Last weekend was an insane waste of vacation plans.
It was to be our second time camping with our daughter SJ. We talked it up all month. Bought her a spiffy hat and a fleece-y jacket. Thursday, I packed up the food and got the gear ready to go. Friday morning, we were loaded in the car and leaving town by 9:30am. And from there…
I honestly can say a pit stop at a Dunkin’ Donuts 30 minutes outside of Phoenix was the highlight of the day.
We got to the campsite in Prescott and it was completely full. Now you may be questioning our smugness of assuming the campsite empty, but we did do our due diligence. The Husband scouted a week ago. At 8pm the campsite was completely open. So we figured we’d be safe. Not so.
We returned to town and planned our next attack. After eating lunch in the parking lot, we headed to a new site. Full too.
Then, we headed to a dispersed camping site. Full.
Seriously, did I just not pay attention the day it was announced that it was spring break weekend? That it was also Saint Patrick’s day? I must have left the goddamn manual at home that it sure as shit ain’t okay to venture out without a reserved campsite. Oh, and note, campsites can’t be reserved until May. Ok, cool, guys.
It was like Mercury was in retrograde and everything after that went sour. 1) We got stuck in traffic (15 minutes each way) as some pansy ass Hollywood directors filmed a movie (watching them haul a camera over a hill in skinny jeans was pure gold), 2) we hit every red light on the Prescott strip, 3) after deciding to be adventurous, the cute bed and breakfast we wanted to stay at was closed.
I wanted to cry. As my father would say, I was not being a “whiny titty baby” but instead frustrated that what we had envisioned would definitely not be taking place. Not to mention, I would not get a chance to piss in the woods.
After some melt-downing and then stoic rallying moments on behalf of us parents, the kid needed a break. And we needed a drink. So, we let her play in the grassy knoll area of Downtown Prescott. Then we went across the street to the brewery and drank beers and hate-ate a plate of nachos.
Full and semi-content, my husband and I drove home in shock. We had never been bested like this before. The internal monologue in my mind the entire drive back was FUCK SPRING BREAK. FUCK SAINT PATRICK’S DAY. Granted, had we not had the daughter along we would have been ragtag pioneers and ventured out into the depths of the wilderness to finds us a goddamn spot. But we’re responsible and we gotta do the parental thing for the kid and get her out of that goddamned car seat. To be honest, I was nearly in tears she had been in the thing for 6 straight hours.
But then as we drove back into town, the sun setting pretty and red over the low mountains and saguaros, I thought that there was also a lot to be happy about. Sure, we were extremely bummed about the lost camping opportunity but there was a nice bright side…even to my cynical old heart.
My husband got to give SJ a cute stuffed animal he had been planning to gift her at the campsite.
The sunset was gorgeous.
SJ didn’t make a peep of disgruntlement. She is now being considered for sainthood.
The ice cold beer and the nachos pressed against my lips were tasty as shit.
Our friend (who had planned to camp with us before we aborted the mission) came over on Saturday night. And we still did what we would have done at the campsite. We were gluttonous on wine and spaghetti and we sat outside and enjoyed the cool night air and each others’ company.
None of this sucked.
Oh yeah, and there was that super sweet selfie at Dunkin’ Donuts. Who can argue with that?
P.S. the next trip is planned for April.