September 24, 2025
And we’re off! The goal was a sleek one-day turnaround, but in true Cicotte fashion, it ballooned into three days. Why? Well, let’s see: we had to swap our thread-bare tires for our all-season ones; our freshwater tank needed sanitizing, partly because the sink drain smelled like rotten egg farts; the entry step gave out on one side and we had to go buy new screws; and then we blew a fuse for our indoor lighting.
That last part snowballed fast. I had just finished a full organizing session in the camper—bed neatly made, everything in its place, including placing my under clothes, socks, and pjs in the microwave because it's useless unless we are plugged into power, which we never are. I stepped away for five minutes. FIVE. When I came back, it looked like raccoons had overrun the place. The mattress was off its platform, the table was unhinged, and the bench cushions were scattered around. George was crouched in the middle of the chaos like he was searching for buried treasure. His explanation? He was looking for the fuse panel.
I pointed a calm, helpful finger at the LARGE BLACK BOX in plain sight at the base of the kitchen cabinets. Easy access with no bed demolition required. For the record: remaking a bed wedged into the back of a teardrop camper is a workout.
When we said our goodbyes to George and Jake that morning before they left for work, Jake grinned and quipped, “Thanks for stopping by!” Apparently, that's the new family dynamic—me as a guest in my own house. Guess I better get used to it, because that's how it will be for the next year.
In just the three weeks we were gone, the boys had already painted Lucy's room, replaced her light fixture, affixed wall sconces, and moved George in. To say he was anxious to escape his “bedroom” (two sheets strung up in a corner of the basement) is an understatement. They didn't stop there. The library was rearranged and partially annexed into a craft room—complete with all of my sewing supplies, which were boldly misapproriated. At this rate, I’m half afraid of what we’ll come home to at Thanksgiving—probably a new open-concept floor plan, a new kitchen chandelier, and my KitchenAid misappropriated for who knows what...a pottery wheel?
We rolled into our first destination—Antelope Reservoir in Jordan Valley, Oregon—at midnight. The camper was mostly intact, aside from the paper towels completely unraveling themselves and our realization that George had forgotten his coat. Again. Same thing happened on our last big RV trip. Good thing Costco exists, because that's where George's vast coat collection comes from.
Every story has a soundtrack. There's only one obvious choice for this post:
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