Filed under: General Peevery, Uncategorized | Tags: annoying, ant bite, camping, children, department of torture, drive me up the wall, family vacation, grating, meltdown, mother, nervous breakdown, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, smores, vent
1. Ants bite.
Upon our arrival to the campground, Mr. Peeved set about getting a fire started, Biggie grabbed her chair and fishing pole (coordinating colors, of course) and headed to the “beach,” Smalls found the nearest downed tree and started to climb all over it, and I set about unloading the car and hauling all our stuff 50 feet down a 45 degree slope covered in loose rocks. Just as I was taking my third slide down the hill with provisions, I hear an ear-piercing screech. Smalls, who was playing nicely by herself (this should have been the first warning sign something bad would happen) had been bitten by ants.
Peeved: Okay, Smalls, let me see. It can’t be that bad. It will be fine, I’ll kiss it.
Mr. Peeved: It’s an ant bite. Those are the worst. They hurt like hell.
Peeved: It’s okay. It will be fine. That’s not an ant bite – it’s not a little white bubble. It looks just like a mosquito bite.
Mr. Peeved: It’s not a red ant bite, it’s a regular ant bite. Those are worse.
Smalls: EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I got bit by an ant!! EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! It hurts worse than a red ant bite!!!
Peeved: Maybe that’s not helping, Mr. Peeved. Smalls, mommy has lotion, let me put some lotion on it.
Mr. Peeved: That’s not going to work. Do you have that after-bite stuff?
Peeved: No, I have bug spray, sunblock and lotion.
Smalls: EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I need the bite stuff!
Mr. Peeved: We are going to have to cancel the trip if you don’t fix it. Don’t bother putting up the tent yet. Can you go to the store and see if they have that stuff?
Smalls: EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I want to go home! I hate camping! EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Well, something tells me this has happened before because the campsite store was fully stocked with after bite lotion. A few dabs of that, an hour of coddling and a Coca-Cola later, Smalls was off fishing with her sister. I put up the tents, inflated the air mattresses, put out the chairs and lost 3 pounds of water weight while Mr. Peeved made the most perfect camp fire, ever (or at least, that’s what I’m told).
2. It’s all fun and games until you run out of clean clothes and marshmallows.
Around 7:30 pm on the day of our arrival, we were almost out of marshmallows and, aside from pajamas, almost completely out of clean clothes. Apparently, after bite and Coca-Cola don’t do much to improve a nap-missing 4-year-old’s disposition. Smalls spent most of the afternoon throwing rocks at the ducks and stomping off into the woods when we tried to talk to her. Finally, when the first signs of dusk started settling in, we decided it was time for the kiddo to hit the air mattress for the night. Smalls melted down faster than a marshmallow hit by a blow torch.
Smalls: I don’t want a smores pie! I don’t like graham crackers! I don’t want just marshmallows! I just want marshmallows and chocolate! No, not like that! I want marshmallows and melted chocolate, but no bread or crackers! Mommy! Biggie is eating my smores pie!!!! WaaaaaaaaawaaaaaaaWaaaaawaaaa!
Squirrels scurried off like roaches when you turn on the light. Nature wants nothing to do with a whiny, screaming preschooler and neither do I. So, I do what any resourceful mother would do – fling her over my shoulder, strap her in the car and try to drive around until she falls asleep.
Smalls: You left Biggie and Daddy! They’re all alone! Turn around! Turn around! You can’t leave them!
Peeved: I wonder if the campsite store has Benadryll…
Smalls: Hey, maybe they have marshmallow and chocolate ice cream.
3. Tents were invented by the Department of Torture.
4. The ability to fish is not genetic.
The only time I ever caught a fish growing up was when I was sitting on the dock and got up to move farther down the way. Completely coincidentally, just as I stood up, a fish bit my line and I “caught” it. Yes, we can add fishing to the long list of things I’m not good at – right after cooking and just before passing driving tests. Biggie did not inherit this gene. She caught six fish. Granted, they were all slightly larger than minnows, but still it was quite an accomplishment given her DNA.
