Reason #989 Why I'm Glad To Be A Grownup

I'm not sure why this crossed my mind today, perhaps because I was perusing a friend's baby registry, but I was again reminded why I am so perfectly happy to be an adult, and in this particular case, over the age of two.  Here's why.  We'll start with a shopping list.

Go with me, here.

Shopping list:

• 1 roll of tape (preferably painter's tape, but I suppose electrical or duct tape would suffice)
• 1 large Hefty outdoor trash bag
• 1 pair brief underwear (men's, women's or underoos... any will do)
• 1 ladies' maxi pad 

 (There are some further instructions for the pad purchase.  The purchased item must be classified as at least "super" absorbency, if not "ultra super-duper".  You must purchase the cheapest brand, and if you are going to be traveling by air soon, the ones that they keep in the plane's lavatory are perfect.  This thing should give you the mental image of bouncing on a bed.)

• A ticket to the nearest outdoor or indoor water park
• sandpaper

Instructions:

1. Night before:  eat a big dinner, with lots of leafy green vegetables.
2. Morning of: eat a nice farmers breakfast (eggs, sausage, bacon, homefries and coffee).
3. After breakfast: insert maxi pad into briefs.  
4. Insert legs into briefs.  Pull up.
5. Tear two leg holes into the bottom of the Hefty bag.  
6. Insert legs into and through the trash bag.
7. Tape each seam of the leg holes, which should now be around your thighs, very close to your underoos.
8. Tape around your waist, being sure to snugly secure the bag around your NATURAL waist (ladies...).
9. Scrape the sandpaper against the hefty bag.  Do this in various locations.
10. Rip little tears in the seams of the tape.
11. Drive to water park.  You should only be wearing your Hefty bag, along with a shirt and maybe some flip flops.  You also may need to pay off/ persuade/ bribe with snacks the employee at the entrance to said water park.
12. Slide.  Slide like you've never slid before.
13. Do it again.
14. When your Hefty is sufficiently torn and seems to be taking on water, slide one more time.
15. Drive home.  In your Hefty bag.
16. Head to the bathroom. 
17. Clean your Hefty bag [hoping desperately that you were able to "hold it" after that farmer's breakfast this morning, but if not, this will only emphasize the seriousness of my argument]. 

This is life with a diaper.  And if it's a cloth diaper, you get to do this again in a couple of days.  Wearing the same pair. 

Next time I complain about renewing my driver's license or paying taxes, remind me to read this. 

Why Can't We Live Somewhere Warm?: We're Back

Three things I learned during our first active day in Canyonlands National Park:

1. I am NOT 18 anymore.  
2. When hiking in the desert, bring water.
3. Sunscreen is not just for your mom.

We arrived in Moab, Utah to blue skies and the nice 90-degree heat of early afternoon.  Canyonlands is a park that is naturally divided into three districts, each carved out by the Green or Colorado River: Island in the Sky, The Needles, and The Maze.  We started our trip in the Island in the Sky district, which only has one small campground (Willow Flat) of 12 sites.  This was full when we arrived, so we drove our hot little Dodge Caliber over to the Horsethief Campground, which is operated by the Bureau of Land Management.  Mercifully, the BLM runs a slew of campgrounds surrounding Canyonlands and Arches National Park, all for 10 to 15 bucks a night, which in my book, is as close to free as you can get.    And I’m all about that, because as we know, less money spent on lodging means that the dinner budget can expand a little.  And I like to eat, so this is good.

Day One: Murphy Loop, 8.5 miles.   Mother Nature is an evil mistress.  

For a day hike, 8.5 miles really isn’t bad.  Sure, this was one of the longer trails in the district, but still, it should have been very doable.  This is where I experienced realization #1: I am not 18.  I can’t suddenly expect my body to be able to descend then ascend 1000 or so feet in 75 yards without doing so much as a few sit-ups in preparation.  Well, I can’t expect to enjoy it anyway.  This was compounded by truth #2: When hiking in the desert, bring water.  The National Parks Service recommends carrying/drinking at least a gallon of water per person, per day.  At least.  So I guess carrying a Nalgene for each of us and a 16 oz. Dasani to share was a serious misstep.  I can’t believe how rookie this makes us seem.  The truth hurts. 

