We planned a mini staycation with several of our kids who lived locally. It seemed reasonable when we made the reservations months earlier. But that was before the out-of-state baptism was scheduled, and one week later, a triple baptism which included hosting the after-celebration. We can make this work, I thought to myself. I’m retired now and should have plenty of time– said no one ever. We were just going to be relaxing anyway…with ten children under ten. Did I mention we are in Arizona, which sports three-digit temps?

The plan was to return home early Sunday morning from the Colorado Baptism. That was the plan until the hydraulic light on the plane became an issue. We returned to the gate to deplane and start from scratch. We still had time; check-in for the staycation was six hours away. We bought tickets on a flight that got us home. Three hours remaining. I still needed a swimsuit that wouldn’t embarrass me at the pool. Is it the bathing suit or the person in it that is the issue? Humor me, and let’s go with the former. We headed straight from the airport for a quick peek at the possibilities. I was unsuccessful in finding the perfect (is there such a thing?) expandable miracle of modern man capable of hiding the effects of decades of truffles and tarts. So, I settled for a menagerie of colorful tropical designs made from less than a yard of fabric, capable of containing me and distracting enough to blend into the background and flora.

Two hours remained until check-in, leaving me time to bake blueberry muffins and double chocolate donuts. Indeed, there simply couldn’t be a connection between these choices and my swimsuit issues. I packed food, fun, and clothing between batches, and we loaded up the car.

After checking in, we unloaded our plethora of supplies. A jar of picante sauce fell out on the first trip, exploding on the hot pavement behind a car trying to back out; glass and sauce splattered everywhere and began to fry in the sun. After assessing the hullabaloo, Kansas City emerged from his car and helped pick up the pieces so he could depart. On our second trip, the olive oil slid out the car door and poured all over the ground. All we needed was some fresh veggies and a steak, and we could have prepared our dinner right there on the scalding pavement.

Earlier that week, the stomach bug had been picking off family members individually, and the remaining healthy members were finally caught in its grasp. Who’s having fun now? Think of the memories we’ll share around the campfire for decades. Our daughter, son-in-law, and their six kids packed everything necessary to feed, clothe and entertain a small army, including enough pool paraphernalia to keep most of them safely afloat for days. Our son, who was two days out of shoulder surgery, came, and within hours, his wife became a casualty of the stomach bug. Their son had already had his turn in the poop zone. Finally, our youngest son, his wife, their newborn, and three other children lasted only a few hours and left at some point in the dark of night. What could have possibly scared them away? At least some came later to join us for brief periods of Lishko fun in the sun.

The moral of this story is simply this, stuff happens, and you can choose to let it ruin your plans or just be a temporary minor annoyance that comes with a timeless, hilarious story to recount. The rest of our staycation was filled with many beautiful memories, including water fun, ice cream, and sleepovers with cousins.

Hey, where’s the fun and adventure in everything going perfectly?

Have a blessed and fantastic summer making many crazy memories of your own that will live long after the sunburn fades.