I Hate Camping

I hate camping.

I used to like camping.  But I hate it now.  Why do we camp?  To see nature? I can see that without camping.  To get away? I can do that without camping also.  For peace? Nah.  Family time? Double Nah.

Don't get me wrong - I still camp, but I do it for my kids and Mr. Man.  They love it.  They fish, they ride bikes, they swim, they fish some more. They make fires and cook over the campstove. They love sleeping in the tent trailer and talking about how great a sleep they had the next morning.

Someone might say, "Oh, you should try REAL camping," but I've done it.  I've trekked through the woods, pack on my back, canoe over my head, and paddled to a site where you slept in a pup tent and pooped in a hole.  I've camped in the cold, wearing a toque at night and sleeping in a down feather sleeping bag to keep even slightly warm (and waking with a swollen face since I am allergic to feathers).  I have my badge in white water canoeing after a week of paddling, shouting, dodging rocks, and trying not to fall out as we tackled the rapids.  Never. Again.

That may have broke me.  Or perhaps it was that fall trip where it continually rained, and rained, and rained, until our feet sunk in the mud around our cooking station, and we could not do ANYTHING.

Or maybe it was last summer:

After several weeks of summer passing by, I realized the kids had not had a camping trip.  Mr. couldn't get time off work, so the kids and I went on our own.  Off we went to a beautiful site out of the way, right along Lake Ontario.  The site was covered in green grass and apple trees loomed overhead.  We were to have a wonderful three days.

Unfortunately, a storm had come up a few days before and knocked the majority of the apples onto the ground.  Painful on the feet.  Luckily we found a clear spot to set up the tent, and there was a picnic table to place everything on.  We strolled down to the beach, and played in the waves.  We went to the nearly museum to take a tour.  We sat under a maple tree and read books.  Mom even came to visit, and helped us with supper.

Then, it happened.  Little Miss fell on the tent.  Broken tent poles.  Her big brother and I tried to rig something up to keep the dome upright, but to no avail.  Of course, Lil' felt terrible. Finally a kindly gentleman came over from a nearby site, and with his magic toolbox, attached the tent poles temporarily so we could sleep at night.  Several other neighbours offered us their spare tents.  All was well.

We heard that it may rain the second night, so the kids and I had purchased extra tarps to hang over the tent and the dining area.  We had plenty of trees to tie the tarps onto, but, alas, we couldn't quite reach them.  No matter how we wrapped or hung or strapped the ropes, it just wasn't as great as Mr. would have done.  But we were proud of ourselves.  Bring on the rain.

It wasn't until we were having lunch that the rain started coming down. And down. And down. Our tarps were dipping with pools of water so we took turns pushing a stick up to spill it out the sides. Geez, this was fun.  Eventually one of us starting questioning how long it was going to rain.

It just so happened that mom and dad lived close by, so we thought it wouldn't be too anti-camping to take a drive over to the farm.  Once it was agreed on, we couldn't get there fast enough.  As we jumped into the jeep, we could hear the water crashing off the stickless tarp roof.  It had given up as well.

Of course, it might have been the fact that the tarp was tied to the jeep...oh, good grief.

Pulling in to mom's place, we were soaked, hungry, and Little Miss was barefoot. She had lost a sandal in the lake.  All we had was what was in the jeep.  Food and books.  Life's importancies.  We spent the night wearing mom's clothes, sitting by the fireplace, and wondering how we would find the campsite next morning.

The rain never stopped until well after we were asleep.

Mom helped us pack up the next day.  Wet, gross, defeated, broken; just like I felt. The tent went into the garbage along with the frying pan (I had burned our breakfast).  Everything else was thrown into the jeep in a heap.  I couldn't wait to get home.

We've been on trips since then that have been cold, wet, and uncomfortable, and yet, some with sunshine, warm lakes, and wonderful breezes. Despite the situation, however, each time I ask the kids what they liked best, they reply,

"Oh, just...EVERYTHING!"

And so I vent to you, my readers, instead of my family, and continue to plan our mid-October trip...with gritted teeth.

Yours in self-sacrificing-ness,

Erin 

Little Miss and the Mouse

It is time for the 'tail' of a little mouse and a little girl who loved the mouse...

