Camping for Mother's Day

Well, my husband decided that we needed to go camping on the Saturday night before Mother’s Day. Seeing how I just LOVE sleeping outside in the cold, on the ground, with snakes potentially crawling all around me and mosquitos biting me.

This was a great Mother’s Day gift! (Surely you picked up on the sarcasm dripping from my voice, right? I mean, I laid it on pretty thick.)

Now, I’m all about doing things with my boys. I love spending time outside, riding four-wheelers, roasting marshmallows. Just doing all those wonderful outdoor, country activities. We spend tons of time outside as a family.

I could never be accused of being an “indoor” girl. So don’t even go there.

But I kind of draw the line when it comes to sleeping outside. I just don’t like it. I love my bed. I love the smell of my house. I love easy access to a toilet. You know, the little things.

And it doesn’t help that the two camping experiences I had before this last one, have not been great.
Both were fine until it came time to actually go to sleep. On camping trip number one we slept on a blow up mattress that my mother- in - law bought for us at a garage sale. It was pretty cool because it actually sat on top of a stand, so it was up off the ground (which gave this snake-fearing- mama a little peace).

But what wasn’t cool is that this mattress apparently had a hole. So, every thirty minutes or so it would totally deflate and we would be left lying with metal bars jabbing our backs. And I was about five months pregnant so this was an added bonus.

My husband had to pump the mattress up with the electric air pump, which was really loud. He had to do it about ten times that night. There were other campers all around us, so I’m sure they weren’t too happy about that.

I literally got NO sleep that night. But at least that was before we had our first child and I could actually take a nap and catch up on missed sleep.

Our second camping experience was about a year ago. My husband decided we would take our, then three -year old, camping in the woods near my parents’ house. We decided to leave our one-year old at home with my mom and dad because we knew he wouldn’t do too well with the whole sleeping outside on the ground thing.

I tried to convince my husband that I would be much better off at my parents’ house as well. I mean, our one -year old needed me. But, he insisted that I must stay in the tent.
He’s so irritatingly persistent, that husband of mine.

On this trip, when it was bedtime we had to deal with a fussy three-year old who wasn’t used to sleeping with us, or outside for that matter. He cried and screamed, which wouldn’t have been so bad except that a friend and his son were camping in the tent next to us.

I spent the whole time totally paranoid that we were waking them up. (Which I’m sure we were).
It was pretty cold that night. We had borrowed an inflatable bed from one of my husband’s friends and it turns out this bed also had a hole. So we ended up sleeping on a deflated mattress that enabled us to feel every bump and rock on the hard ground.

I spent the whole night tossing and turning, nervously listening to the howling of coyotes that sounded much too close for comfort and a four-wheeler driving by that also sounded much too close for comfort.
Right in the middle of hunting season was probably not the best time to camp in the woods.

I spent most of the night fearing a stray bullet. And also the rustling of a strange animal right outside of the tent.

I woke up the next morning completely exhausted. And since we had two kids, I was never able to get that re-energizing nap.

So, this time when my husband said he wanted to camp, I tried my darndest to get out of it. I said I would stay until midnight and then go home.

I love the camping festivities. I just hate the sleeping
situation.

But, my husband can be very persuasive. (Or totally bossy.) And so I stayed in the tent--with both boys this time.

They actually did really well. They went to sleep pretty easily. Well, after a major knock-down drag out over the iPad which I brought so I could turn on a movie in hopes of lulling them to sleep quietly.

Well, my four-year had other ideas. He snatched that thing before I even realized and was playing Angry Birds: Star Wars… his newest addiction .

My two-year old, who is completely in the “ego-centric” phase tried to take it from him. Because I guess at two years old all things should inevitably be yours.

No matter who may had them first--which is totally beside the point, in his eyes. The point being — he wants them.

Well, when my two-year old starting tugging on the iPad and messing up my older son’s game of Angry
Birds…all heck broke loose.

