Camping in the Rain

I love camping. It’s a chance to “get away from it all” while sharing close-quarters “family time”. A good camping experience includes being packed like sardines in a tent, sleeping on the ground, going potty in the bushes, taking colder-than-Africa showers (if you bother to shower at all) and listening to I’m hot, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m bored while walking the same trail you walk each year. But I’m ok with all of that, because like Africa, I can breathe when I’m out camping.

What camping is NOT supposed to include is rain. Or being a single-parent mom in charge.

Here’s the deal. We have to book our camping site a couple of months in advance, or the campground fills up. (Yes, really). So we scour the calendar for the *perfect* weekend, secure our favorite spot, and pray like crazy that nothing else comes up and the weather will cooperate.

No such luck this year.

First, it was raining. Not enough rain to cancel, mind you. But just enough drizzle to make things really messy and miserable. Ugh. Second, turns out our camping weekend was also graduation weekend for Wesley’s cousin…so yeah. I got left alone. At the campground. With children. In the rain.

Ok, I’m such a whiner! Wes did drive us there and get our tents set up really quick before he bolted off. I didn’t have Hannah, and as every mom knows, every outing is exponentially easier without the “poose” of the group there. (She had been visiting the grandparents; Wes would bring her back with him when he returned in the wee hours of the morning). I knew how to work the gas stove for supper if I had to. I was wearing a rain jacket. And I had brought my secret indulgence this time…a queen-sized blow-up mattress to go under my sleeping bag. Walk in the park, this camping trip, even in spite of the rain. Right?

The first obstacle to tackle was the fire. Wes tried his best to get one started before he left, but the wood was wet and the best he got was a sizzle and a little smoke. He shrugged apologetically before he left. He really did look sorry, leaving me standing there. In the rain. Alone. With hungry kids wanting hotdogs and smores. With no fire. (I don’t harbor any bad feelings about this, of course).

So I did what any single-parent mom in charge of camping does. I made a fire. With wet wood and wads of dry paper towels. Oh, yes I did. I’m not even embarrassed to say that I pulled a Tom Hanks, beating my chest and dancing around shrieking “I…have made FIRE!” (We have pictures to prove it). The kids were cheering me and treating me like the hero that I was. It was awesome. I was almost feeling amiable toward Wes again for ditching me out here to fend for myself.

After dinner, I finally had the chance to go into my tent to set up the inside. Emily and I unfolded my brand-new air mattress, straight out of the box, and I reached for the air pump. I was a little apprehensive; I had wanted Wes to blow it up at home, just to test the pump and make sure it worked and all, but he hadn’t wanted to unfold the mattress and have to repack it. But I was still juiced from making fire, and was pretty sure I could handle this silly inflating business. Until I unwound the power cord coiled around the air pump. Power cord? An electric air pump? Really? ? &%*^&^&^!!!! (Fill in the blank for yourself here). The warm feelings toward my other half quickly turned back to animosity.

I got angry. I got upset. I fumed and pouted at my one very important comfort being ripped from me unfairly in this soggy, miserable vacation. My brain was going a million miles a minute. There had to be a way around this. The obvious would be to text someone near and dear to my dagger-throwing heart and tell him he better not come back without a way to fill up my air mattress. But no, another important part of the camping experience is no cell service for miles.

Emily quickly recalled seeing some other bozo who brought an electric air pump dragging his air mattress to the bathroom (where there is electricity and power sockets). He used his vehicle to haul the filled mattress back to his camp, which I obviously couldn’t do since I had been dropped off, but I had myself, 3 children and a load of attitude. This could work! Except…someone had not packed the nozzles that go with the air pump. JUST the useless air pump. And someone would have known this had someone bothered to test fill the air mattress before we left home. I was more deflated than the mattress. There was only one thing left for this single-parent camping mom to do.

Beg.

There was a huge group of folks tenting across from the bathrooms. Surely someone would be kind enough to lend me a battery pump? I swallowed my pride, forced Emily to walk with me, and approached the group. I was glad it was dark because I’m sure I was beet red (and as attractive as a wet dog) as I stammered out why I had just invaded their camping space with my presence. But I walked away victorious with a battery operated air pump and Emily and I shrieked again with glee when the mattress actually inflated. I was on a huge high now. I had made fire AND filled up an air mattress…in spite of being alone, at the campground, with children, in the rain, and with no battery air pump of my own. I didn’t have any extra batteries to spare, so I generously offered a $5 to the girl when I returned the pump. I was expecting “oh, that’s ok, you don’t have to do that” or “that’s so nice of you!” Instead, I got, “just put it on that chair over there with the pump”. Hrmph. Yeah, well. I guess I couldn’t really complain. I had my air mattress.

And other than the constant noises in the night (which I was sure was coons making off with all of our things), things went pretty smoothly after that. Wes rolled in with Hannah sometime around 3:30 am. He asked me how things went, and came bearing gifts. Starter logs and extra rolls of paper towels so we could build a fire for the next evening.

I genuinely laughed for the first time that night.

And of course then the rain stopped.