I read bios of people who do things I never will – ultra marathoners, mountaineers, climbers, hikers – knowing I run the risk of being inspired but fully aware of my own idiosyncrasies. I don’t like pain, even the good kind you get from physical pursuits. I have the cardiovascular health of an obese elderly person. I am not a fan of discomfort.
Outdoorsy, I am not.
But strangely, I keep wanting to be. Some of my favorite memories are of being on a lake all day, camping for a weekend in the sand, playing in a creek near our rented cabin. I want my son to get to hang out outside as long as he wants rather than be shepherded away for mealtime or nap time.
I want to go camping. My declaration was greeted with a (smart ass, annoying, appropriate) response from Joey: “Have you ever camped?”
No, not as an adult. Or, well, ever in a tent where I had to bring said tent. Or with a kid. Or dogs. And no, I don’t know how we’d handle Javi’s need for whitenoisedarkroomsleepsackperfectsetting to sleep, nor have I ever slept in a tent with two dogs.
I’m sure we can figure it out! Maybe we’ll even discover it was totally worth the drama for the memories. Maybe not. Regardless, I wanna!
I have a plan:
Who knows, maybe we can even invite friends to bring their kids and dogs?
I know it’s kind of humorous that someone as city-ish as me wants this so badly. I know! I do, though, and having Javi along makes me want it even more.
Do you camp with your kids and/ or have fond memories of camping as a kid? Please tell me I’m not the only person who yearns for things that are totally out of character, perhaps romanticizing the grass on the other side?
Dirty kid. Happy mama.