A clean house is a boring house

I think I may have an obsessive compulsive disorder. I know, shocking. Why, you ask, do I think this about myself? Well, there are many reasons. Today I decided to clean and organize a bit. Okay, I lied. I had no plans to organize anything. In fact, my only plan was to hold the couch down with my rapidly enlarging heiny. (I blame the makers of cinnamon Chex) But, due to a minor sewing injury, (it's really hard, almost impossible, to sew something if you are currently wearing it) I was looking for some anti-bacterial ointment. To my horror I discovered that my first-aid kit was a mess! Alright, I lied again. I don't have a first aid kit. I mean, I'm almost positive there are some in our 72-hour emergency kits, but those are for EMERGENCIES. Real emergencies, not dumb ones like accidentally sewing yourself to your pants. (which, in case you're wondering or contemplating your own sewing adventure, does NOT feel good. At all.) Anyway, about that time I decided I really wanted a first aid kit. In order to have a first aid kit I needed to go through the house and locate all of my first aid supplies. I started with the medicine cupboard (a.k.a. the Purnell family pharmacy) and found a pile of instruction manuals. Since I don't normally keep instruction manuals in my cupboard they had to be moved. I went to the closet under the stairs to find the manuals a home . . . .and found some books that I felt should belong in the bookshelves upstairs. Upstairs the books and I went only to find a hammer and some nails occupying the bookshelves. Down the stairs I went and ended up in front of the junk drawer. Well, the hammer didn't quite fit into the drawer and someone had put non-junk drawer stuff in the junk drawer so it became vital the drawer be organized. Stuff from the junk drawer went to my bedroom, stuff in my bedroom to the family room, family room clutter to the garage, the garage to the bathroom, the bathroom to the kitchen, and so on and so on and you get the idea. After all that work I ended up with an impressive pile of 'stuff' in my hallway. (including the hammer) Having just spent the better part of the day 'organizing' I shoved it all under the stairs and called it a day. As for the first aid kit . . . nobody would use it anyway.

Alright, now that I've got a little more time I can elaborate on our pioneer trek. First of all, that is how we decided to spend our 14th anniversary . . . . with 13 strange children. (not that the children were strange, although I guess some of them were a bit odd. In fact, one kid spent the weekend in a sombrero while another wore his mother's gardening hat) We arrived at Briones regional park (a.k.a. the place of many hills) in just enough time to act like we had been there for hours patiently waiting for the kids. Our subterfuge would have gone better if we had checked out our family list and name first. The trek leader was calling out all the families and having them meet together. It took about five "Martin Family ma and pa?" before we realized that was us. We started our family meeting by asking the kids which one of them was willing to be eaten first.

Our first family agenda was to make the "Martin family" flag. You know how there is always that one group that's a little 'special?' Let's just say our flag was incredibly. . . . unique. (we hid it in one of the handcarts) Speaking of the handcarts. . . . if you are ever privileged enough to pull a handcart let me impart some of my hard earned wisdom. Before I do that I should explain the sleeping arrangements. In their wisdom, the leaders of the trek separated the sexes by a couple of miles and put the stake presidency in between. Each sex was given a handcart to put their stuff into. We then pulled the cart to our respective campsites. Pulling a loaded handcart with five teenage girls would be where I gained my handcart knowledge. For instance, if only one girl pulls, the handcart will not move. If, however, you have two girls pulling, the cart will move, but only in a circle. If, due to the fact that there are no brakes, you ever find yourself being dragged behind a handcart let go immediately. The last one is especially important if your handcart trail is being shared by cows.

Part of the 'experience' was to sleep outside. We were asked to only bring a sleeping bag and possibly a tarp. (to put under the bag) The girls settled in (after being told not to frighten the skunks…for obvious reasons) and did the best we could to sleep. The ground was hard, in my mind every rustle was a skunk, and I had a girl who liked to talk. It was a long night. So to answer my mother, yes I still like to camp, but I require more than a sleeping bag and tarp. After such a long night we had to get up at 6 am. My girls were the last ones to get going. (probably because they were the ones talking ALL night) This made us the last handcart to leave the camp site. There is a lot of dirt and dust when you are the last in a line of handcarts. (Think black teeth, black snot, black eye boogers.) We showed up to breakfast but weren't all that hungry having already eaten our fill of dirt.

To many things happened on the trek which makes it hard to write about. There are a few things that stand out however. Halfway through the trek, and at the steepest point, the boys were 'called away' to war leaving the girls to pull the carts. Most families had a least 5 girls to each cart, we had three. The hill was incredibly steep, and I have to admit I was very worried. My girls were awesome! Not only did they pull those carts up the hill, but they did it without complaining and only stopped once. (because I was on the verge of vomiting and made them) I was so proud of them and didn't hesitate to rub it into the boys. I must have threatened their male ego's or something, because two of the boys insisted on pulling the carts the last 1/2 mile or so. This caused many questions among the girls. Like, why do boys do such dumb things? Sadly, I could not answer since I am still trying to figure that out myself.

MA MARTIN still smiling

THE MARTIN FAMILY

Ready to roll