There has lately been much discussion at our house on camping. My kids feel deprived because we haven’t taken them out to freeze all night in a sleeping bag, eat burned food out of tin foil, and poop in structures that don’t exactly qualify as “bathrooms” according to most accepted definitions of the word.
I think mostly they just want some S’mores.
Last time we went camping as a family, we drove 3 hours to the western side of the state. We got there when it was dark and pulled out our large family size tent. That was when Mr. Darcy discovered that he never got the tent poles returned to him the last time he loaned the tent out.
Luckily we bummed some shelter off one of our friends. And there was much rejoicing. It was one of those screened in bug shelters that offered minimal privacy, but it was better than nothing.
The next night, The Boy gorged himself on popsicles, S’mores, red licorice, and other junk food until he could barely move. Unfortunately, his stomach revolted at 2 a.m. and we woke up to find him sleeping in his own crusted vomit. Mr. Darcy took him to the “bathrooms” and put him in the “shower” which apparently had no hot water because hot water is unnatural and campers are purists. So the entire campsite woke up to the shrieks and howls of a freezing, goosebump-covered 5 year old.
I should also mention that that was also the trip when we discovered The Boy’s pyromania.
I briefly contemplated a short camping trip this summer. However, since Kitty isn’t exactly walking yet, and also likes to eat dirt, rocks, and spiders (probably), I don’t think I’m up for it. Don’t get me wrong… I love nature. I just prefer to see it through some sort of window or protective screen.