It only takes one complete lunatic to make the entire group look bad. My kids tell me this all the time. “Mom. You’re making us look bad.”
But alas, I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about Harold-This-Is-It-Camping.
Being a born again Christian, I’m eagerly waiting for the rapture because the idea of dying has never been all that appealing. My youngest daughter is the queen of surveys. “Mom, if you were going to die, would you rather be frozen to death, or burned to death?” “Uh…hmmm, I…uhhh…is there another choice?” “Mom, if you took off all your clothes and slept outside naked, would it kill you?” Depends if the neighbors mistook me for Sasquatch and shot me, I guess. “Mom, what snake would you rather have kill you, a king cobra or a rattler?”
Can ya see why having Jesus take me outta here and plant me in a garden for a feast is more attractive?
Annnyway, if today is the day, cool. I won’t have to defrost the refrigerator because it will be lying under a pile of rubble and will take care of itself.
Unfortunately, Mr. Camping’s theology resembles nothing I ever learned in Sunday school and, since New Zeland was still standing as of 6pm (their time), I’m gonna go don the Playtex gloves and tackle the kitchen. Pity. One of my children was hopeful about getting out of geometry finals. Tough luck, kid.
The one good thing to come out of all this fear-mongering is that it made me stop and think about how short this life is. How precious every moment. Right now, my teenagers are in our backyard tossing horseshoes in a patch of rare spring sunshine. Think I’m going to skip the cleaning and go whup some kids at horseshoes. Loser cleans the kitchen.