sure, we can laugh about it now

One of the primary drivers for our trip this summer, was to take our children to all 48-contiguous states.  Everything had really been going so incredibly well thus far, and we were full of anticipation for what lay ahead in Washington.  Even before we crossed the state line, Carolyn had told us that she really wants to live here one day: the mountains, the ocean, the apples, the rainy days .... the world-class competitive rowing teams.   The Evergreen State has everything, and more. 

We arrived in Washington and stayed our first night at a campsite just south of Yakima.  Brooks Memorial campground was a great destination; beautiful trees - wide open campsites - and a fantastic hilly loop for Elizabeth to run, and the kids to try and keep up with her, on their bicycles. 

We only stayed here one night, because unlike all of our previous destinations - we actually had camping reservations at Mt. Rainier for the following day, and wanted to waste no time getting up there and enjoying what we'd heard was one of the most splendid national parks in the country. 

The day started off perfectly.  It really could not have been better.  Everything was going swimmingly, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, children were cooperating. All beings were calm, relaxed, but highly motivated to do what needed to be done.  

In my quest of trying to be as efficient as possible, I had pulled together a schedule that we'd follow.  We'd awake - eat breakfast - pack up and be on the road to the town of Yakima by no later than 10:00 AM.  Once there, we'd divide and conquer. Charlie would drop me off at the laundromat with William, where I would have some quiet time to get some work completed, while William would listen to his podcast and help me fold laundry.   Charlie, would take the girls and Henry, and Ollie - and swing by Costco to replenish our supplies.  By the time he was back, we could load Quarantinny with all of our clean laundry, food, have a snack, and then hit the road for Mt. Rainier, arriving by approximately 5:00 PM ... which would be ideal. 

I wasn't quite sure what to expect with the town of Yakima, but had high hopes because we certainly love the Yakima car racks.  (I would later be told by my mother, that my father's very first job offer out of Pharmacy School was at a Veteran's Hospital near Yakima.  The thought of my parents, as young adults with their growing family, living in this area at the foot of the Cascades, is amazing.)  

My first impression of the town, particularly in the vicinity of the laundromat, was that it had a very high homeless population.  Any second thoughts William had to go with his father to Costco and score a pizza slice (or four), were immediately squelched when he eyed the vagrants who were sitting with their backs against the building when we arrived.   There wasn't any way I could convince him to go with his father, my defended protector would not leave me alone in this environment.  So Charlie dropped me and William off at the laundromat and I seem to remember the entire family putting our hands (and paws) together and yelling, "READY, SET, BREAK!!!!" 

William and I hustled inside and put our clothes in the wash: all of our laundry - including sheets, pillowcases, every single towel we owned, and nearly all of our clothes were divided across three large  washing machines.  With vagrants inside the laundromat as well, we quietly discussed how important it was to not leave anything unattended.  My computer, our backpacks and cell phones, the laundry bags we use to haul our clothes.  Agreeing that we'd keep our eyes open, my son sat down to listen to his podcast, and I fired up my computer and started fielding phone calls; grinning to myself at how awesome we worked as a unit.  

All was going just fine, until.... 

Charlie called me within an hour and said he'd finished up at Costco and the kids were driving him crazy. They were bickering over who knows what, but it was just enough that he was getting really upset.  I asked if he'd fed them and he said "Uh, no we just had breakfast?"  And I replied, "Yes, but they're teenagers and they're always hungry - just give them food and it'll buy you at least another hour!"   But by that time, he'd already packed Quarantinny and was heading back to the laundromat.  

Because Costco didn't have everything we needed, he was planning to run by Walmart. But first, he would drop the kids off with me.  On his own, he'd knock out the remaining items in no time.  For as great as I think I might be at multi-tasking, I had an important call on hold, while transferring clothes from the three washers to two oversized dryers and wasn't processing the words he was telling me.   

The next thing I know, the three kids come walking in to the laundromat, with the dog.  They all have exasperated looks on their faces and are rushing at me with "MOMMMMM!" on their lips. 

Suddenly, the words my husband had said made sense and had I not been distracted I would have said, "No. Go get them something to eat, let them watch a movie in the car, and do what you need to do."   But none of that happened.  Instead, I just remember putting my hand up, stopping my children in their tracks, and saying "NOPE. YOU NEED TO GO WITH YOUR FATHER."  

I ended my conference call, dialed Charlie and said, "You need to come back and get them - there's no way this can happen!  Also? I'm trying to get some WORK done!"  He sighed, "Fine.  Let me take Henry.  You keep the girls.  They can walk the dog and help fold laundry."   So Henry ran outside and jumped in the car before it pulled out of the parking lot. 

