.  I have been known to complain about sharing a sleeping space with my kids, but sleeping in the same space as my brother and sisters-in-law?  I'll take my own kids any time over that.  They are just more comfortable, especially when my normal bed-buddy isn't there.  The rustic cabins didn't have running water, but they did have a refrigerator, lights and electricity.  There was a downstairs bedroom with a full-size bed and a bunk bed.  The upstairs was just an open loft.  My kids opted to sleep in my cabin.  Annie and Elizbeth shared the bunk bed, and Emma and Maddie spread out in the loft.  

Now that the stage has been set, here's the interesting story.  

The second night of our stay just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard footsteps going down the stairs (ok, not a problem) and then the front door opening (more troubling).  I loudly whispered the question of, "Where are you going?" and Emma answered back, "I'm going to the Biffy." (That is Ensign Ranch's nice name for the Porta-potties.)  She closed the door behind her, and then I heard loud coughing.  My half-awake brain wondered if she had swallowed a bug or something as she exited the cabin, but I didn't wonder very hard.  The more pressing issue was hoping she took a flashlight and how long before she got back, so I could relax and try to sleep again?

After a minute or so, Emma opened the door and groaned out, "Mom, I need help."

Uh oh.  That doesn't sound good.

"I threw up," she continued.  

Oh great.  I crawled out of my sleeping bag, grabbed a flashlight, shoes, and sweatshirt before heading for the door.  

Yep, she had thrown up alright.  All over the porch, the welcome mat, and her shoes.  Why couldn't she have made it to the bushes??!?

I guided her by the light of my headlamp to the Biffy across the road and waited for her to finish her business.  While I waited, I processed how I was going to clean up the mess.  Come on brain, think!  I had worried plenty about having to camp by myself; how could I not have a contingency plan for this? I have no soap.  Plenty of hand-sanitizer, but that won't help any.  The nice sister missionary who checked us in gave me a 5 gallon bucket in case we wanted to have a fire.  That bucket would be useful for carrying water from the water spigot down a ways back to the cabin to wash the barf off the porch.  The senior missionaries are sticklers for cleanliness when it comes to checking out of the cabins, and they aren't going to like those bodily fluids (plus chips and chili) one bit.

We returned to the cabin, and I helped get Emma's sleeping mat, pillow, and sleeping bag down the stairs.  She left her shoes outside.  I grabbed the barf bucket from the van, lined with a plastic bag all ready in case of motion sickness, and left it beside my shivering daughter cocooned in her sleeping bag while I headed back outside to deal with the mess.

I got my 5-gallon bucket and walked down to our source of water.  There is no way my wimpy girl arms are going to haul a full bucket all the way back to the cabin, so I filled it until I thought it was good enough.  And thus began my trips back and forth hauling water.  I wanted to sit down and call Ryan so I could whine about "all the things I have to deal with when you aren't around."  But I resisted the urge.  It took many trips for water, as the mess was surprisingly clingy to the porch and mat.  At last I prevailed, checked on Emma, and then crawled back into my own nylon bag.

It was not a restful night.  Thankfully those prayers heavenward were heard and Emma was not sick again.  That girl is not known for her aim when she has the stomach flu, and I worried in and out of sleep that she would be sick again but this time inside the cabin. 

At last, the sun rose and it was time to get up.  I then called Ryan to tell him about our night, and maybe whined a little about "all those things I deal with," and then called my in-laws to tell them the news.  I didn't want to make everyone else be around our germs, so we were going home.  But could we still come by their cabin so we could get some breakfast?  Most of us were hungry.

The whole family was breaking camp that morning to go to my in-law's house. I have a sneaking suspicion my in-laws would have been ok with us taking our germs to their house, as they were most insistent that the kids should come to their house the following day.  But I really wanted to just go home, and the girls were fine with that plan.  So we packed up, cleaned our cabin, cleaned the Biffys, and did not mention the splash stains on the porch when we were checked out.  I could not rid all of the evidence from the porch with plain ol' water.