Ok, so I wrote this first part days ago. Because that's totally not even where I am right now. Not that it matters.
.
As we head South on I-85, the sun is shining and it's a really beautiful, sweltering hot day in the glorious Carolinas. In fact, we're about to pass the water tower which our family affectionately refers to as the "peach butt," as I type. I feel a flood of mixed emotions as we get closer to the place we called home for almost 9 years.
Our daughter's gonna visit some friends for a few days, and I'm gonna stop at a roadside stand and buy some fresh, juicy SC peaches. Then we're headed to the Wilds.. which made me start thinking about the infamous brown pants I wrote about last year, which sadly have mysteriously disappeared since.. Some of my friends will remember having read this before, but this is the first time this story has appeared on my blog. It's an old favorite of mine. Enjoy...
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Well, it's that time of year again. Elizabeth says her annual trip to The Wilds Christian camp is how she survives in this world. It's her vacation from us. She comes home refreshed, and ready to face another hard year in the Wise household. Without it, she believes her mental state would deteriorate. For us, it's another thing entirely.
It all started one year, when Elizabeth didn't have the clothing she needed for camp. She had outgrown her summer attire from the previous year, so a shopping trip became necessary. The Wilds requires that kids wear knee length shorts that are reasonably loose fitting. So we drove to the mall, and a I knew the night would be long. Teen stores, like American Eagle and Hollister, and junior departments would not be the place to find this Wilds-appropriate apparel. I suggested the misses dept at Belk. From there, things would only go quickly downhill.
"Ok, Elizabeth, there are racks and racks of long shorts and capri pants. Have at it." ...... But she was all, "These clothes look like vomit." And I was all, "They do not. There's some perfectly good stuff here." And she was all, "I hate everything. It looks like old people." and blah, blah. I said, "Well I shop in this dept..." Soon the hideous clothing was hanging in the dressing room and the trying on was underway. She actually liked one thing, which seemed to make the ugly purchases go a little smoother.
So the next day, she began to assemble outfits, and pointed out the extreme horribleness of one particular pair of brown pants. Now there was nothing at all wrong with these pants, but in her mind, they were well below her standards for appropriate style. Now, if she had been more cooperative the night before, and even once suggested that I'm a great mom, and I'd found the perfect camp clothes, but perhaps this one pair of pants just wasn't right for her, then I wouldn't have bought what would soon become known as the "turd pants." But now, they're here, camp is only days away, the tags were already removed, so she owned the pants.
Now, I wasn't born yesterday, so I knew the likely fate of these pants. She would pack them, they would visit the Wilds, but they would never actually see the light of day. She would just double up on something else, and go around dirty for a day. In fact, there was a great chance she would wear the ONE pair she liked, every single day.
So in the days that followed, there would be many wise cracks about the turd pants, and their insane awfulness, and I began to sense that I had completely wasted money on turd pants. So, we declared that the required outfit for day one of camp, would be the turd pants. It was the only way we could be sure we would get our money's worth out of these pants. She would wear them in the car, we would drop her off, and she would wear them for at least 5 minutes at the Wilds. She thought this would be a totally embarrassing way to begin a week of camp and meeting people, but we had to be sure that the turd pants were used, so, this was the way it had to be.
I still remember the green shirt that was paired with the turd pants. She looked amazing. So we dropped her off, screamed, "WE LOVE YOU, ELIZABETH!!!!" and gave her many dramatic hugs as the others looked on. And that was how the tradition of the traveling turd pants began. From that day forth, we have forced her to wear the turd pants for the ride there, and drop off, which brings us to today.
Today, the packing and preparing for her annual pilgrimage to the Wilds, her camp of sanity, began. And the turd pants were brought out, dusted off, and prepared for the trip. I suggested she try on all the pants/shorts to make sure they still fit. Moments later, she emerged from her room, all decked out in turd pants. She walked by and these pants looked terrible. They were WAY too small. "Oh... you've finally outgrown the faithful turd pants." But something didn't seem right. There was a twinkle in her eye... a mischievous smile on her face. Suddenly Steve says, "Lift the bottom of your shirt." She nearly died laughing and revealed that she'd hiked them up to her ribs and cinched them tightly with a belt. The reality was, the turd pants still fit. The tradition will live on. I just can't decide if Sunday should be the day of the turd pants, or Monday, when they'll actually arrive at camp...