Sunscreen is also an important friend in the desert.  It’s particularly true when you are from the Arctic Circle and your skin tone resembles the bottom side of a paper plate.  Well, friends, it doesn’t anymore.  No sir.

Somehow I survived the first day, probably due only to the gentle prodding of my husband (read: I was allowed a break after every ten steps or so) and the depressing thought of black widow spiders and vultures picking away at my dehydrated body lying in some dried up river wash somewhere.  Also, I never, ever want to have to drink my own urine.   For these reasons, I managed to trudge my way up the cliff face back to the car… slower than a slug on a lamppost.

Since I had designed our trip itinerary, I fell asleep that night knowing that this was the shortest hike I had planned, and that the sunburn I had acquired would only feel worse after another day in the scathing heat.  But despite all this, if you had asked me if this was the best vacation ever, I’m pretty sure I would have said yes. 

I love this sort of thing.

In Over My Head

I like to think that each of us has a small list of terrors that we’ve never been able to mentally conquer.  I know I do.  They say that a person should never live in fear, but I feel confident that intermittent moments of panic can keep life exciting as well as promote advances in human ingenuity.  For example, if no child had ever been afraid of monsters, would we have night-lights?

I think not.

This is my fear shortlist.  Feel free to leave a comment containing yours - or we could just wait for that fateful day when we bump into each other at the beach and suddenly find ourselves being chased into the water by giant nutcracker dolls.  

So, what fills my nightmares, you ask?

Spiders – I don’t care if they are big, small, hairy, spindly, bright, dull, strung on a web or trapped in a cage.  If it has eight legs, I hate it, and will readily baptize it in the raging river of an American Standard.  No exceptions.

Deep water – I do love me some tropical beach, so please understand that I’m not referring to the deep end of a pool or bodysurfing on icy Atlantic waves.  What I’m talking about is black-as-night, teeming with evil jellyfish, great white shark-infested waters.  You like free diving?  Fabulous.  Swimming the English Channel for a charity?  Send me a support letter.   But I’d rather ride a bicycle made of bacon through a pack of rabid dogs than dip my toe in the Bermuda Triangle.   

www.thatwouldsuck.blogspot.com

No.  Possible.  Way.

Skin diseases – I know that there must be a reader out there who is dealing with a destructive and painful epidermal affliction.  I am so genuinely sorry, but if I were to leave this number off of my list, I would be lying to you.   I like to give blood.  I loved dissection in A & P lab.  I didn’t even mind taking a course in disease and pathology (that is, aside from the searing cognitive plutonium known as STD slides – if we were to start showing these images in 6^th grade health class, teen pregnancy would instantly be a non-issue).  I even like watching surgeries on television.  However, if there is one thing that I cannot stand the mental (let alone visual) picture of, it’s covered under the umbrella of skin disease.  I can deal with eczema, psoriasis, or even poison ivy, but when you start using adjectives like flaky, scaly, and puss-filled in the same sentence, my mind starts melting down like chocolate in August and I have to start singing America’s Top 40 to fend of the shakes. 

Lurkers – Whenever I arrive at our house down south, my first act is always to go find my trusty baseball bat under the bed, and to walk in and out of every room (checking in every closet and under every bed) to be sure that I have no lurkers lying in wait for me.  The other week I drove home without C, and due to the intense creakiness of our house combined with baseboard heaters and with my overactive imagination, I fell asleep in a half-seated position with my right hand clutching my bat.  I had even planned out the best manner by which to thrust it upon waking, should the need arise.  If you try to play on this fear for a good laugh, be warned.  I will swing at you.  And it will be your fault.

www.awidernet.com

There are more fears where this list came from, but these are the majors, and I’ve reached a necessary-stopping point.  I Googled “skin disease” to try to come up with better verbal imagery for you, and the images that popped up may leave me unable to speak.  Permanently.

You’re welcome.