It’s expensive I know, but our kids love it and you can’t put a price on childhood happiness. Well, you can—it was over 300 smackers.
Our 17-year-old daughter tilted her head, sidled up to her daddy and said in a cavity-invoking voice, “This is my last summer as a kid, pretty please can we do it?” She had braids in her hair that day which I’m pretty sure was part of her evil plan.
I will say that I prefer her current manipulation methods to the way she used to try and get her way when she was little, which was to throw tantrums so hysterical that a friend of mine actually thought she was having a seizure once and tried to call 911.
The river was a blast.
For that hour and a half it felt like it was my last summer as a kid.
Then when I woke up this morning to dumped suitcases, dirty coolers, and loads of laundry that all need to be washed, repacked and restocked in time to send my girls off to Girls Camp early tomorrow morning, I was quickly reminded that I am definitely not a kid on the rapids. I’m the mom who has to pull off the rapid recovery while everyone else in my house gets to sleep off their vacation hangovers.
Pack, unpack, wash, repeat.
Somebody throw me a life preserver.