Cabin Fever

My parents have a cabin on the Kashwitna River. With the kids out of school this week and Andrew taking the week off work we figured it was the perfect time to enjoy a few days of family togetherness. Heh. Family togetherness.

The cabin is two hours north of Anchorage, depending on the traffic in Wasilla, and after packing enough food to feed the population of Peru (why Peru? I'm not sure, but that's the country that came to mind first--perhaps it's the perfect alliteration) plus boots, hats, mittens, neck warmers, long underwear, coats and snow pants we hit the road at 1pm with enough time to give us a leisurely afternoon at the cabin.

Two hours later we pulled to the gate and Andrew said, "Okay, where are the keys?"

"Right here," I said confidently, pulling out my key ring from my cool black laptop bag (yes, I planned on writing plenty over the weekend).

I looked at the key ring in my hands and it hit me like a avalanche that a month ago I had lightened my key ring by removing the cabin keys and leaving them--for safekeeping--in the kitchen drawer. A fact that would have been helpful to remember two hours earlier back in Anchorage.

"Um . . . " I paused, not sure how to reveal this information.

"Um . . . " I looked once again at the keys in my hand and practically whispered, "I guess I kind of left the keys at home."

Those situations show the measure of a man. He had every right to kick me out into the snow and make me hike it back to town, but he didn't. He took a deep breath. "You're sure?"

"Yes," I said in my meekest voice. "I'm really sorry. I mean really sorry."

Solution? We had to drive an hour back to Wasilla for a set of spare keys. By that time it was getting dark (remember this is Alaska and the sun sets around 3:30 or 4pm in December) the wind picked up and started blowing snow over the road in long misty billowing blankets, making it very difficult to drive. It was slow going.

After struggling in the dark to find the house--it's Big Lake, addresses are optional--picking up the keys and making an emergency donut run we once again headed north, keys in hand, to brave death through the blizzard.

By the time we arrived it was 7pm and everyone was starving. As I turned my attentions to preparing dinner I noticed Spencer whimpering on the couch. I felt his forehead in that magical mother way and determined that he had a fever. Flushed cheeks, watery eyes, lack of energy, stomach ache. I'm no doctor but the signs were there: he was sick. I pumped him full of Tylenol and went back to dinner.

Grace soon joined me in the kitchen and reported there was a large puddle of water on the bathroom floor. Upon a closer inspection and one horrendous, spewing flush later it was determined that the pipes had frozen and cracked, backing sewage up enough to cover the bathroom floor.

By this time Andrew was beginning to wonder if there was a reason we weren't supposed to be at the cabin, the stars seemed to be against us and the future didn't look bright. I managed to get dinner on the table and by 8:15pm when the dishes done we decided that without a toilet we were toast. It was just a bit more "roughing it" than I had bargained for so we decided to go home rather than spend the night with four kids and no indoor plumbing.

After packing everything up once again and while doing a final sweep through the cabin to make sure we hadn't forgot anything I noticed that in the bottom of the shower where I'd thrown the wet towels and rugs that had been soaked in the original flooding there was now nothing but water--well, water and sewage-soaked towels. Apparently not only was the toilet backing up but when I'd done the dishes it had backed up into the shower.

Lovely. Another moment or two of cleanup and we were fleeing for our lives. Enough already! We can take a hint--no cabin for us. I wouldn't have been surprised if, looking back in our rear-view mirror, we would have seen fire and brimstone raining down--the signs of our doomed trip were of Biblical proportions. We had tainted water, a sick oldest son, all that was missing was a nasty plague of frogs or locust.

The two-hour drive back to Anchorage put us in at 11. Seven and a half hours and nothing but leg cramps to show for it. At least Andrew and I had plenty of conversation time.

Oh, and did I mention we left Spencer's boots up there? I figure it'll be easier to buy him new ones than go back to retrieve his old ones. Family togetherness takes a lot out of you.

Technorati tags: Alaska, motherhood, children, parenting