Sarah Nigbor

I finally took Dave Wood’s advice and I went on vacation last week. I spent five days camping with four teens/tweens, a dog and my husband, no running water and no indoor bathroom. Maybe not a luxurious vacation, but a break from daily life nonetheless. I only peeked at my work email twice, and one of those times I was yelled at by my daughter who caught me red-handed, so I didn’t dare do it again. Plus, I had poor service so that helped.

It’s tough for me to take time off and it always has been. I guess I am somewhat of a control freak. I like things done a certain way and I’m not great at delegating tasks to other people. I always worry things won’t be done the way I do them (though I left many things in the capable hands of Andrew Harrington). I don’t like burdening other people with tasks I should be doing myself. It’s also a lot of work preparing to be gone, almost more work than being there in the first place. Minutes before going out the door with the final backpack and sleeping bag, I was responding to emails and typing up traffic reports. Again, my 12-year-old daughter yelled at me to get off my computer and get my butt out the door.

 We spent the week camping on land we own in Shawano County. My husband’s grandparents have a camper trailer there, but the little bathroom doesn’t work, there’s no running water and we cook over a campfire or camp stove. It’s a little slice of paradise smack in the middle of thick woods, trout streams and barns adorned with quilt squares. I love it. You can drive dirt roads for miles and not see another soul.

It’s always an adventure camping with the kids and this time was no different. Newly minted 12-year-old tween Carolina came with her complete “skin care” and perfume collection. She screams at the sight of any spider and her brothers convinced her a little boy named Rodney lives in a nearby abandoned house and creeps through the woods at night to peek in the trailer windows. Let’s just say I’ve become immune to her sudden shrieks of terror (is that a bad thing?)

Nostalgia hit me smack in the forehead as I realized this week the kids are getting older. Well duh, you might say. But I mean REALLY getting older. Their topic of conversation around the campfire one night was the upcoming presidential election and I was pleased as they debated news stories they’d read, the credibility of sources and their own opinions. I was truly impressed; though they didn’t agree on everything, they listened to each other and Shane and me. If only some adults I know could discuss ideas as civilly.

Our son Dawson has also obtained his learner’s permit. Again, I had to learn to give up control as I sat in the passenger seat of my car, directing this new driver on what to do. For some reason, he decided I was to be his teacher last week. Me, the woman who closes her eyes while her husband passes other vehicles or drives through construction zones on the freeway because I’d rather not see my life flash before my eyes. I also have a terrible habit of gasping or exclaiming when Hubby, who tends to drift while eyeing up interesting sights, deviates from his lane or lets his lead foot take over. Another reason I close my eyes, so as not to annoy him.

I think I did pretty good. I only gasped three times and yelled “Help!” once when he swerved toward the right shoulder. I didn’t get whiplash from the sudden stops and he learned how to ease into accelerating instead of putting the pedal to the metal. We have a while to practice before his driver’s test, which is good.

So yes, this past week I stopped to smell the flowers (Black-eyed Susans, in fact), lounged on a beach at Shawano Lake, drank large quantities of coffee around the campfire, ate sticky s’mores and brats, drank a Brandy old-fashioned or two, watched my boys trout fish, slept in with the cool breeze sweeping over me and taught a 15-year-old how to drive without ending up in a ditch. It was a pretty good week!