At some point in the past … let’s call it […]
At some point in the past … let’s call it January … a conversation started among ourselves and some of our friends about a camping trip for this summer. The discussion was about going in July. And in January I was still pregnant with Baby No. 4. And it was cold. And there was probably snow on the ground. And, well, July just seemed so far away. I am capable of doing basic math but apparently when I subtracted 2 (February) from 7 (July) and got 5 (the number of months old Baby No. 4 would be in July), I apparently didn’t see any problem with taking four kids, including a 5-month-old, camping for a long weekend.
BECAUSE I AM AN IDIOT.
Now July is here. And guess where we’re going today? Camping.
WHY? Why did I think this was a good idea? What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn’t thinking anything at all.
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I certainly wasn’t thinking about packing … clothes for warm weather, clothes for cold weather, bathing suits, wipes, diapers, pull-ups, pajamas, shoes, extra shoes, sunscreen, bug spray, food, snacks, formula, bottles, sleep sacks, sleeping bags, bikes, towels … so much packing is required for camping. And it’s not like a normal vacation where we’re a stone’s throw from a store. This is camping. There isn’t cell phone service, and there certainly isn’t a Walmart.
Then our sprinkler system exploded, so my poor husband has been dealing with that for the last three days. Because when you live in the Wild West, it doesn’t rain, and if you don’t water your plants with the sprinklers, they die. And when you have a sprinkler system like ours, it is out to kill you and completely destroy your way of life.
So as I sit here and type this, my husband is outside testing the sprinklers to see if they’re fixed. Because if they’re not, we can’t go camping. Part of me is bummed about that, and part of me thinks it’s OK. Especially when you consider that I still haven’t packed for the baby, and we haven’t grocery shopped. And we’re still short a sleeping bag.
So, you know, we’ll see what happens. Wish us luck as we embark on a three-night camping trip with four kids under the age of 7. We’ll probably survive. And if not, learn from my mistake and DO NOT agree to go camping. Like ever.