The girls take Ollie, and they no sooner leave, and I'm filled with dread.  Where are we? What kind of neighborhood is this?  I rushed outside to stop Charlie and the girls, and can just make out the taillights of the Airstream driving down the street.   The girls are no where to be seen.  My two 15-year old daughters have wandered down streets in a questionable area, I wouldn't even feel comfortable walk down as an adult.  I call Charlie and blast off that he never should have left the girls and the dog with me; does he not see what kind of environment this is? Does he not know that I'm trying to get work done and all the laundry?   He apologized but said he'd only be a few minutes, and although we were currently running an hour behind schedule - we'd make it up.  

Oh good heavens.  What happened to our efficient plans?!   

Rather than running outside and searching the neighborhood for them, I instead say a prayer that they remain safe and go back inside to begin folding the clothes that have just finished up in the dryer.  They are slightly damp, but am desperate to get out of there as fast as possible.  

No more than 10 minutes have passed and the girls rush back inside, Elizabeth is sobbing crying and Carolyn is shaking.  Just behind the laundromat, and out of my view from when I'd looked for them before, a humungous Rottweiler came tearing out of a house - barking at them as they walked past.  Before they got to the end of the property line; the dog cleared the fence and charged them, with teeth bared going straight for Ollie.  Carolyn jumped in between the charging Rottweiler and her sister, and Ollie; who was hiding behind Elizabeth's legs.   A Good Samaritan, driving past on his motorcycle, saw the scene unfold and jumped in to the rescue just as the property owner came out and screamed for the dog to come back.    My initial reaction was, "SEE?! THIS IS WHY YOU NEEDED TO STAY WITH YOUR FATHER!" followed by intense concern over their well-being.   

Wrong order, I know ... but the mind boggles. 

They helped me fold the remaining laundry from the dryer, we scooped up our gear, and stood outside waiting for Charlie to come back.  Here we are, giving this experience a thumb's down.  Moments later, I called animal control to launch a complaint. 

We stood outside waiting for at least an hour, and when Charlie finally called, he didn't sound good.  First, Walmart didn't have everything that we needed and he needed to go to another store.  Second, Henry had stayed in the car while Charlie ran in to shop.  At some point, he needed to use the restroom, so he got out of the car - and tried to unlock Quarantinny.  Unfortunately, he used the wrong key, but not knowing that - exerted just enough force to snap the key off in the lock.  

Wait. He did what?  I kept asking, over and over again. 

It was at this point, Yakima became Yuckima in my book. 

Some kind of time warp must have happened because when Charlie called to convey this news, it was nearly 5:00 PM and there was no way we would be able to open Quarantinny, without a locksmith.  Miracle of miracles, Charlie exerted his proficiency with internet searches, and found one.  

His name is St. Harley and he resides at Yakima Lock & Safe. 

 

In the moments before he closed shop for the day, Harley removed the snapped off key from the lock for a whopping $10.00.  (Henry doesn't know that.  He still thinks it cost $300.00 and that's why he should NEVER force a key in a lock, again.)  

At 5:05, we finally started the drive north to Mt. Rainier.  Everyone was mentally exhausted, and slept most of the drive up, up, up the beautiful mountain. 

While it was only 100 miles from Yakima to our campsite, it was a narrow, windy mountainous road. 

Most of the stress from the day was sloughing away, the higher we climbed. 

Up, in to the clouds ... 

And just like that, we were in the snow.  

 

The kids stirred from their nap, and took in the alpine glory.   They were asking to stop so they could get out and play, but we were already two hours behind schedule, and still needed to get our camp set up and have dinner - hopefully before 10:00 PM.  

So we pushed on. 

Now, for whatever reason, I did not take a photo of the campsite where we stayed at Mt. Rainier. But what I can tell you is that although it was advertised as a space that could accommodate a 28-foot camper, parking our 27-foot Airstream was like threading a needle.  Everything about this campsite was challenging, as soon as we pulled in and I saw it, I broke in to a sweat.  The extremely narrow and slippery roads; the oversized Class A motorhome staying directly across from us, that had it's front end poking out in to the road. Charlie had to avoid that while he was backing in to a space that was slightly inverted, and nestled between two huge boulders.  One wrong move and we'd be on a first name basis with our insurance agent.  And yet for a second time that day, my husband impressed me with his prowess.  Defeating all odds, he maneuvered Quarantinny in like a pro. 

While the kids jumped out and started to make a campfire, Charlie started dinner, and I put away all the still somewhat damp laundry.   My husband sensing that a glass of wine might help calm the nerves, popped open a bottle and poured a glass.  I could hear the glug-glug-glug of the pour, as I'm standing in the bathroom, putting things away.   A moment later, Charlie says, "Hey Jen ... do you have the clean kitchen towels in there?" 

I'm looking in the bathroom mirror at myself when it hit me.  Like the scene from a movie, my mouth opens and I can see all the way down my throat, as my uvula flaps back and I scream bad words.  

