A couple of weeks ago my husband got home from work and announced, ” We’re going camping this weekend!” I heaved a sigh. He heaved a sigh back at me.
Not that I don’t love camping. Not that I don’t love his spontaneity and eagerness to enjoy his days off. But I’d planned to get the house in order (who did that? who came in here and wrecked this place?), join a friend at a local conference, and cross off a few things on my to-do list (like watch all my dvr-ed tv shows in one beautiful sitting). I begrudgingly agreed to this camping trip and went about my week.
Then the morning we planned to leave, I did my usual: Frantically clean up the house (nice timing), panic and shove extra warm clothes in our bags (what if there is a sudden 20 degree evening such as the ones we have NEVER had in our area), snap at my husband, snap at my dog, snap at no one in particular because I felt unprepared (my fault).
I’m a delight.
And then we were off! Here’s a little peek into our camping weekend.
My Munchie loves camping. I think it’s because we started her camping when she was a wee 5 months along in my belly She’s also the best traveler-roadtripper-camper ever!
We had a fun, albeit short, trip and it was a nice way to welcome summer. I’m okay with the fact that my husband ruined my television watching, bathroom scrubbing plans. I’ll let it slide. Sometimes it’s just fine to leave behind the mess and the reality. Sometimes it’s the best thing to do. I started the trip with a headache. I swore (loudly) that the car ride, the ants, and the tent were going to make me feel worse. I was wrong. Sometimes spontaneity is just what the doctor ordered. Sometimes.