Shoulda never taken him to Chickasaw last week. That's what started this whole long to camp thing.
In a moment of compromise this week, I reluctantly agreed to one night of camping. With a five month old. In the cold. Because for some reason it is May and in Tennessee? It was 46 degrees. What in the world?
So camping with his family we went. Complete with his parents' RV in a campground in Mississippi. The compromise was this:
1. We will not stay for 87 nights like they are. (Read: all weekend long. I can handle a night of it at first. Maybe more later on if I'm not too miserable being surrounded by wilderness for more than 24 hours.)
2. I will not in any circumstance be sleeping on the ground. (Read: I get a bed in the RV, a cot, or something elevated.)
Did I mention I slept by a window directly above this? Not sure how I missed both things happening overnight. I think if my nephew hadn't talked so much about it, I would have thought Mr. C made the whole thing up.
He just smiled and said, "Think of the memories I have from Micah's first camping trip that can never be replaced. That is the point of camping, Mrs. C. Now you've got a good story for your blog."
That I do. That I do.
Memories do abound indeed, and it wasn't quite as awful as I envisioned from college camping flashbacks. I did thoroughly enjoy the company, the bonfire, the fall-like weather, and the s'mores. The raccoons and wild dogs? Yeah, I could live without them, but all in all, I got to come home and take a shower. I didn't see the raccoons and wild dogs so I guess I'll chalk that up to a half win. But don't think I'm getting ready to pitch a tent every weekend, either!