Camping - Days 1 and 2, and the precursor to the EIGHT POINT ONE SIX mile run.

As I previously mentioned, we spent part of last week ... camping *gasp*.  Those of you who have been around for awhile may remember that camping was on last year's Summer Bucket List as one of those things that I never, ever wanted to do but felt like I should at least experience.  Oh, and did I experience it.  It was, quite possibly, the World's Worst Camping Trip. You can read about when history's first landlocked tsunami soaked our entire campground and we were sleeping with the fishes in the way that Tony Soprano (may he rest in peace) never meant to be taken literally at all.  And maybe I did leave the campground in tears that first night, but I also returned only to be told the most horrifying chamber pot story and coincidentally, the only chamber pot story in my repertoire. Also, the sweet little stroll in the woods with my eight year old just barely missed being turned into the fodder for Blair Witch Project II.

After all that craziness, what in the world could possess me to go camping again? In a word, peer pressure. (Dude, I totally know that was two words.)(But "in a phrase" just doesn't have the same flow.)(Story for free? Anytime I say the word "flow" I think "flo" in my head (redundant much, Kel, or do you sometimes think outside your head?)(shoosh your face*, Grammar Nazi) because it's just like Jonah Hill in Superbad - which I totally saw at the gym while I was running on the treadmill last night - when he says, "fo' sho, fo' sho" because he is so white boy ghetto and cool, all the same things I am in my head.)

So, back to camping due to intense peer pressure.  This peer pressure is the kind where everyone you know is going and your kiddos have been saying for a full year, "When we go to the church camping trip ..." and you just can't disappoint them about that. Disappoint them that, yes, we are having pot roast for dinner = yes.  But, no, we are not going to the camping trip because Mama prefers her bed and also electricity = no. That's just how parenting works, apparently. (Kelly must totally rock at Boggle.)(I do.)

We bought our own tent this year and took three cots; I totally finagled the big cot for myself.  It used to belong to Brian's dad and is an XL. The thing is the same size as an XL twin bed. So it totally made sense that the grown up who is 5'3" should sleep on it as opposed to the 6'+ man of the family. (For the record, I only had it one night. Then I gave it up so the hubs could stretch out because love and marriage, y'all.)

The weather was absolutely perfect.  It turns out that the weather actually affects how much fun you will have and the ease at which you will camp.

We arrived Thursday morning, set up our campsite, and ate some rockin' soynut butter and jam sandwiches. (Don't get too jealous of our peanut allergy, er'body.) We toured the campgrounds, mostly visiting with the other families that had already arrived, and I made sure we visited one family in particular.

Derek and Asako are the closest thing to professional campers that I know.  They cook everything over the fire, chop their own wood, and, most importantly, wake up early enough to entertain Esther so that she doesn't wake up the entire campground because maybe her internal volume is stuck at 10. (Dude, I'm not even kidding. When we had Ezra, all the kiddos came to the hospital to help transport us home and one of the nurses, after spending a few minutes with us going over my discharge papers asked if Esther had hearing problems. She's *that* loud.) While at Derek and Asako's campsite the kiddos do fun things like:

Dance while Derek plays a jig on his violin.

Chop wood.

After visiting, we spent some time at the beach, letting the kiddos run back and forth between the water, sand, and the playground.  It was exhausting fun. It was so exhausting fun that when we returned to the campsite to cook our dinner this happened:

Oh.my.lanta. So cute. This is after the pre-nap tantrum that involved Ezra completely losing his marbles over  "Mama hold me!"  *picks up Ezra*   "Mama NO hold me!"  *puts down Ezra*   "MAMA NO LOOK AT ME!"  *turns and walks slowly away*   "MAMA HOLD ME!" (Repeat)

After pounding a campfire grilled hamburger I put on my trail runners and hit the road. I normally only wear that particular pair of shoes when I am biking or taking a fitness class, but I thought I'd pack them for my campground runs. The campground was insanely hilly, and most of my run was going to be on dirt road. I'd mapped out a 4 mile run on Map My Run and set off with a full belly and gorgeous scenery.

It's always nice running in a new environment, especially one that peaceful.  I was back in the woods for a while and saw a pond and heard a hidden stream. Around mile two I felt the rock in my shoe.  It felt small and I only had two more miles to run, so I decided to tough it out and just finish my run.  By the third mile I decided that was a stupid plan, stopped, and took off my shoe and sock.  There was no rock. It was like a phantom rock. At that point I was pretty sure that I'd been bitten by a tick, you know, deep inside my shoe between my pinky toe and the one next to it (ring toe?) because weird pain in the woods is usually linked to Lyme Disease and we all know that is the Drama Queen logical conclusion to draw when your toe hurts. I finished my run confused but fairly certain life as I knew it was over.

Then I got back to camp, took off my shoes, and forgot about my toe pain because it went away.

The next day was full of fun.  I went to Wal-Mart right away because I didn't get the memo where you are supposed to bring junk food on a camping trip, and I was tired of my kiddos begging the families with delicious snack food to love your brother as yourself and share your Kit Kat's. (The good old church kid guilt trip, one mini candy bar at a time.) I stocked up on food that would win back my children's loyalties (except for Ezra because my friend Carrie has thoroughly stolen his affection with her amazing homemade cookies), and drove back to camp, passing the greatest temptation of my life.

180 miles of yard sales. On my route back to camp. I had two dollars cash on my person.

(One hundred eighty miles= minimum 50 sales between Wal-Mart and the campgrounds.)

The family was waiting for processed sugar me back at the campsite. I grudgingly returned thinking, "I'll just go tomorrow. I'm sure Sister Wife Rachel will go with me." (For the record? Totally never happened.)(Moral of the Story? Always carry at least $20 in Emergency Yard Sale money at all times.)(Because really, that's just being responsible.)

Day Two of camping was filled with adventures.  Stay tuned for Monday and the story of how I was almost Eaten By the Deadliest Arachnid within a two foot perimeter of where I was sitting. Thank God I lived to tell the tale. (On Monday, that is.) Also how I ran EIGHT POINT ONE SIX miles (because have I mentioned that anywhere yet?).

Have a great weekend!

*"Shoosh your face" - probably my new favorite expression and brought to you by Sue Diamond-Phillips, Diapers ... or Wine?