If You Take Your Family Hiking

 If you take your family hiking, you'll have to make a plan. You'll start by picking a good trail.  Not too long, not too short, not too far away, not too steep, not too boring, not too popular.  You'll check the weather and pick a day that everyone's free.

When you find the right hike and pick the right day, you'll have to wake them up.  Some people will be helpful and take initiative, but others will start to complain even though you've been talking about this for three days.  They'll find a thousand reasons not to go, each stupider than the last.

When you counter all their reasons, they'll say they have nothing to wear.  You'll send them back to find the pants they never wear but that still wind up in the laundry every week. They'll complain about not being able to wear shorts, and you'll remind them--patiently, again--about cactus, rocks, and all the biting/stinging/venomous things that live where you'll be walking.

When they're finally dressed in weather and terrain appropriate clothes, they'll need to get some shoes.  Inevitably one kid's shoes are too hot, another wants to wear sandals, and a third kid can only find one of any given kind.  You'll help them look.

When everyone has their shoes on, you'll grab the backpack your surprisingly prescient youngest packed.  It's stocked with snacks, sunscreen, water-bottles, her sister's travel emergency kit, and spare toys if she gets bored.  Impressive.  You herd everyone to the car.

When they're getting buckled, someone will have to pee.  You'll have to unlock the house again, but at least you'll be able to drive straight to the hike.

When everyone is back in the car, you'll start driving.  Your husband will need snacks.  Good snacks, not the ones from the house.  So you'll pull over. Everybody will want snacks.  You've made it out the door, and you're not going back.  Snacks it is.  They will be eaten by the time you finish driving.

When you get to the trailhead, one kid will bolt down the trail, one will ask to stay in the car, and another will need to pee.   You will locate the port-a-potty and make everyone pee. Then you will summon the overly energetic child and hand them the backpack to slow them down; this will also encourage the stragglers to keep up if they want what's left of the good snacks. You will be proud of your problem-solving skills.

When you finally start hiking, someone will complain, loudly, about everything.  Several will probably take turns voicing their discomfort. It's hot.  Their feet hurt.  They could've been sleeping.  The sweat feels gross on their back. You will try to divert their attention by pointing out the flowers, the views, and--is that a deer?  They will refuse to be distracted.  You will tell them to deal with it, and the fastest way back to the van is to finish the hike.  No, they can't wait there while everyone else hikes.  Because, that's why.

When you start to make some distance, some of your crew will insist on climbing over every rock and jumping off every tree stump.  You will warn them that they will get tired. They will promise they won't.  You will know it is a lie.

While you are trying to slow down your explorers and encourage your stragglers, another child will be fascinated by every tiny flower, alienesque bug, bark texture, oddly colored rock, and weirdly shaped cactus.  They will want to take pictures of everything.  You will consider using a stick to hurry them up but will remind yourself that you are doing all of this to enjoy nature and your family.  Theoretically.

When you're two miles up the trail, someone will demand snacks because they are starving to the point of imminent death.  You will offer the mostly healthy, energizing snacks in the backpack.  Even though the snacks are what they eat every day at home, apparently they are now undesirable and possibly poisoned.  You will allow them to eat the sleeve of crackers and crumbs of the gas station snacks instead.

When they've eaten the crackers, they'll be thirsty.  You will encourage them to drink water.  One will chug the water until their stomach hurts, another will say they're not thirsty, and a third will say the water tastes weird.  You will make them drink it anyway.

When everyone has had a satisfactory amount of water, you'll get everyone back on their feet.  Without leaving the trail someone will manage to get a splinter.  You will look everywhere for the tweezers and discover that's the one thing not in the kit.  You promise yourself you'll get a pair just for hiking.  Meanwhile, your husband will whip out his folding pocket-sword with a six-inch blade and perform surgery on the trailside.

When the splinter has been extracted, someone will have to pee.  The only bushes around are knee-high, so they will refuse to go.  You will encourage them to go anyway because the only toilet for miles is back at the trailhead and no one else is around. They will refuse and bring it up frequently for the rest of the hike.

When you are three miles in, one of your kids will lie down in the middle of the trail and declare they live there now, just leave them there and pick them up on the way back.  You promise it's almost time to turn around.  They won't believe you. Your husband will poke them with a stick until they get up.

When you get to the main destination of your hike, everyone will be happy for about twenty minutes.  All fatigue, hunger, injustice and ennui will melt away as the kids scramble up to see the cliff-dwelling or the old abandoned mine or the 100-mile-mountain view.  You will feel vindicated.

When it's time to start back down, even as you have foretold the kids who have been darting off trail and scrambling over rocks and have walked roughly three times further than you have are suddenly exhausted.  You give them five minutes to rest and make them drink more water.  

When they've drunk, they'll have to pee even more.  Since there's still insufficient booty-cover, they will refuse again. However, they are walking faster now out of desperation to get back to the trailhead port-a-potty, so you don't press the issue. You're all almost back, even the one who is still working on their photo-documentary and the other who is still complaining about how much they don't want to be there. 

When one of your helpful children senses that her siblings aren't enjoying themselves as much as she is, she will offer unasked for encouragement and start singing and pointing out tiny flowers and oddly colored rocks.  Half of her siblings will sing along and ooh and aah at her discoveries.  The other half will silently plot her demise.  You will take the backpack with the keys in it and make a beeline for the parking lot.

When you finally get back to the car, you will reach for the keys but not be able to find them.  You will search three times through the backpack, a little more frantic each time as you wonder where they could have possibly fallen out on the trail.  Then you will find them wedged between the sunscreen and the mysteriously reappeared tweezers in a side pocket.  Just in time, too, because the kids are loudly on the edge of heat-stroke and dehydration.  You will usher them into the car.

As soon as everyone is buckled, someone will remember they have to pee.  You will get everyone out for a last visit to the bathroom and promise yourself you're never doing this again.

 When everyone is finally buckled and you're on the highway home, all of your kids without exception will start talking about what an amazing time they had.  One will talk about the big rocks they climbed.  Another will talk about the rabbit they saw.  The perpetual complainer will sigh about how pretty everything was.  Yet another will mention how good it felt to get out and move, and they'll all crowd around to look at the 200 pictures their sibling managed to take in a little over two hours. It will be the best day they've had in a long time. The one who asked to be left for dead will hug you and say, "Thanks for taking us hiking, Mom."  And then you'll start to think that the last couple hours might have been worth the hassle.  You'll remember this other trail that you wanted to do with a waterfall at the end.  Maybe, just maybe, you all should go hiking again next week.

And if you take your family hiking, you'll have to make a plan.