Camping is, like, hard.

Dear husband and I decided to squeeze in one last camping trip this weekend.  I wouldn't call ourselves "campers," but we did buy a camper...to see if we liked camping.  It's kind of a long story. 

I tend to get a little ahead of myself.  I have visions of the way I want things to be.  Like the visions I had of sipping coffee in the early morning, yellow sun streaming down on us in thick blades that sing in heavenly chorus, "No where on earth will you experience a morning like this, except while camping."

And then there was my husband's illusion. When I asked him about taking the baby backpack to go for walks with Ralphie (read: keep him out of the fire pit), he very matter-of-factly stated, "Honey, camping is all about sitting around and doing nothing.  That's the whole point of camping.  We're not going to be walking around with a baby backpack."  Mm-hmm.

As I was trudging through the rain three separate times in the middle of the blackest night ever to take three kids (one-at-a-time) to the bathroom, reality brought my fantasy of camping to a halt that would give you whiplash.  I grumbled to myself, "We're paying for this??  We're actually handing over money to be here???"

Now, before you go thinking I'm a little princess who doesn't like dirt and all things nature, I'd like to say in my defense that I grew up tent-camping...and loved it!  That was before I knew about germs and how much babies like eating dirt and leaves.

The minute we landed at our campsite, there was a torrential downpour.  No, I'm not exaggerating (that much).  More rain fell than has ever been known to man in a single thirty minute time period (in my scientific estimation). 

Dh and I were trying to get the camper "popped-up" (if only it were that easy!) while Ralphie, who had self-induced red spots all over his face from crying, wailed to get out of his car seat. 

Nonetheless, we did it.  With many words flitting about in my head that I will not share with you, dear reader. 

Next battle: getting ready for bed.  I walked to the bathroom, pajamas in tow, and found the least disgusting changing stall I could.  There was a hook.  Oh, blessed hook. 

I found a semi-clean spot on the bench and very strategically placed my pajamas on it, taking great pains to avoid that lurking stray hair.  (Cue scary music).  I hung the days clothes up on the hook and then put my pajamas on (in hindsight, I should have hung my pajamas on the hook) and as I looked down, I realized that the hair was gone!

Stuck to my pajamas, no doubt.  I gagged.

On to the potty.  Be brave, I told myself, after carefully lining the toilet seat with toilet paper (sorry if this is TMI).  Looking over, I spotted a big-stripey, winged disgusting little creature with his antennae pointing right at me...and his beady little eyes boring holes in to my very soul.  One false move and it was over.  He had me right where he wanted me.

It was a face-off.  I moved deliberately, but slowly. 

I made off without the bug trying to eat me. Barely.

When I came back and shared this hellish ordeal with my husband, he mockingly said, "Honey, you're like Goldie Hawn in the movie, Overboard, and I'm like Kurt Russell."  Eye-roll. 

I want to like camping.  I really, really do.  It has the potential to be fun (does that sound convincing?) and is affordable for a family of six.  And maybe I'll like it a little more when Ralphie is one year older. 

And I'm one year braver.

Got any good tips for roughing it with kids?  Are you a camper?  Have any good camping stories?  Is there hope for someone like me? ;-)