boat wreck, part I
Tuesday, August 25 
The Alberton Gorge stretch of the Clark Fork river is known for some of the best whitewater rafting in Montana.
Yesterday I woke up feeling weepy.
For weeks Shawn and I had been saying the same thing to each other as we collapsed into bed each night: This pace is insane. And despite the fact that we’d both been busy with kids and work — him trying to finish putting a new roof on our house and cramming in an unexpected construction job for someone before his first day of student teaching (to become a high school science teacher) and me with recent additional writing assignments that made for longer work hours — we still packed our weekends with trips.
Last Thursday, the night before we were taking off for three days of rafting on the Clark Fork river near Missoula, we began the long process of packing at 7 p.m., with hopes of leaving by 7 a.m. in order to get to the river on time to float. Shawn was packing the raft and kayaks; I was in charge of clothes and packing the cooler with food for eight people — our boys, a girlfriend and her son (who is Oldest Son’s friend), plus Middle Son’s friend.
When Angus escaped out the garage door FOR THE SECOND TIME while loading gear, it was 9:30 p.m. and pitch dark. Everyone hopped on bikes and spent an hour riding blindly through our neighborhood, calling for him until Oldest Son found him. The rub is that you have to call him in a really chipper voice even though you’re chapped beyond belief, or he won’t come back. “Angus come!” you call cheerily, when what you actually mean is Angus come! Come here so I can skewer you up the gooch and roast you alive. When we woke at 6 a.m., exhausted from the night before, it took Angus until 6:45 to squeeze by Shawn and escape FOR A THIRD TIME, I SHIT YOU NOT.
When I looked out the window and saw Shawn throwing his bike over his head and hurling obscenities on our front lawn in front of God, the neighbors and everyone, I knew what had happened. And I offered up a bit of thanks that it was Shawn (who adores Angus) who’d let the dog out before I joined him for the familiar search drill.
All this is explained to give you the bookends of our trip: too much work until the moment of packing, bad start to the trip (sponsored by helldog), then the end of our trip, which featured an argument, pulling the trailer home in a rainstorm, and vomiting all our dirty river stuff on the floor at 8 p.m., tired and hungry, just to wake up at 6:30 the next morning for Shawn to start student teaching, with me back to work.
Is this a vacation?
Don’t get me wrong, the time on the river was mostly great (part II, coming soon), but sometimes you’re just not in the position to Go, Go, Go anymore, and Shawn and I both have a hard time recognizing that.
He and I hardly ever argue, yet there we were on the last day of the trip, hiking with our big group, losing it with each other. I hate fighting, and the thought of doing that in front of others mortifies me. I could see my girlfriend, helpfully herding the kids down the trail to give us space, and the kids looking at us like, “Allrighty, then. Don’t mind us. You two go right ahead and blow steam while we all stand by. We’ll just pretend that we’ve got all sorts of meaningful stuff to occupy us here in this spot. Hey, did you guys see the veins on this leaf?”
Shawn and I re-joined the group, agreeing to work out our conflict later. I felt embarrassed, and a sense of failure that this trip, which from the start was loaded with expectation that it would be pure fun, had ended this way.
The next morning while driving to work I realized my turn signals weren’t working. I envisioned a cop pulling me over and was trying not to cry when I arrived at the office and told my long time friend and desk mate, a photographer I call A-Hole (He has an endearing tendency to “let his inner grouch shine” now and again. So the nickname started when I would say stuff to lighten him up a little: “Could you please complain a little more, A-Hole?”) what was bothering me.
A-Hole left his desk with me in tow, and fixed my turn signal, pronto. I couldn’t figure out why I was such a sissy over a silly broken turn signal until it hit me: When you get so over-scheduled and stressed, resilience goes out the window. I had no reserves left. And the big thing was, I had allowed myself to get to that point. And while self-blame may not sound helpful, it was empowering because I realized I also have the ability not to do this to myself.
So for now, the next few weekends are committed to things intended to be fun yet already feel like too much, but after that, I’m looking forward to some hard-core navel gazing. I’ve jumped into the rapids and am trying to keep my head above water, but in a bit I’m going to eddy out, and find a quiet spot.
P.S. Shawn and I are good. And today is a better day.
Five boys in their bags. Nothing like sleeping on the ground a few nights to make you feel all warm and fuzzy about your real bed.
Reader Comments (3)
I think you need a spa day. And I do believe you have a birthday coming up! And that dog? Doggie valium.
You said it, the stuff that sounds like it's going to be such fun turns out to be a PITA and you wonder why you put forth the time and effort. It's frantic, it's hectic and I get tired just thinking about it. Would we be short changing our kids if we just called a truce on all the madness? Or would we be teaching them something even better? I know which way I'm leaning but I hate to think they're missing something and it's my fault. Sheesh, this parenting thing is sure by the seat of the pants.
(as an aside, A-Hole? I love it. Please send my regards)
I adore reading your life! your blog helps me keep things in perspective and allows me out of my land of asphalt and steel to yours of dogs, kids, and the bush!
Plus a note from me on fighting with your spouse: it is the only way to keep things honestly honest. Two very smart people such as y'all should differ and argue just to let each other know that you are listening and responding. Plus if you can't fight in front of friends then they really aren't friends; they poop just like everyone else.
ungroomed bikini lines are inexcusable at any level of 'busy-ness' and while you are trimin' tell the spouse there will be less fights if he trims his own up! better yet, have him trim yours, then you trim his.
xoxo
UncleBos