Lint and other souvenirs

When parents of similarly aged children tell me how happy they are each and every day, I immediately assume their dose of Lexapro is higher than mine or their crack is of a higher grade. Thus I am always thrilled to find other parents who are more in my corner of the world, overwhelmed and under-rested and wondering at least once a day whether we are complete failures as parents and possibly as human beings. Thankfully, I believe my contingent is larger if quieter, perhaps by virtue of our general hoarseness from repeating everything from "that's not a good choice" to "knock it off or I'll give you something to REALLY cry about" ten thousand times a day. 

On a recent drug-free vacation with the kids, I was worried about how we might entertain them and survive a week in the wilds of the Sierras, far from TV, phones, internet, zoos, kid-oriented cafes, parks and Gymboree classes. Whether we have become so dependent on our au pair and paid memberships that without the crutch of places to go, people to see and those to care for our children that we would crack under the pressure....with four leaving Oakland and a lesser number returning. 

The first couple of days were relatively painless for me, boosted as I was by a new early bedtime of 8pm and a subsequent 10 hours of sleep. Gregg, unable to lose his big city ways, was up until midnight each night and thus lacked the reserves to deal with the near-constant "what are we doing AFTER this" that accompanied each trip to the lake, Sand Pond, a hike, Frasier Falls, the lodge and every meal. After 48 hours of near-death wrestling matches between the kids over things as random as dirty napkins, we learned that each was exceptionally well-behaved when outside of the hearing range of the other. With that in mind we began to spend quality time with each kid, if not with each other. Finally on Wednesday, with not a clean pair of underwear between us nor a sock without a ring of dirt around it, we had to come together as a family and go to the laundromat in Blairsden, 18 screech-filled miles from our cabin. Oh, if only we had known the wonders that existed there. 

There, in the shabby confines of the very same laundromat I had visited with my family 35 years ago, the children came together as one. They slammed carts into each other with great glee, shouting UNO DOS TRES GOOOOO! while heading full steam into each other, knocking at least one child to the ground to his or her delight. The coins, lint, string and other bits of detritus found under tables were treasures to be shared and shoved into pockets and the occasional mouth, and watching the clothes go round was as exciting as a new episode of the Backyardigans with an original score by Phillip Glass. 

After an hour of Downy-scented fun, I had to ask myself if we really needed to spend so much time, money and effort schlepping the kids and all their accoutrement to a faraway place when a laundromat right down the hill might offer the same level of fun at a fraction of the cost. If we added in riding the escalators at Target, lunch at the IKEA cafeteria and an afternoon spent throwing a collection of rocks down a drain pipe we'd have an entire vacation for mere cents, allowing us to save that money and spend it later on the adult vacation we so richly deserve.

Yet upon check out from our tattered but beloved cabin at Packer Lake, I signed on again for next year...confident that the Blairsden Laundromat will still exist, as it has my entire life, and perhaps in the coming year my children will learn to love other aspects of our summer vacation, be that hiking or just the joy of the rusted junk yard next to the laundromat. We'll cross our fingers and update our tetanus shots, and in the meantime will determine if we really need to spend money on a holiday camp vs sending the kids down the hill with a pocket full of quarters and their names and numbers sewn into their little jackets. Bien viaje, niños!