Finally I got the iPad away and turned on The Lorax, much to the infuriation of my four-year old, who angrily turned over and said, “I’m NOT watching that movie. Humph!”


I think he added two or three more “Humph’s” at the end. I guess he was trying to make more of a dramatic impression. You know, really put me in my place.

The funny thing was, about thirty seconds after his last “Humph”, he was out. Totally asleep.
Our two -year old followed not long after.

Things were going pretty good.

My husband had actually purchased two brand new inflatable queen-sized beds for us. Yes, I said brand new. Not garage-sale or borrowed.

These beds actually stayed firm and inflated the whole night.

Some friends of ours camped out in a tent right next to us with their little boys, same ages as ours. The husbands stayed up and talked by the campfire while us moms got the “rewarding” job of getting the kids to go to sleep.

I don’t know what the heck kind of reward that was supposed to be.

Why does it work like that? I would’ve loved to sit by the fire and girl-talk for an hour while the men listened to the crying and broke up the physical battles that were occurring inside that tent.

But, nope. Not an option.

At one point, after both boys were asleep, I realized that I had to pee. Like, was-not-going-to-be- able-to- hold-it-all-night need to pee. I didn’t want to go right outside the tent because the men were still awake.

And I sure as heck wasn’t going to walk back into the deep dark woods and squat down, only to be eaten by a bear or wolf or more likely an armadillo.

So I was in a predicament. I finally found a Styrofoam cup. I thought better of it, but then decided it was the only option.

So, I squatted down inside the tent, and peed in the cup.
I actually filled that thing all the way up.

See I told you I would’ve never been able to hold it all night.

Then, I realized the problem with this. Hmmm, what to do with the cup. That is a wonderful question.

And I hadn’t quite thought that through beforehand.

Well, I could just sit the cup to the side in the tent but of course it would inevitably be knocked over in the night and then I would have to falsely accuse our four-year old for peeing in the bed.

What? I sure wouldn’t want to own up to that. And our four-year old does wet the bed on occasion so it would be totally believable.


Or I could pour it right outside the tent. But that doesn’t seem appropriate with us walking in that area.

So, I swallowed my pride, unzipped the tent a little, and called,
“Hey, Carl. Um, could you come here a minute.”

I handed him the almost- overflowing cup, to his horror, and asked him to go pour it in the woods. He told me that I was “disgusting” but then slowly walked, trying not to slosh, to the woods like a good little husband.

After a minute, I heard him call to the other dad. “Hey, come here and look at this!”
Thinking I was about to have to punch my husband in the gut for showing my cup of pee to our friend, and also wondering what the heck was wrong with that cup of pee that made it interesting enough to call his friend over to see, I lay there frozen in terror.

Then I heard my husband say that there was an armadillo and two baby armadillos right behind our tent.
See, I knew there was a good reason for not going into the dark woods to pee. I would’ve most definitely been attacked by a vicious mother armadillo.

I’m sure armadillos attack. I mean, they wear armor, for gosh sakes. Right?

Finally, I managed to fall asleep. During the night it got cold. I mean C-O-L- D.

My two-year old and I were on one bed, and my husband and older child on the other.

My two-year old doesn’t give off that much body heat apparently. I had covered us with several blankets and a sleeping bag but seriously it just felt like I had covered myself with ice- cold sheets.

It was awful. I cuddled and cradled him in an effort to keep him warm. And myself, I’m not gonna lie.

I held his little feet the whole night.

When we awoke early the next morning, I noticed his feet looked like someone who’d been journeying across the United States barefoot for weeks. Without a shower. They were black. I mean, completely covered in disgusting smudge.

Those “sweet” feet that I had been ever-so-lovingly cradling the whole night.

Disgusting.

I desperately needed a shower.

My children desperately needed a shower.

It was time to go home.

Can someone tell my husband that a more appropriate gift for Mother’s Day next year would be a
reservation for one at a hotel.

No honey, I didn’t make a mistake. Just one. You understand, right?

Sometimes moms just need a little alone time. You feel me?