“I think we just accept we’re going to be miserable for a long time until one day it pays off and we realize all this was worth it .
I mean, come on, we’re making memories.”
Wise words said by my husband as he stood in ankle deep water in the pitch black, packing up our tent trailer, as rain poured on us and a certain 9-month-old wailed from the truck.
We’ve decided to be a camping family…or maybe it’s a family who camps?
We bought a tent trailer right before Memorial Day and then proceeded to get completely rained out several weekends in a row. Two weekends ago we finally made our inaugural trip up into the ‘mountains.’
The boys rode their bikes, we had campfires, went for walks, threw rocks into the lake, explored a few (easy) trails, ate hot dogs. And let’s keep it real: we had very little sleep, we yelled at our kids. We drank a lot of coffee. We did a fair amount of gritting our teeth, but really and truly, it was fun.
Encouraged by our mostly successful first trip, we set out again. All started well. We met our friends, the kids were happy, the beer was cold and the weather was hot hot hot.
Cue Scarlet crying inconsolably all night long. And then the thunderstorms started, quickly followed by hail and rain. So much rain. The boys were troopers, watching movies on the iPad and riding their bikes through giant puddles in between storms. After each storm, the sky would clear and we would think, ok, this is it, it’s stopping, we’ll be fine. And then it would start again.
Finally in the pitch dark, in the pouring rain, as Scarlet cried and cried; I raised the white flag. No more. Time to go home.
And I’m so glad we did. But I’m also excited to head out again. In fact, I’m itching to try again. I want this for our family. I want these memories. I want the kids to remember the hustle and bustle of packing up, the anticipation of getting to our camp site. A couple of days, just us as a family, squashed together in a little trailer (that leaks a little and maybe smells a little musty).
I want the dirty feet and sunburned shoulders. I want sticky marshmallow fingers and sore legs from hiking and swimming and playing hard. I want memories imprinted into my children’s minds; our family together.
For Aaron and I, it’s a few more years of hard work. I need to remind myself of that. But already, we see the fruits of our labor. And if we get rained out and the baby cries, then ok, we’ll head home, regroup and try again next weekend.