In a few hours we'll be heading out to Pace Bend Park to camp for the night. We're going with a bunch of neighbors and friends. Only one other mom is going; all the rest of the grownups will be dads. I've tried my hardest to get out of it, but no such luck. B is insisting that I go - "It just won't be any fun without you!" he says. We'll see about how much fun it is with me.
It's not that I'm anti-camping, I just don't like sleeping in a tent on the ground in a sleeping bag. I like hanging out with friends at the camp site. I like taking hikes. I like relaxing without laundry and dishes and dirty floors starting at me. I like roasting marshmallows over the fire and making s'mores. I'd be perfectly happy to do all of that stuff and then go home to sleep in my own bed. I'd even volunteer to show up in the morning with hot coffee and doughnuts for all. But no, I'll be sleeping in a tent with the girls. Campbell is staying at his grandfather's house.
The last time we went camping, I climbed out of the tent, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, and asked my friend H how she slept. "Great!" was her answer. Then she added, "Of course, I took a sleeping pill." I wanted to sock her for holding out on me and not sharing the wealth. I've learned from her example, though, and I'm taking along a half xanax, which should conk me out for the night.
I'm also taking a book and my knitting. I'll let B deal with the girls and all the tent setting and fire building, and I'll sit and knit and read. And hope for rain so we can go home.