C is for Camping

For some unknown reason, the good Lord blessed me with a husband who loves to go camping.  And, along with that husband, there came an entire family . . . they also love to camp.  I mean, I guess camping is alright . . . but let's put it this way:  If someone were to tell me that my husband suddenly grew a strong distaste for camping overnight and we would never go camping again,well . . .  I would not shed a tear. My idea of camping is a quiet, relaxing trip.  Perhaps we would sit by the fire and read?  Maybe sit by the lake and read?  Maybe just sit anywhere?  But, no.  This family I married into . . . they are too adventurous to just sit around. This is our main camping group:  all of my inlaws plus my parents. We go on hikes.   Exhausting hikes, as my husband is so aptly demonstrating.   David:  Hey, Alex!  Did you bring your gray Carhartts?

Alex:  Of course I did, Bro!

David:  Did you bring your white t-shirt?

Alex:  You know it!

David:  Let’s wear them for our hike!

Alex:  Sounds good, big bro!

David:  Did you know that I have the most wonderful wife in the world?

Alex:  Yes.  You are truly a lucky guy.

(Or something like that.)

We go fishing.  But in order to go fishing, we are required to hikes miles upon miles (ok, maybe 2 miles) to secret, hidden mountain lakes. Fishing is always exciting for little boys. Fishing is, however, disgusting for my kin.  As my mother, is so aptly demonstrating. We must search endlessly for huckleberries.  Oh, how I loathe the huckleberry picking.  You search for hours and this is your harvest: See?  Bountiful. But, perhaps the most vexing component to this whole camping nonsense is my husband's parachute. What's that?  Your husband does not have a ginormous parachute that he insists on hauling around to each and every camping trip and nearly kills you each time you are FORCED to help him set it up? Well, dear readers.  Allow me to share with you how a typical "parachute install" goes. 1.  First, I complain. 2.  Next, I point to the sky and challenge my husband to find me one raincloud. This, however, is an exercise in futility.  For, you see, dear readers, my husband is known by his fellow campers for his parachute.  And he cannot disappoint the people. Even if his darling wife sees no point in it. 3.  We exchange "words." "Words" such as this little convo from a parachute "incident" from awhile back: Me:  What do I do?

LJ (short for Lumberjack . . .keep up, people!):  Just hold the pole while I tie down the parachute.

Me:  It’s moving!  It’s moving!

LJ:  That’s fine.  Just hold it straight.

Me:  It’s not going to hold.  Kids!  Everyone sit at the picnic table!

Kids:  Why?

Me:  So we don’t crush you.

The girls listen, the boys do not.

My parenting skills amaze even myself.

Me:  David.  This is going to fall.

LJ:  No, it is not.

Me:  Yes.  It is.

Now, something has gone amiss with the parachute and it is covering my face, limiting my visibility and breathing.

Most importantly, I cannot see my children and I am holding up a huge log that is about to fall and crush my babies.

Me:  It’s falling!  It’s falling!

LJ:  Just let it drop!

Me:  The kids?  Where are the kids?!

LJ:  Just let it drop!

I held on for as long as I could and I pulled about 4 muscles trying to get it to stay up.

Using all my might, I was able to hold it up for about 6 more seconds, and then it came crashing to the ground.

And I did what any mature wife would do.

I unearthed myself from under the massive parachute and loudly informed my husband:

"I NEVER WANTED THIS KIND OF LIFE!"

LJ:  Ha!  Look everyone is staring at you now!

Yes. It was true. The whole campground was watching us.

One man was even taking pictures with his camera phone.

***

So that was fun.  But, it's true.  I never did want this kind of life.  Yet, here I am.  A camping regular.  And good news!  We might have our first camping trip in a couple of weeks.  Because it is so normal to go camping in April.  Especially when it snowed here two days ago.

Good times, my friends.  Good times.

Alright.  So "C" was for Camping.

What should "D" be for?

Thoughts?

Happy Tuesday!