Invasion

Personal space.  A phone booth.  B-O-U-N-D-A-R-I-E-S. 

Just recently, I encountered one of the most disturbing events of my life:  an invasion of people all up in my bizness, with NONE of the above.

Out of respect for my fellow man, when I encroach upon the beach with my gaggle of loud, obnoxious, sand flicking offspring, I give other people space.  It's just common courtesy. 

You know, how you do.  Set up a phone booth North, South, East and West of our chosen mine field, because with 4 kids, sand WILL fly.  And it's not a question of if; it's a matter of when.

This is not a matter I take lightly.  I put a lot of time and thought into making this decision, before just parking it anywhere.  I need to scope out who will be my neighbors for the entire afternoon.

For example, plopping down next to an elderly couple is out of the question; UNLESS they are in the company of their grand kids.  Random groups of teenagers are also an iffy choice due to their possible poor behavior choices (ie: making out, drinking Mickey's from a brown paper bag, or (gasp) using foul language).  Just because that cute little 17 year old in the polka dot bikini may look like Hannah Montana, she very well may act like Lindsey Lohan. 

In my decade of surviving any kind of day trip with my girls, I have found that other moms tend to be the best kind of neighbors.  Moms carry all the necessities: extra sand toys, snacks to share, and usually, wine in some sort of concealed container.

So, here's my predicament:  I'm on vacay with my girlfriend, and we're chilling Lakeside, while our 6 kids run amok.  No sooner had we planted our chairs in the sand, than some Yahoo parks her clan literally inches from our stuff.  My girlfriend politely explains just how many kids we have with us in our camp, hoping to gently, but jokingly encourage her to move away to a further location.

But Clueless failed to catch the ginormous hint of her immediate and impending doom.  So when one of our kids ran all over her towel, flicking sand with wild abandon, neither of us said a damn word.  Clueless was warned, and Clueless failed to heed our warning.  And unless our kids learned how to FLY, it was not physically possible  to NOT mess up her camp.  Quite simply, she was in our phone booth.

The very next day, similar invasion, different location:  Big Trees State Park.  One of my favorite places to chill and be one with the Motha Nature.  I'm talking "glory of God perfection". Where chipmunks eat nuts to their hearts content, and butterflies and dragonflies dip and dart into the crisp, calm and cool water of the creek, while it laps at your feet.

Got your visual in place?  Well, promptly cancel that out, and replace it with a bunch of Weekend Warrior "nature lovers". 

I mean, how in the hell am I supposed to catch up on reading about Carrie Underwood's dream wedding in People magazine, when WW (Weekend Warrior) Mom is yelling, "Johnny, come put REPELLENT on.  And here's the SUNSCREEN.  Johnny, put those rocks down RIGHT NOW.  Where's your HAT?  Oh my goodness, look at your hands.  Here's a wet wipe."

My M.O. is simply this:  if a location is already occupied, find a different one.  I guess the 5 families that decided to join us that day, didn't get the memo.  These people packed in everything but a toilet to "enjoy nature". 

Becoming frustrated and annoyed, I wanted to yell out to that mom, "You are in NATURE!  Stop stalking your kids, take a load off, drink a beer, and please, BE QUIET.  You are ruining my Zen moment."

I struggled with this invasion, and started to question, what does God want me to learn from this?  But I just kept coming to the same conclusion:  never get pregnant again, so that I can down 4 beers and pretend like I'm by myself. 

As if on cue, my daughter came walking towards me, talking to a rather tall man.  Who's the psycho talking to my 10 year old, I thought?  But as they approached, I realized who it was.

"Father John?" 

"Hey, I recognized your girls.  I'm here camping with my family."

 It's like God knew I needed divine intervention before going postal, and sent me Father John.  After getting over the awkward moment of  hugging him, 7 months pregnant, wearing only  my bathing suit, we had a great conversation.   I was reminded about what is really important while we're here.  And it's not Carrie Underwood's wedding.

It is the connection that we have with others.  Whether it's for an hour, an afternoon, a year, or a lifetime.  Even when it makes us frustrated.  Or angry.  Or severely annoyed. 

But if you come into my personal space boundary, all I ask is this:  could you please keep your voice down, and bring a beer, or possibly an Us Weekly magazine to share?  Cause that would be so appreciated.