Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: Three Failed Mommies go Camping

Those who know me reasonably well know that I don't camp.  It's not that I can't camp - in fact, I'm  pretty good in the bush.  At a very young age my parents taught me how to build a fire without using lighter fluid or gasoline, how to make a shelter and how to cook bannock on a stick.  Every summer was an incredible adventure of pup tents and fresh fish shore lunches way out in places accessible only on horseback or on foot.  These experiences were truly a gift from my parents and I treasure the memories to this day.  And I firmly believed it when they told me that people who stayed in tent trailers or motor homes in "campgrounds" were not really camping (although I eventually figured out that they were just saying this because we were poor!).

Despite all the fun, I grew to dislike camping as I hit the teenage years.  The only thing worse than being an awkward teenager is being an awkward, unwashed, teenager.  I listened with envy to stories from school mates who had just stayed put for the summer, staying up late, reading trashy magazines and sleeping late in the morning.  Better yet were the tales of going away to summer camps with showers and flush toilets, mess halls and, best of all, no parents.  In any event, as soon as I moved away from home, I quit camping.

Camping is a popular activity in Name-of-Town-Withheld.  There are lakes, campgrounds and wilderness areas to suit those of all camping abilities and it's not hard to understand why people would be attracted to the shores of a lake or the warmth of a campfire, even for just a couple of days.  Still, I have until now politely declined all invitations to do anything that even resembles camping, citing everything from migraines to a burning desire to clean cupboards just to avoid heading to the great outdoors.  Kids, however, can convince you to do many things that you said you never would, and for me, camping is one of those things.

Last year, my friends Deb and Vicky, two founding members of the Failed Mommies Club, and both seasoned field scientists, organized a camping trip, with just mommies and kids.  They invited me and I responded with a diatribe about how much I hate camping.   The reports that came back about the trip were intriguing, however.  They ate and drank like queens, had lots of laughs, and the kids had a blast.  My kids asked my why we didn't go, but I couldn't come up with a good reason.  As I thought more about it, I came to the conclusion that I should be teaching my kids how to build a fire and pitch a tent, and that I need to create the kind of memories for them that my parents gave to me, memories that can come only from spending time together by a bonfire, with no television, DS, DVDs or computers.  This year, when the opportunity came up, I seized it and I am so glad that I did.

I made a trip to Canadian Tire for a new cooler, self-inflating tent mattresses and a new sleeping bag for Daniel.  Between Deb and Vicky, the food and shelter was covered handily and I was put in charge of beverages, which required very little thought or organizational skills beyond how I was going to keep it all cold for two nights.

We had two tents:  The "Princess Palace", for the girls and Deb's new tent, nicknamed "Moon Base Alpha", for the boys and Deb.  

Moon Base Alpha, with its three pods and multiple exits, was the more intriguing of the two, and Janet and Linnea spent the better part of a day, I think, trying to get into what was largely a "Boys Only" zone.  They finally concocted a plan to be the boys' "servants" to gain access to the main Moon Base Alpha pod.  Their duties included fetching things for the boys and providing foot baths (with baby wipes) and foot and neck massages to each of Alex, Daniel and Christian.  Of this, Deb remarked "The feminist in me makes me want to have a talk with Janet and Linnea about why this is so wrong, but the Failed Mommy in me says 'Why bother?'"  As for me, I knew the kids were safe and happy, playing in what I had come to think of as "Failed Mommy Paradise",  so I stomped down my own inner feminist and took the opportunity to indulge in a People magazine. 

Going to bed on our last night, I started thinking that I could really get into the camping thing. The kids said they want to buy equipment and go out for a longer time next year, and perhaps more often.  I was having fun.  Sure, I was very dirty by this point, and I smelled of campfire, pork fat and Chardonnay, but I didn't really care.  I was having fun with my kids and my friends, playing cards, telling stories and making the kind of memories that you just can't get anywhere else.