I’m not complaining.  I actually got out of the house for a while this weekend and a bad day outside the house still beats a good day inside the house.

A good day inside the house may mean that all of the socks that came out of the dryer matched up or that all the drains were draining without a hitch.  It might mean that I didn’t burn our dinner or it might simply mean that I actually thought of something for dinner that everyone would like.  Yes, I live on the edge.

A bad day outside of the house means that I have something to write about.  This time it was a short weekend trip to the mountains to deliver some furniture to our college-aged kid’s new apartment.  Okay, so it wasn’t the highlight of our year, but it was something different.  So I’m not complaining.

It took about a split second for my son to give us the grand tour of his cozy apartment.  Then he and my husband hauled the furniture we’d brought into a now even cozier apartment.  He and his roommates had more food than they had furniture, but at least they won’t starve. You can’t eat furniture, after all.

We had stopped at a gas station just before we arrived and I had picked up a brochure for what I thought would be a relaxing way to spend the rest of the afternoon.  It was a “Float Trip” down a river named by some Native Americans that I can’t pronounce.  I thought it sounded perfect.  We could relax and the kids would be entertained.

When we got there, they handed us life jackets and paddles and gave us a safety lesson.  That’s when I knew there was something wrong with this picture.  In my head, I had us floating lazily down a quiet river taking in the scenery and watching the kids splash each other.  Paddles, lifejackets, and a safety lesson didn’t add up to a relaxing afternoon.  But we didn’t know that until after we had already paid.  But I’m not complaining.

They had us wait for 45 minutes in 90 degree heat with our life jackets on.  That’s the equivalent of wearing a parka in the desert.  When our “safety instructor” finally showed up, I could have taught him a little something about safety and it didn’t have anything to do with falling out of the raft.

Then he herded about 40 of us into a ten-passenger van and left us to broil while he went to get something he forgot.  One of the passengers had to turn on the van to allow us some air-conditioning so that we didn’t pass out.  But I’m not complaining.

We got dropped at a spot further upriver with our rafts and paddles and for the next two hours we fought to keep ourselves off the rocks.  We quickly learned that if you got stuck on the rocks, it was going to take superhuman effort to get back off of them.  I worked harder than I have since giving birth. The “relaxing” part never happened.  But I’m not complaining.

The next morning we started to drive home and got stuck in a traffic jam where the traffic was stopped dead for three hours on an uninhabited section of the Interstate.  If we had a cooler full of drinks, we could have made a bundle of cash.

As it happens, we were parked in the middle lane, right next to the only toilet within a ten mile radius.  It was in a humongous motor home driven by a guy named Rocky and his wife, Ellen.  Obviously, since my children have bladders the size of peanuts, we became fast friends with them.  They also had paper towels, water and air-conditioning.  Thank you Rocky and Ellen!  You’re the best!

See?  There wasn’t anything to complain about, now, was there?

You can reach Laura at lsnyder@lauraonlife.com Or visit her website www.lauraonlife.com for more columns and info about her new book.