And the Oscar goes to...

Ok, I know I'm a little late for the Oscars, but if there were an award for "Actress in a Leading Role - Mother who hates field-trips" category, I'd be a shoe-in.


I've already shared with you my great unlove of everything field trip.


But, it seems this year I drew the unluckiest of all cards. In ninety-six hours and thirty-eight minutes, I'm heading off on a four-day camping trip with seventy 5th graders.


Have I mentioned this is tent camping?


Or, that I don't camp?


Or, that it might rain?


Or, that I've got the 11pm-1am watch for wild animals?

Really.


Pray for me. I'm up to my eyeballs in sleeping bags, flashlights, and bug spray. If it weren't for my beautiful little girl who lights up each time this trip is mentioned, I'd have backed out  a long time ago.


She ran home and shared with me after school yesterday, "Mom! Look what I have, the list of our meals for the trip next week. We are going to have hot dogs, Top Ramen, Funions..."


"Wow. Hot dogs AND Funions AND Top Ramen...yummmmmyyyyyyy!" I smiled, pretending to lick my lips as I hugged her.



...and the Oscar goes to Joanne Kraft, for her spectacular performance in "Mother Hates Field Trips and Camping - But Loves Her Daughter More."

Yes. I have a problem.

Ok, I may be sharing too much by telling you this. I am horrible. There is something very wrong with me. In all mom-things like loving my children, making a mean chocolate chip cookie, and telling an academy award-winning bedtime story, I rock.

Unfortunately, there is a part of my Mommy-DNA that has mutated over the years.

I HATE SCHOOL FIELD TRIPS.

Yes, it's true. I hate school field trips. I abhor them actually. There aren't words to describe my deep dislike for all things field-trip. The moment the permission slip makes it home and finds its way out of my child's backpack and into my hands I scream in silence, “OH NO. NOT ANOTHER TRIP TO THE ZOO!"

Having four children means I've been on countless trips to planetariums, science museums, community farms and in our case...Coloma. For those of you not up on your California history, this would be the spot on your map where gold was discovered. Today marked my third field trip to the little town of Coloma.

I know this field trip so well, I can finish the tour guides sentences. “Keep your hands to yourselves. Be respectful. No food, gum, or drinks inside the museum. And, make sure to use your inside voices.”

What are inside voices anyway? Oh yah, that's the voice I use every time my son or daughter shoves a note from their teacher in my face, requesting my presence on a ride from hell with a bus load of children.

Many of whom don't mind, ever.

And surprise, surprise, wouldn't you know it, one of those kids is ALWAYS in my group. Coloma field trip number three was no exception. By the end of the day I wanted to take ...(well, let's just call her “the child who needs a beating”) aside and do her and her future teachers a favor.

Thankfully, this time I refrained.

I may have a mutant field trip gene, but I was still able to plaster a smile on my face when my little girl panned for gold and made a leather satchel to hold her priceless discoveries. I even kinda (I said kinda)enjoyed hiking up the side of the mountain with my sweetie-pie to see where John Marshall is buried.

For the third time.

The croissant sandwiches she made for our lunch were the best I've ever tasted. Even if she did forget to add any mayo or mustard. And hearing her proudly declare to anyone in earshot, “This is my mom!” was pretty neat too. My love for my precious little Gracie was the elixir I needed to get me through my third Coloma excursion and field trip number 4,573,122.


Hmmmm. Maybe I'm cured.

Me and my baby girl in front of Sutter's Mill.