I’ve just spent the last six days with my offspring. He’s a wonderful little man and we often get along just fine, but it rained most of the week so that we only left the house twice during those six days. That’s right, we were locked inside fortress Portmandia together for the better part of a week. I’m not sure how I managed it without drink, and only time will reveal the enormity of the coming therapy bills for the boy’s PTSD.
The week started out well enough. Mrs. Portmandia picked up shifts and worked all week. I took the corresponding days off to provide child-care to the 40 pound tyrant. I was figuring that we’d go for some bike rides and play video games together and generally do some father-son bonding type activities. Too bad that the weather decided to foil most of my plans.
Monday started out okay. We had a bit of a fight to get out of the house, but the sun was out and it was reasonably in the 50s. The two of us took a long bike ride. We went to the REI store and bought a few things and otherwise did some of that shopping stuff. My son decided that it would be funny to ‘hide.’ He kept crawling under clothing racks where I couldn’t see him. Always awesome. After that we got some burgers and fries, though he ate the fries and I ate the burgers, and headed home.
The trip home led to a stop at the froyo place. I’m always up for the yo, so we had a treat. There was a mildly traumatic fall and a skinned palm. Luckily he’s a trooper and we managed to remount the bike and get home to clean everything up. All in all, a model day.
Unfortunately the balance of the week was dominated by long rainy days. The kind of all-day downpour that makes it difficult to muster any desire to leave the house. This, compounded with a nearly irrational fear of letting the boy get sick, as he was sick for nearly three months this winter, kept us inside for four days. Four days of struggle and occasional synergy. We often moved at cross purposes, as the boy is used the to the rhythms of his mother, and I am decidedly lacking in syncopation. We made it through, but there were tantrums on both sides.
Finally, on the last day of our week, there came a break in the rain. I decided that we needed to get out for a walk, even if it killed us. Once again there were arguments, but I managed to coax the boy into his rain boots and out of the house.
There is a small wetlands near our abode, though actually, much of Little Bay Root could be termed wetlands after a week of rain. Along one edge of the aforementioned wilderness area there is a fine trail that I was determined to traverse. In the way of such things, I should have read the signs and seen our fate. It turns out that the water was high enough to submerge the trail in many places.
When we got to the first of these sunken sections, I saw a pair of runners approach the water from the opposite side, then turn around and go back the way that they came. I took this to mean that this was the only part of the trail that was under water and I determined to forge onward. The boy and I scaled the hillside and with some muddying of our pants, we got to the next section of trail.
Unfortunately, there were four more sections of the trail underwater. In the space of our mile or so we had to scramble through some inhospitable brush and risk sliding into the water on numerous occasions. We picked our way through hobo discards and random debris. We struggled through thorny bushes. We got really muddy and wet. We persevered and made it through.
Needless to say, we came home by a more sane route and stopped for froyo to celebrate our survival. We had an adventure and we finished our week well, managing to bracket our difficulties with a pair of outings that left us tired and happy. Not a bad week, but I do hope that I don’t have to do it again any time soon.