Newsflash: Camping Is NOT A Vacation!

I realize its the camping season and, yes, Target has been stocked to the gills with sleeping bags and portable stoves and cutesy little marshmallow roaster sticks, but camping is NOT a vacation. A vacation (as I understand it) involves going someplace and taking a load off, relaxing, enjoying a little time away from the daily grind and chores. Parking my ass in a forest without access to Starbucks or a microwave only makes my job that much harder. If my kids have to use an outhouse or public bathroom at a campground, this requires me to get off my lazy rear and escort them. I don't have to do this in the comfort of my own home. Hell, I don't have to do this in the comfort of a suite at the local Hilton. Camping as relaxation? Apparently, whoever came up with this idea had no children.

Early in my marriage, I put my foot down and refused to camp. I know, it sounds diva-like but my childhood camping experiences left a bad taste in my mouth and I had no desire to repeat them. I suggested if Kevin wanted to camp, he'd buy a motorhome and then I'd be happy to go wherever he wanted. Seemed like a fair trade to me except I hadn't been pricing recreational vehicles and had sticker shock when I discovered how expensive they were. So, we simply didn't camp...not without complaints, Kevin loves to camp and hike and thought I was being a whiny brat (I was! Nothing new about that.) Besides, the first five years we were married he provided me with a trip to Jamaica, two trips to Hawaii and two trips to Cabo. Why would I camp if I could lay on a beach with an umbrella in my drink?

Our children arrived and provided the answer to why people camp. Its cheap. It requires little in the way of supervising your children in public. Table manners are optional. So are showers. Eww. So long as the kids don't play near the campfire, feed the wildlife, or wander off, we're good. I still hate the idea but I've already been recruited three times this summer and its only July. Don't get me wrong, I like to immerse myself in nature. I just prefer to do it with flushing toilets, air-conditioning and electricity. Truth be told, if I could camp and still get room service, and complimentary turn-down service every evening, I'd be the first one in line. Instead, I avoid it until the pressure of two children and my husband becomes overwhelming. Either that, or until the gods decide to conspire against me.

First, there was the annual family trip to the Santa Cruz mountains. This should have been a walk in the park, so to speak, as it was late June and the weather was SUPPOSED to cooperate. It didn't. I froze my arse off, wrapped in a winter coat and wool scarf, tiny handwarmers in my pockets. The fact that dinner for the event was catered and entertainment provided, that we dined at actual cloth covered tables with real china and had appetizers, was of no help. My teeth were chattering at such a fast clip that I could barely chew. I tore open ten disposable hand warmers and placed them in my sleeping bag before retiring. They were ineffective. I forced my daughters to 'cuddle' with me in the tent all night, simply for the additional body heat. I did not, however, admit this to them.

It backfired when Kevin teasingly asked them the next morning if they'd caught sight of the bears running around the campground. Sophie raised her eyebrow at her father and told him (in front of 100 of my nearest and dearest relatives) "Daa-aad, that wasn't a bear growling, that was just mom snoring." My family erupted in laughter. So much for family loyalty. I was just glad we got through it without freezing to death. Oddly, I was the only one who complained of the cold. Does this mean I'm just a wuss? Probably. As my mother would say, "Oh well, think of it as building memories." Yeah. Sure.