Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Camp

I've managed to avoid camping this year. Which is no small feat considering I live with a man who secretly wants to be a park ranger. Goofy hat and all, he'd love to live up in an isolated tree house. Really.

Here's the thing. I don't hate camping, but I almost hate it. Like as close as I could dislike something without full blown hating.

I'll tell you why.

It's not vacation. It's existing outside, is all.

I still have to cook, I still have to clean. Just everything is significantly more dirty and harder to clean.

I don't mind sleeping outside necessarily. I just don't so much enjoy waking up at 4am freezing, then laying there with chattering teeth willing the sun to rise faster.

There is nothing remotely relaxing about it for me. Especially now, having small kids.

Before we had kids, we used to go camping. It was fine then, but then there was an element of novelty in sleeping outside. It felt adventurous, exciting, a change from the ordinary. We tent camped, we went on night hikes. It wasn't something I loved, but it was okay. I could humor my tree hugging husband back then with only minimal complaining on my end.

Then we had kids. And suddenly, we had to bring ten times the amount of stuff with us to camp. People had to pee in the middle of the night. They wandered. They rolled in the dirt until it crusted on their little kid skin like a thick protective layer. They got cold at 4am. They whined.

What small amount of fun camping used to be for me is now vastly overshadowed by the increased amount of work and necessary patience.

I don't like camping. I really don't like camping.

Thankfully, AJ is crazy enough that there really isn't much question this year. He shouldn't camp, not yet. He doesn't listen, he runs everywhere he goes and the child knows no fear. Plus, he's a bit of a clean freak. Camping would just be a bad idea for him right now, and that's fine with me. I get to stay home.

For now.

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