The Turd Pants
.
As we head South on I-85, the sun is shining and it's a really beautiful, sweltering hot day in the glorious Carolinas. In fact, we're about to pass the water tower which our family affectionately refers to as the "peach butt," as I type. I feel a flood of mixed emotions as we get closer to the place we called home for almost 9 years.
Our daughter's gonna visit some friends for a few days, and I'm gonna stop at a roadside stand and buy some fresh, juicy SC peaches. Then we're headed to the Wilds.. which made me start thinking about the infamous brown pants I wrote about last year, which sadly have mysteriously disappeared since.. Some of my friends will remember having read this before, but this is the first time this story has appeared on my blog. It's an old favorite of mine. Enjoy...
*******************************************************
The Legend of the Traveling Turd Pants
It all started one year, when Elizabeth didn't have the clothing she needed for camp. She had outgrown her summer attire from the previous year, so a shopping trip became necessary. The Wilds requires that kids wear knee length shorts that are reasonably loose fitting. So we drove to the mall, and a I knew the night would be long. Teen stores, like American Eagle and Hollister, and junior departments would not be the place to find this Wilds-appropriate apparel. I suggested the misses dept at Belk. From there, things would only go quickly downhill.
"Ok, Elizabeth, there are racks and racks of long shorts and capri pants. Have at it." ...... But she was all, "These clothes look like vomit." And I was all, "They do not. There's some perfectly good stuff here." And she was all, "I hate everything. It looks like old people." and blah, blah. I said, "Well I shop in this dept..." Soon the hideous clothing was hanging in the dressing room and the trying on was underway. She actually liked one thing, which seemed to make the ugly purchases go a little smoother.
So the next day, she began to assemble outfits, and pointed out the extreme horribleness of one particular pair of brown pants. Now there was nothing at all wrong with these pants, but in her mind, they were well below her standards for appropriate style. Now, if she had been more cooperative the night before, and even once suggested that I'm a great mom, and I'd found the perfect camp clothes, but perhaps this one pair of pants just wasn't right for her, then I wouldn't have bought what would soon become known as the "turd pants." But now, they're here, camp is only days away, the tags were already removed, so she owned the pants.
Now, I wasn't born yesterday, so I knew the likely fate of these pants. She would pack them, they would visit the Wilds, but they would never actually see the light of day. She would just double up on something else, and go around dirty for a day. In fact, there was a great chance she would wear the ONE pair she liked, every single day.
So in the days that followed, there would be many wise cracks about the turd pants, and their insane awfulness, and I began to sense that I had completely wasted money on turd pants. So, we declared that the required outfit for day one of camp, would be the turd pants. It was the only way we could be sure we would get our money's worth out of these pants. She would wear them in the car, we would drop her off, and she would wear them for at least 5 minutes at the Wilds. She thought this would be a totally embarrassing way to begin a week of camp and meeting people, but we had to be sure that the turd pants were used, so, this was the way it had to be.
I still remember the green shirt that was paired with the turd pants. She looked amazing. So we dropped her off, screamed, "WE LOVE YOU, ELIZABETH!!!!" and gave her many dramatic hugs as the others looked on. And that was how the tradition of the traveling turd pants began. From that day forth, we have forced her to wear the turd pants for the ride there, and drop off, which brings us to today.
Today, the packing and preparing for her annual pilgrimage to the Wilds, her camp of sanity, began. And the turd pants were brought out, dusted off, and prepared for the trip. I suggested she try on all the pants/shorts to make sure they still fit. Moments later, she emerged from her room, all decked out in turd pants. She walked by and these pants looked terrible. They were WAY too small. "Oh... you've finally outgrown the faithful turd pants." But something didn't seem right. There was a twinkle in her eye... a mischievous smile on her face. Suddenly Steve says, "Lift the bottom of your shirt." She nearly died laughing and revealed that she'd hiked them up to her ribs and cinched them tightly with a belt. The reality was, the turd pants still fit. The tradition will live on. I just can't decide if Sunday should be the day of the turd pants, or Monday, when they'll actually arrive at camp...
The Turd Pants
