Friday, June 29, 2012

Check yer Trailer and yer Dishrag

Two very short thoughts that I'll allow you to ruminate on yourself:
Keep checkin' yer Trailer, 
 One day, the dishrag will do it's job in a timely manner.

First things first.
I recently packed, put down, hooked up, towed, set up and lived in a pop-up trailer.
It was only 5 days of camping, 
and we were near our Grandparents' house where we'd hang out for parts of the days.
I didn't do it single-handedly (thank you, Peg, Justin, and occasionally, Aus.)

We came home with the expected, nasty, swamp-thing smell in the dirty clothes bag and the unexpected new pet in the cat carrier. 
(Thank you, Aunt Robin for your help in our getting Hunter home.) 

That has nothing to do with Checking your Trailer, except it (kinda) proves I did indeed camp.

We pull our trailer with The Big Van.
It's the 10-seater on a 15-seat chassis which is known in these parts as 
The Derschmobile.

Yeah, really.

Once it was my primary mode of transportation, but Mark has lovingly provided a much more fuel efficient minivan for our daily use. I never really minded toting us all in it, hopping out at Publix and then filling the back with a ton of groceries. 
I like to make a (quiet and controlled) scene sometimes.

Anyway, as I left Ocala on Tuesday morning with 6 kids and my mom,
I was getting used to the feel of pulling the trailer again. My extended van was extended another 18 feet, and my brakes and accelerator needed a little more than I usually give them to get the same job done. 

It didn't take long to recognize that when I'm in the right lane (where I don't often travel on the interstate, since that's where the slower vehicles are) I tend to hug the left dotted, white lane line. 
I didn't mean to; I just noticed that I did. 
The van didn't hang over the line (often) and it was never a traffic issue.

But the trailer is a tad wider than the van...
and it would inch it's way onto, and sometimes, over that same line I was hugging.
As many of you know, even when I try not to, I often think in metaphors and analogies.

Every time I got to close to the restrictions placed on me (reasonable restrictions, for my safety and the safety of others, I might add) the stuff following me went a little farther than I did.

Can you make this one up yourself? It has "parenting analogy" all over it. 
Even my dear G. might get this one without explanation, eh?

That's all I'm saying about that one. 

I really hate that I like this cat!

There is absolutely no clever "tie-in" between that and the next thought, 
except they both happen to be in my head. 

Don't you enjoy the look and feel of the kitchen counters wiped, the sink empty, the floor taken care of by you or the dog, possibly the dishwasher running (sorry, Tiff) and the leftovers put in the frig? The kids all head in their different directions, and you get to sit at the computer for a few minutes Even typing it makes me a little heady.

For those of us who have older kids, it happens more and more often.
For those who still have pre-school and young elementary kids, not so much.

Here is my little encouragement for y'all in the throes of the not-tidy kitchen years:
The dishrag will one day do it's job in a timely manner. 

Really, it will. 

And you'll be glad to see the counters are still the same color as when you moved into that house, and the amount of food left on your floor will no longer be able to sustain a small family, and the pots will get scrubbed nearly every time something gets stuck on them.


So, go look after them youngin's and maybe even a hubby, 
and let the corn sit on the counter until after their bedtime 
(But, not the meat. Put that away now.)

Whatever their ages, enjoy that stage.
They'll only be there for a little while. 
(And while we justifiably thank God for that sometimes, 
we should also remember to slow down and "roll in it" when we can.)

Go. Really. Before I put a Cheeto up your nose.

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