This. Family. Will. Camp.
I’m blaming it all on Tammy Callahan Schotzko.
Tammy helps people un-hoard things. Have you ever met someone who naturally brings out a better version of yourself? She is one of those someones. By title, she is a Certified Professional Organizer. But the title fails to capture her remarkable wisdom, kindness, and depth.
I called her last year to say, “I know we’ve never met, but if I give you a credit card number, could you maybe clean up a mobile home that I’m selling?” (When not working life-changing magic, she does first-rate real estate maintenance.)
My poor mobile home. It never had a chance to be happy. That life chapter closed long ago, but no part of it went “gentle into that good night,” and I’ve been in denial for . . . well, let’s say that my denial could have its own drivers’ license by now.
It took a lot of time and even more Kleenex to sign off on the MLS listing last year. But I did it. With Tammy — who went from maintenance professional to Obi-Wan in about two seconds flat — asking the right questions at the right times, I faced the Hoarder Within and told it to Get Behind Me.
Then I began obsessing about putting the mobile home sale proceeds into an RV.
You don’t know from obsessing.
Obsessing to the point where my girls compete to yell, “Mom, there’s a camper!” when we pass one on the freeway.
Obsessing to the point where DH actually winces when I bring it up, asking if we could please talk about anything else for just one conversation.
Obsessing to the point where my own dear mother gets a slightly glazed look when I start to combine tongue jack models and child-rearing philosophies in the same conversation.
But my RV Dream is more than a yen for a composting toilet.
It’s a commitment to this family, this life, this chapter.
It’s a decision to make memories.
It’s a decision to live in my now.
It’s a decision to write a new legacy.
Campermania. Let it begin.