The worst day I ever had in Yosemite was when I was about 11 or 12. We were staying in the tent cabins and were a long way from the restrooms. I realized a little too late how badly I needed to pee and I didn’t make it. I peed in my pants. To make matters worse, I had forgotten to pack extra undies and so had to wear the wet ones all day (because, at that age, the only thing worse than soiled undies was no undies at all, apparently). It was mortifying and awful and the root of my obsession with packing twice as many pairs of underwear than days I will be away (yes. I do this.). That was the worst day in Yosemite. Until last Saturday.
Why could a place like Yosemite be so bad when, ostensibly, you are an adult and have not, in fact, peed your pants? Well, because you asked:
1) It’s hot. I mean limb-swellingly hot.
2) Your 9 month old son is teething and pissed about it.
3) Your 9 month old son is teething and wants to chew on everything including pine cones, pine needles, dirt, your shoulder, the railings at the filthiest food court tables (with overly-agressive squirrels), and anything in the bathroom.
4) You are driving on the merest whiff of petrol fumes and there are no stations in the valley.
5) Your husband and father are doing an 18-mile, 12-hour hike up Half Dome and, in the middle of the day, you see Medivac helicopters and Ambulences.
6) You are with my mother.
And really, it was that last one that truly killed the day.
I had grand plans of taking a bike ride through the valley and maybe a couple of short hikes, at the very least. But my mother decided that she didn’t want to ride bikes and she didn’t want to hike because her hips hurt and she didn’t like the bikes on the trail (in her head, all of the bikes were aiming for her ankles) and she didn’t want to paint because we wouldn’t have enough time (that was 2 hours into the 6 hour wait). So we sat. And sat. And sat. We sat around Curry Village (the part of Yosemite I like the least) for 6 hours just people watching. And dealing with a baby who would have gone to sleep in the bike trailer or the hiking backpack, but intead was trying to figure out how to stuff the dirtiest things possible in his mouth to stop the teething pain. In a baby’s mind, apparently, dirt=painkiller.
From 8AM until 8PM all I had to eat were a couple of crackers and cheese. I had one small bottle of water all day.
For THIS I missed BlogHer?
But John and my Dad were fine and had a great hike. They really appreciated the work we did on the food for them (even though they decided to wait to eat until we got home instead of the picnic we had planned). And make it home we did. And the gas was not quite the $10 per gallon I had imagined. Not quite.
But my relationship with my mother is perhaps not so easily fixed. I’m not sure if she knows that I had had it with her, but I don’t think I’ll be able to spend much time around her for a little while. It sucks, because I love my mom. But right now I think it’s best if I’m not around her. I’m not sure I can bite my tongue much more. I’ve done it so much lately that there’s not much tongue left to bite. I think I just need a little time.
My Daddy’s up on that-there mountain!