Adventures In Motherhood

Be careful what you wish for, I'm reminded time and again on our RV extravaganza. The newness has worn off and we're now in it for the long-haul. From 115 degrees in Las Vegas, Nevada, to Portland-rain-soaked Bryce Canyon, Utah today with thunder, lightning and flash flood warnings. We wished it was cooler as the kids grew nauseous driving in the back of the bus, windows open and papers blowing from Paris to New York down the Las Vegas Strip without a generator for air conditioning, now I only hope this boat can float! I had cherished the RV resorts without WiFi when our four kids had no choice but to swim in the refreshingly cool waters of Lake Mead, or bike ride the red-orange canyons of Zion National Park. Of course our Schnoodles were along for the ride, whether doggy paddling after ducks or barking away the menacing deer, we turned Covid-frowns upside down with canines in bike baskets, ears flapping in the breeze. Besides, Schnoodles suffer from a serious c...

We can kiss Walmart parking lot camping goodbye without a generator that hums. So much for the Instagram photo op of us sitting in camping chairs grilling hot dogs and drinking Budweiser! Nevertheless, the steamy turd rolls on... Outdoorsy is a third-rate RV rental shop at best, spewing ‘fake news’ of a purported ‘trusted RV marketplace’ on its website. Tho’ I’ll be the first to admit Outdoorsy can be trusted to take your money!  After waiting two hours to be connected to a member of their ‘customer support team’, I learned a few things. First, my 10-year-old is more knowledgable than an Outdoorsy customer service rep. Second, calling back is not an option. Customer service reps refuse to provide their direct contact phone number or corporate email address, so you are forced to wait on hold for hours on end unless your RV problems are solved. Third, Outdoorsy customer service reps suck at problem solving. For example, driving from Tahoe to Portland in the same day t...

We survived the first day of RV living if not for the grace of God. Packing up the trashcan on wheels, full of our shit, we cornered on two wheels heading out of our city neighborhood to a lesser civilization, just shy of our 9am goal. It was 9:45 am and my husband and I were running low on fuel. With Starbucks in our future, we refused to brew a pot of caffeine, sparing little time for anything other than securing six bikes on the RV, a Herculean task of engineering prowess. Somewhere between the Sellwood Bridge and I-5 we had our first pre-coffee battle. Having lived in Portland for four years I figured my hubby could find his way to the interstate heading south; this was clearly my first mistake. Never assume a man will ask for directions! We found ourselves in Multnomah Village somewhere between my posting a selfie sendoff on Instagram and my children complaining about the lack of Wi-Fi. Glancing up from my iPhone I yelled “Holy Shit Clark!” followed his cursed ...

It's been 114 days since the last day of normal, the last day my four kids sat at wooden school desks, the last day they attended baseball or track practice, or played basketball on the playground, and the last time they had lunch with friends. Just how long is 114 days? We'll be buying Halloween candy to trick-or-treat if we survive that long from today. Friday, March 13th was the last day we didn't wear masks or sit six feet apart in social distance, or worry if there would be toilet paper, Clorox wipes or flour at the Safeway grocery store. Dodging manic shoppers in empty grocery store aisles became my new 'Hunger Games' reality buying for a family of six, stripping off my mask and sanitizing after. I've since lowered my expectations, ordering groceries online where substitutions are the luck of the draw and my anxiety at a minimum. In order to feed four growing teenagers and satiate their parent's happy hour thirst, our grocery bills are frickin' r...