I love camping

A few months back I made reservations for our family to go camping at a nearby campground for Mother's Day weekend. Brian and I used to go camping BC (before children), but have only taken the kids twice in the past 8 1/2 years. Going to a nearby site for some leisurely car camping seemed a good way to ease back into things.

I was first struck by just how much *crap* you end up packing for two nights of luxury camping with kids. When Brian and I were dating we'd often decide to go camping at moment's notice. We'd run about gathering what little we needed, dump it in the back of my 1985 Mazda GLC hatchback, and hit the grocery store on the way out of town. This past Friday we barely had room for the dog, two kids, two parents, and half our wordly posessions in a Toyota Sienna minivan with half the seats removed. Go figure.

If you'd stopped by Saturday afternoon around 4pm and asked us how our camping trip was going, we would have been all smiles. We'd have told you that we made it through our first night with just some light sprinkles, and that the overcast skies were doing nothing to dampen our spirits. We were warm, dry, and well-fed. Camping consisted mainly of the following activities: a)building a campfire, b)snacking, c)making the fire bigger, d)making, and eating, more food. We also took lots of walks down to the lake, played at the playground, and went on the nature trail. All was well.

Then Saturday evening came.

At some point I was walking back from the restrooms on my way to ask N. if she wanted to do the nature trail with me, when all of a sudden, out of the blue, a giant bug flew into my eye. It was excrutiating. I stopped in my tracks and put my hand to my eye as it flooded with tears. My body's only defense against this unwelcome invader. No matter what I did, I couldn't get the feeling to go away. Brian comes at me with black, sooty fingers, fresh from stoking the fire, and offers to take a look. He gives this assessment: "I don't see anything. It must be out already." I think he saw that those comments were unwelcome, as I continued to clench my flaming red eyeball and puffy eyelid, with tears streaming down my cheek. Brightly, hubby suggested an eyewash, and proceeded to crack open a bottle of Arrowhead springwater. He then apologized as most of it poured onto my shirt. At that point I went back up to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and sure enough, I couldn't see a thing. Resigning to ignore the now constant discomfort, I tried to go about my camping business. Finally, at dusk hours later, while sitting near the fire, something must have shifted because I was gripped by a searing pain in my eye again. I trudged up to the restrooms once again, flipped my eyelid inside out, and found the cause of my trouble - bug parts stuck to the underside of my eyelid. Once removed, I felt much, much better. I enjoy nature, but it doesn't belong in my eye.

We poked around the fire some more, ate s'mores, cast shadow animals on the outside of the tent wall, and eventually N. and I decided to turn in. Not five seconds after making that wise decision, the sky opened up and began to pour. The boys and trusty dog quickly followed suit.

Now when preparing for this camping trip, we'd heard the forecast calling for rain off-and-on over the weekend. I had dutifully gone to REI to purchase appropriate waterproofing applications to apply to our tent and make it an inpenetrable fortress. Or so I thought.

The rain continued to pour down. Not the soothing sound of a light pitter-pat on the rainfly, but the kind of deluge that makes you wonder if you should maybe get off your duff and build an ark. Every hour or so I would wake up and hear only more rain. I found myself happy on some level that I'm blind as a bat without my glasses on, plus it was just plain too dark to see what was happening around me in the tent. I also fought back the need to pee, which was not helped any by the sound of water all around us. I crossed my legs, hunkered down in my sleeping bag, and dozed off once more - the logistics of making it up to the restroom in the pouring rain, and trying to stay dry were too exhausting.

Waking once again, I couldn't take it any longer. It was 4:45am, and there was no sunlight in the tent. I grabbed my eyeglasses and the flashlight so I could find my shoes and raincoat. It was then I caught my first glimpse of what had been taking place as we slept. I could see that water had been dripping down onto N's bag, but didn't appear to be soaking in. Our dog was curled up as tightly as possible in the only dry place he could find - there were puddles all around him on the floor. I went up to the bathroom, returned to the tent, climbed into my bag and pulled the covers over my head. There was no use worrying about it in the dark.

To be continued...