Wednesday, May 28, 2014

I heart camping again.

Now, don't get me wrong. I've always camped.

When I was growing up, my parents were sort of.... hippy-ish, and we did a lot of camping. Often with lots of relatives or friends, and lots of music, and lots of food, and lots of drinking (the adults) and lots of pot smoking (again, the adults) and lots of kids running around like filthy little heathens.

Here we are in the woods. My children are filthy little heathens, too, but I'm not interested in drinking or smoking pot like the hippie way I grew up with. Not really my thing. Try charades and singing primary songs around the campfire.


Then when I became an adult, I tried to like camping. I am married to a very outdoorsy guy who lives to fly fish and sleep under the Montana Sky. I am also the mother of a tree-hugging outdoorsy fifteen year old son who is more comfortable sleeping in a "lean-to" made out of branches than in his own bed. I don't know where he gets it, it's not from me. The kid thrives outdoors. Me? Not so much.

So I tried.

I went. I slept in a tent until my back crackled and my azz was completely asleep for three days post camp out. I pooped and peed in things like outhouses, pit toilets (and let me tell you, those things should be illegal. I mean, honestly, it's a crime against sanitation.), holes in the ground, and even homemade toilets made of milk crates and cracked seats.

I put my foot town.

I had to. I couldn't take it anymore. After last year's big camping trip (which we spent in the woods with nothing but an OVER RIPE PIT TOILET that smelled like eighteen dead bodies had been buried in the poo) on which we had a foster placement of a 7 week old baby with extreme drug exposure (Silly me, I thought the fresh air would do her good--it didn't. It ticked that poor sweetheart off even more. I guess you live and you learn.)....all while (literally) reeling from the loss of our daughter, Liyah, after a failed adoption.....

I sort of lost my crap. That's really the only way of putting it.

I told my husband that I was never camping again, unless he found a way for me to never have to sleep outside or poop in the woods again. I told him: "I am not an animal! And only animals should have to poop and pee in the woods!" I told him: "We should have had the all important do you expect me to poop and pee in the woods conversation BEFORE we took the vows!" And I told him: "If I never have to cook while being simultaneously stung by both mosquitos and bees at the same time, it will be too soon." Oh, and I may have actually told him to take our tent and camp stove and shove them up his backside so hard he sneezed nylon for a decade. That was harsh, I know. But it needed to be said.

And so he set to work solving my camping woes. And eventually we bought a camp trailer. Now, it's used, and big, and awkward, and I refuse to be the one to drive with it hooked on to the back of our truck, because it is scary as heck, and sometime between bedtime and morning time, it turns into a giant, stifling fart box....

But we love it. It's home, away from home. The kids enjoy being together, and I enjoy the privacy of being able to poop and pee in my very own bathroom. Besides, "dumping the dump" after we're done camping isn't so bad. It's kind of fun. My 15 year old think's it's exciting, and who is to argue with a 15 year old?

And so, as we morph into the summer of 2014, I am proud to say that I have finally decided that I like camping again. Go me!

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