You Can’t Script This

Last night was a nightmare.  I’m thinking perhaps it unfolded as it did in order for me to be more willing to say goodbye to my two darling children come September.

Things started off well. I managed to get my 19 year old daughter Meredith to her swim meet at Simon Fraser University by 4:00. She and Henry, her 17 year old brother, were both coaching their young swimmers at this meet. My original plan was to then head home and relax before going to my 7:00 swim club executive dinner meeting. However, Henry had other ideas. Could I possibly pick up a few things for his camping trip?

This highly anticipated venture  was with 12 other schoolmates from his graduating class and the majority of them had set up camp yesterday. H had to delay his arrival due to work.

Not to worry that earlier that morning he’d brushed off my questions as to whether he needed anything for the trip with the blunt “No. Don’t worry – I’ve got it all covered. I certainly don’t need sunscreen – the girls will have bottles of the stuff.”

Henry is paler than pale. In my books, sunscreen in summer is more important for him than water.

Due to a frantic text from the lad at 4:30 I found myself in the local sunscreen aisle. Apparently “the girls” neglected to pack even one bottle. Excellent. Could I also “throw in a couple of our camping chairs as well?”

After managing to arrive at the restaurant only five minutes late, I was a tad concerned when 7:45 arrived and we were still on drinks. I left 15 minutes later with just a wee sauvignon blanc under my belt.

The game plan was to pick up both M and H from the pool, zip over to pick up Kelvin, Henry’s friend and then drive the boys to their campsite at the lovely Golden Ears campground, 20 miles from home. As H had advised that “the campsite closes at 10:00” our plan was to arrive at around 9:30.

Google maps were as good as their word. With Meredith riding shotgun and reading out the directions, we were right on schedule. Everyone was happy, conversation flowed and the “approved” tunes tootled merrily on the car radio.

At 9:20 with ten minutes left to go, things took an abrupt detour.

My first clue? A choking gurgle from the back seat. Henry.

Dread crept up my spine.

“What  … is … it … Henry?”

“I’ve …forgotten … my … sleeping … bag.”

No. The power of those 5 little words. Two nights camping in a tent with no sleeping bag, just the clothes on his back. Yes, it’s summer and warm but clearly this wouldn’t do.

Heading back home was not an option.

“Google the closest Walmart or Canadian Tire. Now.”

Mercifully, he managed to come up with a jumbo Superstore, not five minutes away. Would it still be open at 9:30?  Getting off the highway and heading in the right direction proved difficult. I lurched to a halt at the entrance a good 15 minutes later. It was still open. Kelvin and Henry tumbled out of the car as I careened into the closest parking stall. Luck was on our side. They had two sleeping bags in stock. Blue or pink. Have a gander at the one he chose.

Hearts pounding, we arrived at the entrance to the park at 9:55. Imagine my delight when a large, obviously seasoned sign greeted us declaring that the park was open until 11:00. Henry. Might want to check your facts a bit more carefully sport.

After a return trip that was decidely longer than the outbound one due to erroneous directions from my copilot, we arrived home to a hotter than hot kitchen. As I zipped inside to turn off the alarm, Meredith opened a window to “let in a little cool air.” Delightful. The alarm was triggered and the resulting clamour woke up the neighbourhood.

As my sheepish daughter fell into bed, I apologised to the alarm company and set about making a dinner of peanut butter on toast.

Looking back on the events of last night naughty mom has a wee confession. Said sleeping bag cost just $20.00. Someone won’t be too comfy I suspect. Perfect.

Happy camping H!