This holiday we are cracking out the tent. For a while I swore I'd never go camping again. Our only other camping experience with Nate was back in his nudist days. He spent the whole weekend in the sand dunes naked, while Andre and I took turns watching him to make sure he didn't take off and become lost to us, only to be found ten years later bounding somewhere near Lipson after being raised by kangaroos. There were times when I was tempted to let them. Once the gastro bug swept through my family and Nate shuffled from bed to bed, pooing in each one, it was time to squirt down and pack up. It was seriously the grossest holiday ever.
A couple of years passed and the trauma of camping trip number one had subsided. I bought a new tent since the family has grown by one since our last trip and packed the car to extremes I wasn't sure was possible. The TARDIS has nothing on our wagon.
It was a much more successful mission if you discount the forgotten dummy and beer. Actually, it wasn't all that successful because a ten month old without a dummy is a nightmare and a husband without a beer while cooking the barbecue is a close second. Nate woke up because of the flapping sound of the tent and was up most of the night so the next day we packed up and came home. So by more successful I essentially mean, I didn't have to clean up shit and Nate didn't run away. Booyeah! Celebrate every small step forward I say.
So here we are, six months later getting ready to attempt another trip. This time we won't forget the dummy, or the beer and we'll take some extra ropes in case the tent flaps too much. A friend and her kids are coming with us which should at least entertain the big kids so here is to hoping, or my clever pun starrtrekking (shut up, is so clever) is shit because there will be no trekking.
Cross fingers for us xo