March is synonymous with spring break, and this year, I’m eager to share my kids’ favorite spring break adventure: watching Dad tackle the RV’s septic tank. A quick backstory: I didn’t grow up camping. My Eastern European father and first-generation American mother were happy to have a roof over our heads—why would anyone choose to sleep outside? In contrast, my wife, Laura, has fond memories of tent camping trips during her childhood. One story that still makes me chuckle is when her dad had to dash to the car in the middle of the night—completely naked—because their tent had collapsed due to a downpour. I mean, who wouldn’t feel slightly inadequate hearing tales like that?
Marriage is all about finding common ground, right? So, how do a nature-loving mom from the Midwest and a city-dwelling dad like me strike a balance for outdoor activities with our kids? Simple: RV camping! It offers the best of both worlds—hiking, campfires, s’mores, indoor plumbing, a kitchen, and even makeshift sleeping arrangements.
On our first RV adventure, our kids were 6, 4, and 2. By the second day, after several stops for gas (RVs get around 4 miles per gallon), we pulled into a Sinclair station featuring a life-sized green Brontosaurus. This landmark stop was especially significant, not just for the dinosaur but also because it marked our inaugural family “dump” experience. RVs are equipped with septic tanks under the cabin, and a gauge inside lets us know when the tank is full. The rental company provided detailed instructions for emptying these tanks, which some beginners seem to find daunting.
Finding an actual dump station when the gauge indicates “full” can be a challenge, so discovering one with a dinosaur photo op was a stroke of camping luck. While the younger kids scrambled out of the RV to take pictures with the dino, I kept our 6-year-old, Jake, with me to demonstrate the art of emptying the septic tanks. After all, every moment can be a teaching opportunity.
With double gloves on, I retrieved the waste hose from the storage compartment. I ensured the valves were tightly shut before opening the caps on the tank outlets. The smell that hit me was intense! I connected the hose to the first tank outlet, the one designated for “non-sink” waste. The idea is to attach one end of the hose to the tank and insert the other into a dump hole that presumably leads to some underground cavern. The dump hole was covered with an iron lid operated by a foot pedal. “Jake, why don’t you step on the pedal to hold the lid open while I insert the hose?” I said in my most authoritative voice.
Jake, now gasping for air with his shirt pulled over his face, bravely stomped on the pedal, only for the lid to clang shut. His eyes widened in terror. “I broke it! I broke it!” he wailed, running back to the RV, convinced that he was headed for a life of crime in Wyoming.
“Don’t worry, buddy. The lid was rusted; it would’ve broken regardless of who stepped on it,” I reassured him, but he was not comforted. “Let’s just go! Drive away, please!” What kind of lesson would it teach if we just abandoned the situation? No way. We had to go into the gas station and explain to the attendant what happened. “No, no! Don’t make me go inside! You tell him!” he pleaded.
Sometimes, a parent must take on the tough role for the sake of a lesson. So, with my embarrassed son in tow, we picked up the rusty pedal and confessed to the nice man inside. He couldn’t have been kinder. “Don’t worry about it, kid! It’s been cracked for ages. Go ahead and use the dump hole; you’re all set up.”
“That’s how you deal with accidents,” I told Jake. “Be honest, and things will work out.” After putting the kids back in the RV, I returned to finish the job. Relieved that Jake wouldn’t be facing jail time, he and his siblings watched eagerly from the window as I prepared for our first family dump, with Laura capturing it all on video.
In hindsight, I suppose I didn’t secure the hose tightly onto the outlet valve. As I opened the valve, a loud sucking sound echoed, and the hose was yanked clean out of the valve into the dump hole. The vacuum effect was impressive! As the hose vanished, the open valve began spewing two days’ worth of “non-sink” waste. The kids were in stitches watching from the window, while Laura rushed outside to assist, still filming. I quickly gestured for her to get back inside, casting nervous glances at the attendant. I hopped into the driver’s seat and sped away like a scene from an action movie.
Gallons of blue disinfectant-laden waste spilled across the Sinclair parking lot, trailing all the way down the highway. I have no idea how far we drove before the tank finally emptied and the blue goo stopped leaking. What I do know is that our kids couldn’t stop laughing for three days, and Jake was far too polite to mention the lesson about facing our mistakes head-on.
We embarked on more than two dozen RV trips after that fateful day. By the time our kids outgrew those cramped beds, we had mastered the art of RV camping. However, on every spring break adventure and every dump stop over the next twelve years, the kids were always hoping for a repeat performance.
In summary, spring break can lead to unforgettable memories, even in the most unexpected situations. The adventures we share with our children often shape their understanding of honesty and overcoming challenges. For more on family adventures, check out this engaging post on Modern Family Blog. And if you’re interested in home insemination, visit Make a Mom, a reliable retailer for at-home insemination kits. Additionally, IVF Babble is an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination information.
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