Looking Forward to Smelling Terrible by Sunday

We’ve had this camping trip scheduled for months – years, really, since it is a family reunion that happens on the same weekend each year – and now it looks like Tony won’t go.  Or maybe he will, he hasn’t called me yet today to confirm plans.  Last week, Tony’s dad was hit by a car on his motorcycle.  He survived, in seemingly good condition, but now he has an infection and can’t work the weekend and the office is having trouble finding anyone to run the charter fishing trips.  It’s been a rough couple of weeks for my in-laws.  This is the second motorcycle accident my father has had recently, the first being when his brakes failed and pitched him over the handlebars at about 20 miles per hour.  And then, when we were just waking up from our two-hour nap the first day of Ragnar, Tony got a text from his mom that she had been in a car accident.  Prayers for my extended family’s health and well-being are greatly appreciated.

 

Thank goodness, though, the threat of not going camping this weekend seems to have been just the motivation Charles needed.  No accidents yesterday and I am keeping my fingers crossed for today.

 

Still, setting up a tent and managing my imps alone in the semi-wilderness of a state park doesn’t sound like much fun to me.  Especially since our tent is bigger than our living room.  Seriously.  It was a steal at Costco a couple of years ago, and we love it, but it is not so easy to put up and damn near impossible to do so alone.  My parents will be there to help, and hopefully some of my second cousins or cousins-once-removed, but still.  All that tent, just for me and the two boys?  Let’s face it, they’ll probably both end up in bed with me before midnight.

 

I wish we could camp more often, but there’s just too much going on.  I think next year that I will shoot for one weekend each month to camp.  The food cooked on the campfire and the smell of bug spray mixed with sunscreen mixed with wood smoke mixed with sweat is just, well, not nearly as disgusting as it sounds.  It’s a true break for me because there aren’t dishes or laundry to do, and damn it all, I love s’mores.  Gooey, chocolately, terrible-for-you s’mores and, well, shit, you might as well char me up a hot dog over that fire while you’re at it.  It’s the one time a year hot dogs taste good to me.

 

Do you camp?  With kids?  What do you take with you?  My kids each have a lantern and glow sticks, and we’re taking Charles’s bicycle this year.  We have a little picnic table and plenty of food, of course.  Charles has a sleeping bag, but Jamie does not.  I have a white noise app on my phone that I’ll use to get them to sleep before I do, because one thing I always make sure to pack is booze for after-kid-bedtime.  Wine in a solo cup and s’mores around the campfire is ten bajillion times better than drinking wine from a real glass and eating nutella with a spoon on the couch. 

 

Don’t tell my I’m the only one who does that.