Last weekend Mountain Dad and I were excited to get outdoors on the first campout of the season. That excitement blinded us to the fact that camping with a two month old, three year old and six year old in the rain may be a tougher task than we were able to handle. We so wanted to get out! So what that the forecast called for rain all weekend. Surely it wouldn’t actually rain all weekend?
Thus began the worst campout ever. It started with rain while packing up, a registration mistake requiring a trip to the DMV and indecision on the destination. Our camping confidence was artificially inflated and instead of taking the downpour and DMV as omens of a terrible weekend we plowed on, thinking of the promises made to the preschooler and kindergartener.
We had decided to go to Fruita, Colorado because of its off road and mountain bike trails. Then the weather made us consider a destination in Southern Utah, but we ended up in Fruita after trusting too much on our phone’s up to the minute satellite weather report and taking a detour into a blizzard. Well, not quite but pretty cold and slushy.
We arrived late and hungry, set up camp and had a fire. I spent most of my time taking care of Mountain Baby leaving Mountain Dad and his brother to start a fire, set up tents, prepare dinner, cook, wash dishes and entertain Big E, little g and their cousin Eden.
Over the next few days the problems continued. We got lost. Little g refused to use the pit toilet. Rain kept us in the tent. One morning Big E puked. Mountain Baby needed to be held, fed and changed at the most inconvenient times. Kids fought. Parents were exhausted. We packed up in the rain. And on the drive back I had a minor accident, bending the metal on the trailer’s wheel well, just to add a rancid cherry on top of an already putrid cake.
Never before have I had such a hard time camping. Our family enjoys camping. We’re normally good at it. We have good gear. We eat good food. We all have fun. But sometimes it’s just not worth the extra work. Now I know. There is a point where getting outdoors just isn’t worth the extra effort.
I’m counting this trip as a learning experience. It would’ve been better to disappoint the kids and stay home on this one, but we couldn’t have known that when we started out. Now I’m implementing a three strikes policy. If three unforeseen problems arise on our next camping adventure it’s a sign that it’s not meant to be.
I like that rule of three strikes. I'm going with that too. I hope the next camping trip turns out much, much better for you all!
It is hard to be the "bad" guy a make the decision whether it is strike one or three. I don't mess around with the gut feeling. And explaining it to a child how the mom gut works is just plain hard.
I hope that all camp outs have baseball regulation rules but sometimes you have to break them or you break yourself!