Thursday, 25 April 2013

Camping. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Working on this formula: 

wind speed + tent size x (number of children + excitement level)= number of swear words per minute.

I came up with 246 in a one hour period, but maths isn't my bag so it is possibly more. 

Once again the Starrs went camping solo and we've made the decision to not do that again until Jude is a little older and we figure out how to keep Nate occupied at the campsite. It really isn't relaxing at all with Nate. I think he has some ideological aversion to sitting in the one spot for longer than a minute. We couldn't even sit and eat, he'd bolt down his food and he was off. Our next camping trip will be with people and somewhere right on the water so I can supervise from my deckchair under the awning. See that tiny speck in the distance? That is Nate exploring the beach, the nearer speck is Willow chasing him and at this stage I've had enough and am just keeping a record of his whereabouts for search and rescue.

Next add in whinger. Jude isn't happy unless we are all doting on him and giving him 100 percent undivided attention. When I found out I was pregnant with Jude I was so worried he'd miss out just because of all of Nate's extra needs, but I really shouldn't have worried. He demands attention at all times. As the photo above shows, Jude requires a minimum of sixteen hours physical contact per day, sometimes more. If for some reason we are being unreasonable and aren't toting him about, he'll do this.

Follow and whinge. Do it long enough and Mum caves and picks him up. We're not talking a few minutes, I've tried shutting his whinging out and all it results in is head splitting screams. I'd rather have him on my hip.

Willow is an excellent camper. She knows the importance of sitting in a deck chair and enjoying the serenity. She'll draw pictures in her books and write stories, then she'll run about in the dunes being a wild kid and paddle in the ocean. She's like the ideal camping kid, with one exception. Bed time. This isn't just a camping phenomenon, we get it at home as well. Her brain just doesn't know how to shut off and even though we've taught her breathing exercises and given her meditation cds to listen to to go to sleep, she sucks at telling her brain to stop. 

It wasn't the best camping trip, but it was no poogate, so I can't complain. We remembered the dummy, it only rained once we were in bed, and we didn't lose anyone. While it was exhausting to chase the boys like that, seeing this made everything worth it.

As to our dream of travelling Oz in a camper trailer, I think that is on hold until we can afford an actual caravan with triple bunks, shower and a toilet... and DVD players and maybe a maid...