One would think that the children would want to throw the poor little fishes that were too small to eat back into the lake. Not my kids.
Mr. Peeved: Okay, we have to let them go now.
Biggie: No! You said we could eat what we caught!
Mr. Peeved: There is no meat on this fish, Biggie.
Smalls: Daddy! You said we could eat them! I wanted to cut its head off!
Biggie: Yeah, and I was going to gut it!
Guess you could say the kids like to eat. That, they may have gotten from their mother.
5. Everything tastes better with white bread.
Smores pies, ham & cheese pies, salami & cheese pies, steak & egg pies, cherry pies, pizza pies…. I could go on in the spirit of Bubba Gump all day.
6. It’s okay to ban technology for two days.
I turned off my iphone for two whole days. Guess what? No one suffered except my ego. Apparently, I’m NOT that important.
7. The firmness of an air mattress is directly proportional to the heftiness of your bed mate.
What this picture doesn’t show is the way the poor lady gets catapulted to the other side of the tent when her husband climbs on to the air mattress. What it also fails to capture is the way her ass goes slamming into the ground in the morning when he gets up to pee.
8. Children who can’t read also have trouble listening.
There were “no swimming” signs posted all along the shore of the lake. This, of course, meant nothing to Smalls because unlike those phonetics phenoms you see on the TV at 6 in the morning, she can’t read. Apparently, reading and listening go hand in hand. I told Smalls she was not allowed to go in the lake unless she wore her water shoes, rolled up her pants and stayed on the opposite side from where her sister was fishing. I may as well have written it on a sign for all that she paid attention to me.
Smalls: [skipping barefoot in the “fishing section” of the lake with her pants soaked up to her underwear] What, mommy? I didn’t hear you.
Peeved: Smalls, I said it five times. Put your listening ears on.
Smalls: Oh, sorry. What did you say? la la la…. [skipping barefoot in the “fishing section” of the lake with her pants soaked up to her underwear]
9. Nothing makes a 12-year-old happy.
Peeved: C’mon Biggie, we’re going exploring.
Biggie: Ugh, I don’t want to go. I’m busy. I’m fishing here, mom.
Peeved: Okay, stay here. We’re going to the campsite store. Smalls, you want to see if they have ice cream?
Smalls: Let’s go!
Biggie: Gosh, you guys can’t even wait for me to get my shoes on? You’re so rude!
Biggie: Is that a pool? Is it open?
Peeved: Yes, but I didn’t know it was here, so you don’t have a bathing suit.
Biggie: I can’t believe you forgot our bathing suits.
Biggie: Oh my gosh! They have slushies. Mom, can I have a slushie?
Peeved: Sure, but that’s it. One treat. Either ice cream or slushie.
Biggie: Okay, thanks mom.
Peeved: You’re welcome.
Biggie: [sipping on slushie at check out stand] Oh! Mom! They have sour straws! Please, please, please?
Peeved: No, Biggie. You got your treat.
Biggie: Come on! You are so mean!
[pout, moan, whine, repeat x5]
[checking out at the campsite store later that night]
Peeved: Mr. Peeved, can you get those sour straws for the girls for the ride home, please?
Mr. Peeved: Sure.
Biggie: Yay! Sour straws.
Smalls: Sour straws!
Biggie: I am not sharing with her.
Peeved: Yes, you are.
[chomp, chomp, gobble, gobble for all of about 5 seconds]
Peeved: Are you done with those already?
Biggie: Yes, because I had to share them. And, I can’t believe you didn’t bring our bathing suits!
10. You should always unpack your camping gear immediately after arriving home.
This was on the ceiling of my car this morning. Good thing I’m not a complete arachnaphobe! I have a good friend that’s probably doing the heeby-jeeby dance just looking at it (hey – you made the blog!). Smalls thought it was “cute” and wanted to name her Charlotte. I guess it’s better than a gerbil or a dog…
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