Camping. And germs.

We went camping this past weekend. Well as close to camping as I care to get, we stayed in cabin type place in a state park. Mother Nature and I have a bit of an "agree to disagree" relationship. I try to stay out of her way and she helps make sure I'm not eaten by bears. (Side note, a couple of weeks ago we were on a nature hike, surrounded by tall trees in a totally gorgeous setting. Rather than simply marveling in the beauty and enjoying the moment, I actually caught myself pretending to stretch so I would look taller, just in case a mountain lion was behind me, thinking about attacking. It's totally a legitimate technique they teach when you're going into the woods, by the way. And yes, I know I need help.)

Anyway, the place we stayed had electricity but no running water. We had a camp fire and used it to cook all of our meals. We had s'mores, tried our hand at fishing and went canoeing. It really was quite lovely.

One drawback was the, ahem, facilities. There was an outhouse (shudder) nearby and further up the road there was a flush toilet. The general lack of running water was a bit of a nightmare for me the certified germaphobe. However, in my quest to not pass on my issues to my children I tried to roll with the punches. We had a water jug, I put some soap near it, encouraged the kids to wash--especially before eating, and hoped for the best.

On one of our walks to the flush toilet, we passed a golf ball in the parking lot. P wanted to pick it up and take it back to his dad. I said he didn't need to pick up parking lot leftovers and that I didn't think MD needed a random golf ball. P rolled his eyes and said, "If I got some tongs and washed off the tongs and the ball and my hands could I pick it up?" Hmmm. Busted.

I joked with him about then needing to sterilize the the parking lot and let it go. On the last day of our trip P slept in until 10. Not a good sign. This is a kid who is up at 7:30 everyday. Unlike his mother, this kid is a go getter, he is up and at 'em in the morning. The only time he sleeps in is when he's sick. I noticed he looked a little flush and when he declined bacon for breakfast I knew we were in trouble.

So we packed up, got him settled with some water, a pillow and a book in the car and started driving home. About 2 miles outside of the campgrounds I turned around to check on him, just in time to see him gag once, twice and then spew vomit all over the car. Not to be graphic, but I do mean ALL over. It was rather spectacular. On his sister's leg, all over the library books he had on his lap, on MD's seat, on the console, down his own legs. We pulled over, and both MD and I hopped out. MD grabbed a towel and started wiping things up, while I grabbed my stomach and tried not to add to the vomit situation. We realized that it was going to be quite a mess to deal with, so we headed back to the campsite so P could use the showers and change clothes. On the way back we tried to figure out what might have happened that could have made him sick--especially since he was the only one who was sick. Then MD said, "well, P was the only one touching the fish we caught, and I don't think he washed his hands afterwards."

Oh karma! How you like to bite people on the backside sometimes! I tried not to be too I-told-you-so when I pointed out that maybe hand washing isn't such a bad thing and perhaps you shouldn't mock your mother when she suggests it (over and over), but I don't think P heard me since I only said it in my head. Sometimes vomiting everywhere is enough of a lesson.