Just Me and My Mom

When I was a kid, one of my favorite books was Mercer Mayer's Just Me and My Dad, a book about a camping trip with multiple mishaps, which I couldn't read without peeing my pants in laughter. A few days ago, I had an experience of my own to parallel the book.

For the Fourth of July, my mom and I picked up my aunt Audrey and headed for the lake cabin in Bemidji to hang out with the other rellies. My mom's still healing up a broken left leg, so we have to take things easy.

The second day at the cabin, we headed out in the morning to go canoeing, which we decided would be okay since it's the arms that are most important.

Down the lumpy hill (holes and tree branches), my mom held my arm as we neared the red canoe that we'd taken out many times in the past. I was assessing the situation of seating with great anality, trying to figure the best seat for my mom. We decided the back seat since that was the one closest to the lake.

My mom got in the back seat. I pushed the canoe towards the water, but my brute strength didn't budge the canoe. (Perhaps the three feet of canoe in the water wasn't enough?) The canoe seemed to be tilting left a little, so I tried to hold the canoe steady and push again but next thing I knew, the canoe was going sideways and I poured my mom out onto the dirt and grass. She was half in and half out of the canoe, facing headfirst downhill, while the canoe was filling with water at the lower part, which was in the lake.

I tried to help. "Mom! Can you get your legs out of the canoe?" I laughed, falling down a little myself. It's slightly difficult to help when you're weak from laughing. I hoped no one was looking from the cabin. They would think we were idiots! I laid down on the ground a bit, difficulty breathing from the laughing. "I'm not laughing at you!" Gasp. Gasp.

We got my mom's legs out of the canoe and helped her to stand from the precarious position of downhill muddy footing. I had to rebank the canoe and tip it over a twice before I removed enough water for us to make a second attempt at embarking on the peaceful morning ride. The second time, we were off and managed over an hour on the lake before returning to shore with no stories to tell that time.