There is more than one way to have an adventure. I am neither hiking nor writing. I am being Grandma.
The adventure is my daughter’s and her family’s. They plan to travel the United States for a year or two when her husband retires from the Army. So they put their house up for sale, bought an RV and are practicing living in a 43 foot toyhauler RV for a little less than a year. It sounds like a big space until you consider that they have eight children, ages 13 and under.
And I came to visit. My bed is a hassock in the daytime and a bed at the edge of the kitchen at night. Mom and Dad have a bed in a room of their own, Two girls share a loft. Six boys share queen bunks in the toyhauler part of the RV, big boys on the top bunk and little boys on the bottom. It is real togetherness.
In the morning we have school. My daughter homeschools and I help with reading, comprehension questions, and nagging to get the work done.
Walking to explore the area with a grandson, playing in playgrounds, bouncing on the bouncy pillow, (I just watch, my knee is in no shape to bounce.) a couple campfires, s’mores and a good bit of general chaos fill the days. And I have only been here a week.
Being Grandma is another glorious adventure.