With the onset of spring, our homeschool science lessons had been taken outdoors, and both children were busy looking for insects, creepy crawly things, and, much to my chagrin, creating quite an insect zoo in the back room.

Suddenly, while I was busy reading (ahem), cleaning the house, the kids ran in, exclaiming that they'd found a baby mouse in the window well, and I should come and see it.

Knowing Little Miss and her lack of self control, I repeatedly reminded her not to touch it, throwing in, now and then, a comment about germs and rabies.

I arrived at the deep window well, and indeed, there was the most adorable, perfectly round, perfectly icky brown mouse, nibbling away on some little seed.  I have to admit the little girl came out in me and I suggested we feed it sunflower seeds.  After all, I thought, Mr. wouldn't want us touching it so we might as well...

Within a half and hour, Little Miss had found a tangerine orange crate, pieces of felt, and a bag of sunflower seeds, and made quite a home for 'Tit' - a name portraying Lil's innocence.

Despite my warnings about not touching it, I did hear her older brother squeal at her at least once, for getting too close.

Over the next 24 hours, the two kids watched, protected, and cooed over this little critter, who was too young to be afraid.  The snow fell, and they added more felt underneath the overturned orange crate; early the next morning, Little Miss put in a small dish of water, overjoyed by the ripples in it while Tit drank.  They were loving this.

Mr. was put in charge of breaking their hearts and setting it free.  He gave them the weekend.

It wasn't until that night, when tucking Lil' into bed, that things took a turn.

"Mommy, what is the first sign of rabies?"

Good grief.

"I mean, is it a rash on your tummy, or a sore throat?" as she fidgeted under her covers.  "What if an animal just scratches your skin?"

Grooaaaaann, I thought.  "I am getting your father," who was on Little Miss duty that day.  After we parents swapped positions and I went downstairs, I could hear the tears and the stern words coming from each of my redheads, and wanted to crawl under my own covers.

Apparently, she had not heeded my warnings, and had been bit by her Tit.  (grin)

Instead of confessing earlier that day when it had happened, her brother had told her to keep quiet, and now she laying in bed with an enormous fear of catching rabies.  Good grief.

Of course, now we could save the day, and become the amazing superheroes we were, at least for one night.  Mr. Man, with help from Mr. Google, explained that mice didn't have rabies, and when questioned, I realized the little beast had not broken her skin.  A huge hug, and another bedtime snack, and she was good to go.

Ironically, Tit was never seen again.  You can still see the remnants of the tangerine crate and pieces of felt, and any spare seeds that the birds have not picked up.  When you are visiting, Little Miss will show you the barren area for a small fee.

But never fear my friends, there were still insects to find, caterpillars to feed, and earthworms to dig. Within hours, the children ran into the house, crying out that "there was a bird stuck in the downspout and I MUST save it!"

But that's another story...

Homeschooling Little Miss. Wait, What?

Wow, it's been awhile.  Which means nothing funny has happened since the summer...

Totally not true, but life has certainly filled up.  Up to the top of my impeccable highlights. I did indeed survive a job interview - not the aforementioned, but another, later on in the year with a different location.  I am now away from my kitchen, helping others in pregnancy crisis's and organizing offices while pretending to be organized.

Oh yeah, I pull it off...and then saw things up when I get home.  You'll  only know what I mean if you've read my blog before...

And yet, just as I am delving into the adventure of the employed, God whispers in my ear, "It is time to be a teacher again: it is time to bring the kids home." Wait, What?  And then Mr. Man casually suggests the idea of homeschooling... and I am suddenly very excited.

You know me with schemes! And here they were ENCOURAGING one!  Woot!

Little Miss as the Innkeeper at Christmas

So, it's been awhile, my lovelies, because I have been sailing the schooling seas, learning how to once again be a full-time mom to Little Miss and Mr. Junior, PLUS keeping my new job!

So how do I do it?

I don't know...but it's Friday and we seem to be fine, have learned stuff, and the job office is still organized.  But then, again, the house is completely trashed.  Hopefully Mr. Man is late getting home.

Funny things are happening again, and I can't wait to share them with you.  Picture Little Miss as a nine-year-old, wearing training bras and asking about deodorant!

Erin