My husband's last words:

"Packing isn't really that much work - you just make it that way"

And then I beat him silly with a tent pole.


Last night, we head to the campground. It's not too far so we have the luxury of bringing down a load of firewood and the bikes a day early... and I got some adult help with the tent setup.

We get to the office. I booked the wrong campsite. damndamndamn. same site number - different area. And it's a yucky site. The park ranger is, quite possibly, now one of my top five favorite people - he took me out of the scrub brush, gravel, surrounded by people site and found a HUGE site, surrounded by pines trees on the top of a hill for me. Love the ranger.

My husband has the lovely habit of sitting in his chair, complaining about the Red Sox (no lack of material there) and WATCHING me pack. Um, no. So I kindly say that maybe he'd be more comfortable watching the game upstairs. Or maybe it wasn't so kindly and more along the lines of " If you value your life maybe you should just go upstairs to watch the game because I'm kinda busy here and it's 11:18 p.m and I'm not close to done." Within ten mintues he was gone.

And he loaded up the car for me this morning. So he's redeemed himself. Oh! Double redemption: He told me that I could go home this weekend if I wanted and he would stay camping with the kids. I'm totally thinking about that last one...we'll see.

Off we go...