Really, really bad words.

We had washed two full bags of dirty laundry.  There should have been at least THREE full bags of clean laundry. We only had two.  There had been two dryers. I folded everything from one.  I rush out of the bathroom, to face Charlie who looks stunned, "What happened?!" he implores. 

I rush past him and search the bags. The car. The bags. The car. The bags.  I bellow at the children, "WHERE ARE THE SHEETS? DID YOU FOLD SHEETS? DID YOU FOLD THE TOWELS?"  

They had not folded anything.  They are now huddled by the fire, scared for their lives as their rock, their protector, their mother, comes completely unhinged before their very eyes.  

Charlie's on the phone calling the laundromat.  There's no one there.  He finds another number and calls to another laundromat that is on the other side of town but under the same management.  They cannot confirm whether our dryer full of sheets and towels are still there.  No one goes by that facility except to lock it up, and open it in the morning.   It'll be locked at 11:00 PM.   It'll be open again at 7:00 AM.  We could drive down right now and check - but seeing as it was 9:00 PM there was a chance we could get there MOMENTS after they locked up for the night.  And then what?  Sleep in the parking lot?  Drive back up the mountain and try again in the morning?  

There was no store nearby for us to go replace what we'd left in Yakima.  We were without any towels; any sheets for our bed.  While we did have sleeping bags and paper towels, everything would need to be replaced.  And the cost, we estimated, was at least $400 worth of supplies. 

We weighed the odds.  Take the chance and go get it, assuming it's still there?  Donate it to the vagrant population in Yakima?   We definitely wouldn't drive back at night, it was too dark - roads too windy and slick, and no guarantee we'd be there in time.  Would one of us go?  Both of us? What if we had an accident and left the children orphaned at the campsite?  No, we would all go.  We'd unhitch Quarantinny, leave it at the campsite, and take the car back down the mountain.  It'd be a four-hour trek, but well worth it.  Or would it?  Would we be giving up precious time at Mt. Rainier to drive back? 

Back and forth we lamented over this decision.   We finally fell asleep, but I tossed and turned all night, missing our luxury cotton sheets and REI camping towels; furious at myself that I was so distracted that I didn't even realize I'd left 50% of our laundry, behind.  All kinds of guilt welled up; I need to be more present in the moment.  I need to not work so much.  I need to relax. I need to take better care of myself. I need to donate more to the needy. Wow, hasn't the universe just provided a great opportunity?!    

At 5:00 AM, I was up - dressed and rousing the family.  We were heading back to Yakima and would be at Delaney's by the time it opened.  We loaded the kids and dog in the car, and made our way back down the windy mountainous roads, while saying a prayer that we would arrive safely and have peace with whatever would be, would be.   

After coasting in to a gas station on fumes (we noticed that in the midst of all the hustle, our tank had slipped down to empty); the kids slept most of the drive down, while the sun rose.  Charlie and I had some quiet time to talk, and despite all of the craziness we'd endured in the prior 12 hours, we were both feeling incredibly Zen. 

In retrospect, what a great experience this has been for us.  What have we learned?  All the planning and rushing - and trying to be as efficient as possible - backfired.   We need to just RELAX.  Calm down, take things as they come.  Savor the moments, and count our blessings upon blessings that we are able to be out here enjoying this beautiful country with our family. Thank God we're all healthy. Thank God we're all safe.  Thank God for Good Samaritans that jump off their motorcycles and step in to help. 

Thank God for St. Harley. 

We were reveling in all of these blessings and gratitude, when we arrived at Delaney's Lost Sock laundromat.  And for the umpteenth miracle of the trip ... our laundry was still there. 

It was not completely dry, just like the other 50% that I'd hastily removed from the other dryer the day before.  Charlie put in a few more quarters and calmly sat back to wait while it finished. 

How lucky am I to have this man?   He's such a calming presence for me .... most of the time!  For as much as I might think that I can juggle so many balls so seamlessly, there's a beauty in slowing down to do one thing at a time.  None of us are quite at good at multitasking as we might thing we are. And even if we are successful at getting all the things crossed of our list - did we have joy? 

Charlie is the most joyful person I've ever met.  Even in this moment, he was filled with joy, sitting here waiting for the laundry that his wife forgot.  My prayer in this moment is that I might have as much patience - and joy - with him, as he has with me..... had the tables been turned. 

Within 30 minutes, we had finished everything and gone back outside to the car, where our sleeping children were just waking up.  Through the laundromat window, I spied this man who was attempting to fold all of his clothes ... with one arm. 

Stop and count your blessings, Jen.  

COUNT THEM OUT LOUD. 

And that is why at Delaney's Lost Sock Laundromat, where I completely lost my mind... 

Along with our sheets and towels, I found my heart and soul.