I seriously need to stop buying camping crap. I have more non-essential stuff than any camper could possibly want, including: a netted food cover to keep bugs away from my food, matching bandanas for Leila and me, a large citronella candle with an American flag on it (not the decor I was seeking) and loads of other shit that I have staged in the garage, ready to be loaded into the station wagon tomorrow.
Last year, I made a handwritten list of all the stuff I didn't want to forget. I looked for it the other day, but I couldn't find it. Luckily, our camping companions, who shall henceforth be known as The-people-who-live-in-Edith's-old-house (or TPWLIEOH or maybe just the Tuppelo's) sent me their extensive excel spreadsheet. I have revised it with color coding, and extended the list of categories to include Toiletries, and Dog, and every time I need to make a change (add can opener, delete the second mention of marshmallows,) I run to the computer. Honing the list has been the best part of the trip so far, and if it is not surpassed by wine and s'mores in front of the campfire tomorrow night, I have serious problems.
I have been on it today, my friends. Aside from my little superfluous trip to Ikea (which did yield cheap camping dish towels and a set of plastic kitchen utensils at a price so low I'd have been a fool not to buy them) I have kept very busy and not taken any naps. I baked 78 dozen chocolate chip cookies, I have make Pesto Pasta and Peas, I have collected most of the things on the massive list and put them in piles. I am good, people, very good. Thank goodness we can strap stuff onto the roof of the car, otherwise we would never - NEVER - get all this stuff in the back of the car. The thing that really throws it over the edge is the dog crate, but I can't bring the doggy without it.
Now, my feet hurt, and what's left on the list are naggy little things and things I can't reach. That's where Rob comes in. He has asked me to delegate some of these things to him, so I will. So far though, all I've asked him to do is take out the trash and the recycling which he hasn't done yet, and distribute the block party flyers through the neighborhood, which he kind of bitched about, but is doing now.
He has put forward a proposition that he will not try to boil my blood by being a smart-ass and messing with the perfectly organized system I have going unless absolutely necessary, in exchange for which I will try - TRY - to not fly off the handle when he does make a change or a comment. Suddenly, he wants to get the stuff to make bloody maries, even though I asked him, repeatedly, to review the Master Camping List, and the Menu (separate spreadsheet) and the shopping list to see if there was anything he wanted to add, and now, with... 16 hours to go, he wants bloody maries. I will try - TRY - to breathe. In... and out... In... and out...
Monday I will post pictures of the trip, and you can watch my family and me get progressively dirtier. Wish me luck.