We just returned from quite a week at Lake Powell.
Less than an hour after our flight landed in Arizona from Florida my youngest son tripped and gashed his head on my mom’s kitchen chair. 5 hours and 12 stitches later, my son left the ER with a Harry Potter scar on his forehead.
After much debating we decided to head to Lake Powell anyway.
Our first night at Lake Powell my two oldest boys were up all night throwing up. Which stinks when you’re at home and really stinks when your miles away from an ever so convenient washing machine.
The next night my oldest son was accidentally hit with an oar and ended up in the Lake Powell ER for 11 stitches.
I didn’t want to admit defeat even though I now had two kids that weren’t allowed in lake water by doctors orders and we still had a full week at Lake Powell. I like to think that I’m one who can roll with the punches but by now I just felt like I was repeatedly being punched.
Dang, I’m long winded today….
- He had the smarts to ride it out the waves with the kids in tow instead of following the natural instinct to pull in the kids in the 8 foot swells, possibly capsizing the boat.
- When my kids started gushing blood out of their heads he calmly applied pressure instead of huddling into fetal position and crying like a baby (which is what I did).
On the the way home from Lake Powell we stopped at Sonic and got not ONE but TWO of their Double Stuffed Oreo Shakes. Oh man we deserved them.