Thank God for the RV Trip!

Thank God for the RV trip, I thought to myself packing toiletries one-legged, remembering RV freedom on the open road mired by our family suffering without generator power. A bittersweet memory, I now find myself hobbling on crutches, a torn MCL and ACL, amidst an ice storm.

Thanks to last summer's RV tour of ten states with a broken generator, I've lowered my expectations and anxiety, and learned new survival skills. 'Less Is More' is my new mantra and I'm sticking to it come hell or high water, or 'ice apocalypse', as per our current situation.

Just when I thought snow days were in my favor, with online learning plowing ahead to occupy my children, mother nature upped her ante, raising us a power outage to challenge our 'forced family fun' quarantine game.

Somewhere between clutching a flashlight in my teeth while crutching my way upstairs to bed, our cold house backlit by the moon, and ice dark-thirty in the morning, I raised the white flag surrendering control once and for all. 

I'm not sure whether my frozen cold toes, sacrificed to poor circulation post skiing accident, ice-cold sidewalks rendered impassable on crutches, or our ice-cold reptile signaled my body to painstakingly leap into action at 8am. Whatever the case, the clock was ticking.

"Mom, why is Willy's tank covered by a blanket in the hall?" my son asked, startling me awake. My breath visible in front of me, a reminder of the scurry to boil water on our gas stove, filling spare water bottles to warm our bearded dragon's cage through the night. 

"It's warmer upstairs," I replied, filled with Google knowledge that our reptile's hours were numbered at forty-degree temps without a warm UV lamp. Under the circumstances of Willy's certain demise, I'll never understand why my husband chose to chip ice from our backyard gate before coffee. If there's anything 'RV survival-101' taught me, there is no gain in family suffering! 

Though the allure of a good 'ole fashioned family board game by candlelight crossed my mind and 'Extreme Forced Family Fun' suggested we tough it out, the imminent death of my 10-year-old's pet, purchased and cared for himself, was not the science experiment I gamed for. 

Survival was first and foremost on my pandemic weary mind as I searched Hood River hotels large enough for our brood; torn between the neighbors we'd leave behind without electricity and my husband still picking away at ice outside. Six weeks on crutches, haven't I suffered enough before my ACL surgery? 

Flat on my back, my knee locked stiff in position, I slid my legs (and purple toes) up the wall for PT exercises, shouting, "pack your bags kids we're getting the heck outta here! A book, swimsuit, school computer, two pairs of clothes, the two Schnoodles, and please get your father," I barked, first world problems reminding me we would've died on the Oregon Trail. 

The kids quickly assembled, proving they can hear through Air Pods, conscious it was not another RV ruse and eager to satiate their screen-time addiction in hotel comfort. 

My husband, bless his right-brained heart, chose to rationalize the probability of electricity restoration versus the hour-long commute to more expensive digs, a conversation neither Willy the wonder lizard nor I had time for. 

"Why should we suffer further, after that RV trip?" I reasoned, as if my knee brace wasn't convincing enough, my CIA operational sixth-sense shouted, "Hotels will be sold-out soon!" 

"Willy's already spent 17 frigid hours in his cage with less than eight to go before his stomach rots and he dies in his glass tomb," I insisted, laying out the cold-blooded facts in gruesome detail. I'm not sure if I cried tears of pain or frustration, or because my motherly instinct demanded I spare his innocent reptilian life. 

Hoisting the covered 4x2 foot glass container into the back of the mini-van, I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that despite their leaving every door open from house to minivan, Willy would soon be basking in UV light from the comfort of the back seat. 

Thank God for that RV trip giving me the capacity to throw in the towel, despite my over-achieving goals. Crutching my way through the snow bank to the car filled with four children, 50 crickets, a dozen mealworms, two Schnoodles, a bearded dragon and an inconvenienced husband, I was grateful we had the means to escape. Conscious of our privilege, I simply needed a break and not in the snow!

A rainbow lit the way to the Hampton Inn and Suites, a beacon of hope in the icy oasis, while I counted the vehicles stranded in the I-84 ditch and Willy clung tightly to a branch. 

Wouldn't you know the hotel hot tub is broken? Resting in relative comfort, my legs up the hotel wall managing PT Zen while we suck the Wi-Fi dry and our dragon fills his belly, our neighborhood is still without power, online school is canceled, and I'm kicking myself I forgot the board games! 

My husband thankful he can work remotely; I believe our survival trek is more of a business expense after all, unless the barking dogs force our eviction. Cheers to operational success!