Seriously: “Not Happening”
“I will never, ever go camping… I’m terrified of bugs (as is the daughter-sadly-in-training) and prefer room service over cooking eggs over a fire”.
Well, that was me a few months ago. That is, before going on a camping trip (trekking 3 miles into the forest with EVERYTHING ON OUR BACK including-about-10-liters-of-alcohol-to-aid-in-sleeping) with my oldest son, a handful of my BFFs, and their boys.
Circa last night, midnight, hubs and I both have an epiphany. We realized most friends were at the beach for the weekend (hate them). I was peeing, I believe. Hubs was in Family Room. We both say at the same time (seriously, I couldn’t make this up if I tried), “What about camping tomorrow?” It was just understood that we both meant with all 4 kids… one of whom is a virgin out of the crib.
We hadn’t intended on bringing the dog (a 65 lb. Chow Chow) at that moment… but she’s with us now.
So far, so good. And, for some reason, being so frugal ($20 bucks, vs. $200 for a hotel room) makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. The Financial Peace University is taking a toll on us — in the best way possible. The organic excitement BEAMING from the kids’ hearts and souls is… (this is so cliche…) priceless.
Getting some pics, and film, from my new camera that shoots video (hubs is PISSED at this purchase); however, I have a great (and I mean GRRREEAAAT) excuse. I can’t decide if I’ll torture you all in a few days, or not.
Wait, gotta run… 2 year old is (literally) catching a catfish as I type… and 4 year old is simultaneously taking a dump in the woods. Better pay attention!