Spontaneity
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"Somebody help me! I'm being spontaneous!"
Name that movie. I'll give you a cyber-hug.
So. I'm not an especially spontaneous person. I like having a plan. Or at least time to plan. Then even if I don't use it wisely I can say "Well, it's my own fault. I had time to plan." Anyway, I'm really not a "just do it" kind of gal.
Which is why, when I'm at work and I get a text from my husband at 2:30 saying he's had a rough day and that he would like nothing better than to leave at 6 and go camping, I have a small freak out party in my head.
"Where are we going to go camping?"
"Won't it be dark when we get there?"
"What are we going to eat?"
"Camping?"
So I text back: "is there anything besides camping you would like to do? something that might require a little less preparation?"
To which he replies: "I can't think of anything. And I really don't think it will be that much preparation - I just want to get away with you. We'll come back in the morning."
Aw.
So I agree.
We stop by Wal-Mart to get some stuff for breakfast, and go to Wendy's in Payson for dinner. The drive is pretty nice, and not too long.
We get to the campsite well after dark and Dallin sets everything up. By this time, I have to...you know... go. I am prego, after all. I tell Dallin of my need, and he responds by pointing the flashlight off into the woods. Ha. Right.
We had driven by some restrooms while in search for our campsite, so we make a trip back. While they certainly aren't pleasant (aka gag me), it was better than going to pee in the woods in unfamiliar territory in the dark, so I suck it up.
We are already pretty tired by this time, so we play a quick game of Skip-Bo and hit the sack.
Let the fun begin.
I have claustrophobic tendencies. I blame my grandma. I don't know if claustrophobia is hereditary, but I still blame her. I shouldn't...that's not very nice if it isn't her fault. Anyway, mine isn't nearly as bad as hers. I can sleep in a sleeping bag. Heck, I can sleep in a sleeping bag inside a tent. But put me in a sleeping bag inside a tent in 80 degree heat with a boy right next to me who wants to snuggle with me, and I kinda start feeling like I'm never going to escape. Snuggling became outlawed, which was unfortunate.
Also, sleeping bags are difficult to roll over in. A pregnant woman sleeping on a hard surface needs to roll over 763 times during the night, give or take. This led to much discomfort and frustration.
And large, beetle-type bugs kamikaze-ing into the outside of your tent as they try to get into the inside of your tent? Well, they don't exactly lull you to sleep. They make you feel like you have little pesky thingys all over your body.
Sleep came sporadically.
My first thought when I wake up in the morning - if you can really call it waking up when you've already been awake about 12 times before that - "I have to pee."
I don't want to drive down to the nasty restroom. I also want to prove to my hubby that I can pee in the woods. The thing is, I can't pee in the woods! Like, it doesn't happen. Not without stripping down. And I don't want to do that.
So I start getting creative. The solution?
"Hey Dallin?"
"Hm?"
"You want to go get one of those Wendy's cups out of the car for me?"
No, I don't go in the Wendy's cup in our tent, thank you very much. I go in the Wendy's cup in the woods.
Because if there's one thing a pregnant woman can do, it's pee in a cup.
After that excitement (well, during it, since it still took freaking forever because I'm lame like that), Dallin makes us a yummy pancakes and bacon breakfast. Dallin does most of the packing up, and I make trips up and down a decent-sized hill to load the car up. I only fall once. And it was graceful. Ok, no it wasn't. And I'm going to have a bruise.
Then we walk down to the river and explore a little bit before heading home.
About 7 minutes into the drive, we pull over so I could brush one of the large, beetle-type kamikaze bugs OFF MY LEG.
When we get home, we take a nap.
Because you know, getting away is tiring. And spontaneous getting away is downright exhausting.
But hey, it was nice to get away, and even nicer to do something that my sweet, thoughtful husband really wanted to do.
Especially because now he owes me.
Name that movie. I'll give you a cyber-hug.
So. I'm not an especially spontaneous person. I like having a plan. Or at least time to plan. Then even if I don't use it wisely I can say "Well, it's my own fault. I had time to plan." Anyway, I'm really not a "just do it" kind of gal.
Which is why, when I'm at work and I get a text from my husband at 2:30 saying he's had a rough day and that he would like nothing better than to leave at 6 and go camping, I have a small freak out party in my head.
"Where are we going to go camping?"
"Won't it be dark when we get there?"
"What are we going to eat?"
"Camping?"
So I text back: "is there anything besides camping you would like to do? something that might require a little less preparation?"
To which he replies: "I can't think of anything. And I really don't think it will be that much preparation - I just want to get away with you. We'll come back in the morning."
Aw.
So I agree.
We stop by Wal-Mart to get some stuff for breakfast, and go to Wendy's in Payson for dinner. The drive is pretty nice, and not too long.
We get to the campsite well after dark and Dallin sets everything up. By this time, I have to...you know... go. I am prego, after all. I tell Dallin of my need, and he responds by pointing the flashlight off into the woods. Ha. Right.
We had driven by some restrooms while in search for our campsite, so we make a trip back. While they certainly aren't pleasant (aka gag me), it was better than going to pee in the woods in unfamiliar territory in the dark, so I suck it up.
We are already pretty tired by this time, so we play a quick game of Skip-Bo and hit the sack.
Let the fun begin.
I have claustrophobic tendencies. I blame my grandma. I don't know if claustrophobia is hereditary, but I still blame her. I shouldn't...that's not very nice if it isn't her fault. Anyway, mine isn't nearly as bad as hers. I can sleep in a sleeping bag. Heck, I can sleep in a sleeping bag inside a tent. But put me in a sleeping bag inside a tent in 80 degree heat with a boy right next to me who wants to snuggle with me, and I kinda start feeling like I'm never going to escape. Snuggling became outlawed, which was unfortunate.
Also, sleeping bags are difficult to roll over in. A pregnant woman sleeping on a hard surface needs to roll over 763 times during the night, give or take. This led to much discomfort and frustration.
And large, beetle-type bugs kamikaze-ing into the outside of your tent as they try to get into the inside of your tent? Well, they don't exactly lull you to sleep. They make you feel like you have little pesky thingys all over your body.
Sleep came sporadically.
My first thought when I wake up in the morning - if you can really call it waking up when you've already been awake about 12 times before that - "I have to pee."
I don't want to drive down to the nasty restroom. I also want to prove to my hubby that I can pee in the woods. The thing is, I can't pee in the woods! Like, it doesn't happen. Not without stripping down. And I don't want to do that.
So I start getting creative. The solution?
"Hey Dallin?"
"Hm?"
"You want to go get one of those Wendy's cups out of the car for me?"
No, I don't go in the Wendy's cup in our tent, thank you very much. I go in the Wendy's cup in the woods.
Because if there's one thing a pregnant woman can do, it's pee in a cup.
After that excitement (well, during it, since it still took freaking forever because I'm lame like that), Dallin makes us a yummy pancakes and bacon breakfast. Dallin does most of the packing up, and I make trips up and down a decent-sized hill to load the car up. I only fall once. And it was graceful. Ok, no it wasn't. And I'm going to have a bruise.
Then we walk down to the river and explore a little bit before heading home.
About 7 minutes into the drive, we pull over so I could brush one of the large, beetle-type kamikaze bugs OFF MY LEG.
When we get home, we take a nap.
Because you know, getting away is tiring. And spontaneous getting away is downright exhausting.
But hey, it was nice to get away, and even nicer to do something that my sweet, thoughtful husband really wanted to do.
Especially because now he owes me.
