We’ve had a drastic and sudden change in plans. Yes, the couplers really are coming, but the details will be coming after our Really Big Camping Trip.
Yep, you read it right. We are taking a 3-year-old camping. That might be stu-u-upid enough by itself, but wait! There’s more.
It’s November: very, very cold.
And on a beach: 3-yr-old wandering around dangerous surf.
At a campground that brags about the rattlesnakes and coral snakes. Oh yeah, and the hundreds of alligators.
With no planning, because we decided to go… today.
And — worst of all — no trains.
I am, officially, an idiot.
Oh, did I mention that he still sleeps in a crib at home, and I’m pretending he’ll take to a sleeping bag like magic?
And I don’t even have an excuse. I actually did this same thing last year, and it was a horrendous debacle. And I do mean debacle — ice, rain, hurricane-force winds, freezing temperatures, and no preparation on my part for any of those conditions.
I remember the park ranger, yelling over the storm:
“So, you think you’re gonna keep a 2-year-old chitlin alive in this madness?”
(Me, with utter confidence in my masculinity): “Oh yeah. No problem. We’re ready. And I brought a month’s supply of firewood.”
(Me, 24 minutes later): “Do you know where the nearest hotel is?”
“Yup, I figgered you’d be back, so I called to set y’all up in a room.”
(massive relief): “Oh, thank you, kind sir!”
“But they ain’t got no rooms left. No sir. Said the nearest vacancy was in Dubuque. 1,158 miles northwest. Just turn left at the sign that says ‘thanks for coming (idiot).’ “
I’ve pretty much erased from my mind just how bad that was. It took a year, but now I’ve started having these sweet dreams of how nice it will be to prance in the woods with my sweet little guy, searching for bugs and snakes, giggling in the warm sunshine.
Or in the ice storm, while being chased by alligators.
“Yup, nearest available room is Albuquerque, 2,414 miles due west. [Under his breath…] Idiot.”