Let sleeping bags lie

I am feeling very proud of myself for two things today. The first is not really anything I can take credit for, but yesterday, after the children left with their dad (so around 5.15pm), I ordered, online, three pairs of shoes for them from www.zappos.com. This morning, at 11.31am, the doorbell rang.

'Probably Zappos,' Beloved said, from the comfort of my Aeron chair behind my desk in my office. I was sitting next to him, squeezed onto the end.

'Ha ha,' I said, getting up to answer the door.

And it was! I'm still in shock. Unless there's a giant Zappos warehouse somewhere in Westport of which I have been entirely unaware, how in the hell do they do this? I'm impressed. Seriously impressed. I wish all online ordering were as quick and as easy - just think! I'd never leave the house!

Other reason why I'm very proud: I have got myself out of camping this evening. A couple of weeks ago we suggested to the smalls that we ought to go camping for a night on Cockenoe island. It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time. We woke up this morning and Beloved said, yahoo! camping tonight.

My immediate, and only, thought?

Oh shit.

Put it like this, I feel about camping, much the way I do about cruising. I knew I'd hate cruises, I hate anything with large groups of people I don't know, but I thought I could deal with it for the sake of the children. We flew to Florida, got to the docking station, or whatever it is you call that thing, and stepped into a room filled with six thousand other people. Waiting in line. I wish I were kidding, but I kid you not. We were sailing on the biggest ship on the seas, and there were, indeed, six thousand people in that room.

We reached our cabin several hours later, to find it roughly the size of my desk. Two beds, with another two that dropped down from the ceiling. I was sharing the cabin with the three sons. To say it was the week from hell would be an understatement. I sank into such a deep depression I think I only said three words the entire week.

Which leads us to camping. I know I'm not a camping person. Perhaps I could be a camping person at, say, Treetops in Africa (super-luxurious), but in a sleeping bag on a dusty, buggy island in Connecticut? No lavatory in sight? No running water? No large and comfortable bed? I don't think so.

'Why not call our friend the Actor and see if he and the girls want to join you?' I suggested, in a rare fit of creative brilliance, and now, here I am, tapping away at my computer in the office, peering out the window at what looks like an impending storm, and thinking of Beloved, the Actor, and all girls pitching tents and building fires as the rain starts to pour. Shame.

(The boys, who have stayed with me, wanted to camp in the garden but I bribed them with movie night and camping in the TV room...God I'm a horrible mother. But it worked.)

I will shortly be buying Honey I did something terrible and stupid to the kids if you're eight years old on demand, have laid out cushions from the sofa on the floor, with sleeping bags on top. And I will be going upstairs to bed.

Oh JOY!

(by the way. Hate my hair. For those who have asked for pictures, my response is, absolutely. When it grows.)