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I don't like camping. There, I said it.

Camping I finally got the email I dread receiving every Spring: "Campsite Reservations Now Open".  Oh, sigh.

For a long time after, I put off my husband about it, because I was absolutely sure he'd want me on the website that very moment reserving a campsite for as long a stay as we can get away with.  I was hoping that, if we wait long enough, the sites would book up, leaving us with only one or two days to camp instead of -- gasp! -- 2 weeks.

Damn you, Cruel Fate, for making me fall for the Boy Scout, the Outdoors Man, the dude who relished catching and cooking a freshly-killed chicken with his bear hands after 24 hours without food during Survival Training!

Oh, I went on camping trips as a child.  I even enjoyed them.  But those events would hardly be called "roughing it".  My parents and I always camped with other families, and it was more like a filipino backyard barbeque with big pots of adobo, caldereta, and pansit.  A rice cooker was ever present, and hot dog weiners roasted over a fire was almost an after-thought and only for the kids.  Instead of nature walks, we'd spend the entire day playing volleyball at the beach.  We would stay no more than one night.  And at the first sign of rain, we were outta there, which was, of course, fine with me.

You see, I'm a city girl.  I love my soft cotton sheets, my microwave, my internet.  Sushi and lattes should be less than 2 hours away.  I like putting on my contact lenses in sanitary conditions.  My shower must be used by no one else but me and mine.  I enjoy being warm and dry.  And I prefer substantially more than a flimsy sheet of nylon between me and the elements, noise, and -- good heavens -- bears!

It's not that I don't like nature.  I love nature.  I just don't like waiting in line to use the toilet.  I don't like people knowing when I'm changing into my bathing suit.  I don't like going outside into the morning chill to get my cup of green tea.  I don't mix well with wasps and mosquitoes.  And I don't like being frightened awake at the sound of my husband yelling "Raccoons!" from the tent in his feeble attempt at shooing our masked midnight interlopers.

If I don't go on another camping trip for the rest of my many days, I'd be perfectly content.

On the other hand, I don't want my tastes and preferences to interfere with my kids' enjoyment of the outdoors.  I want them to grow up knowing the crisp clean morning air free of car exhaust, the sweetness of freshly-made, fire-roasted marshmallows, and the majestic display of stars that can only be seen far away from the lights of the city.  They need to cultivate a healthy respect and appreciation for the natural world and learn basic survival skills, such as building a fire, shelter, and finding food -- maybe even how to catch and cook a chicken with their bare hands! 

So, yes, I will continue to try and bite my tongue and plan these annual camping trips for my family for as long as the kids find it cool to camp with their parents or until they're old enough to camp with their dad while I stay in town at a spa.

In case you're wondering, I eventually mentioned the campsite email to my husband, but at the time, we had no idea when we could get away.  We now have his vacation confirmation, but I have a feeling he's forgotten about booking the site. 
I guess I'll remind him about it... someday.

.: This is an original Canada Moms Blog post written by Nenette AM who also blogs about her front yard garden, life-improvement, and her funny family at Life Candy.  Nenette suggested camping in the front yard garden -- she was vetoed by her family.


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