Camping for grownups

First, a few items of housekeeping:

This is Jamie.  Or rather, this is what Jamie looked like 14 weeks ago.  Now, Marianne and Frank (my sister and BiL) just had THEIR ultrasound done, and while their baby wins for Most Photogenic (seriously, that boy had the cutest smile I've EVER seen in an ultrasound picture), I firmly contend that Jamie wins for Biggest Frontal Lobe (thus dethroning me).  Also, please note her pugilist's fists.  I'll talk more about those in a bit.

Yes, the boys' room is a mess.  Yes, that's generally what it looks like (remember, we're talking about a pair of boys who don't understand why I go ballistic when I find out they haven't changed their underwear in two weeks...the laundry betrayed them).  Anyhoo, let's look past the massive clutter and see the cuteness.  Every night, the boys have a half hour of quiet time before we banish them to the darkness of dreams.  They use the time to read, as a rule, and Gabriel has decided to join them.  He finds a book and crawls in bed with Ethan to read it.  Every night.  It's adorable.

Now, on to the real reason we're here:  so you can hear about Camping in the Third Trimester.  Subtitled, Next Time, I Swear I'm Bringing a PortaPotty.

As it turns out, camping as a single girl at Lake Powell (which is the bulk of my camping experience) is radically different from camping in the mountains as a mom with three active boys and a girl fetus six-ish weeks away from being born.  Both are enjoyable, but they are completely different beasts.

Way back when, camping preparation consisted of me wondering why the heck my mom was so stressed out the week before the trip (with SEVEN kids and several of their unsupervised friends).

Now, camping prep is allowing my children to live another day when they complained because I asked them to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt (that *I* ultimately packed into the communal bag).  Also, not rolling my eyes when Jon complained that I over packed...which I DIDN'T.  If anything, I UNDER PACKED (and as a result, we didn't get to have the cobbler because we were missing some critical components). 

Then, my biggest stress while camping was trying to weasel my way onto the boat for the morning gas run so I could use the bathroom at the marina instead of the bubka tent.

Now, the fetus's pugilist's fists stripped whatever dignity I may have had left after giving birth to Gabriel as I spent an embarrassing chunk of time that afternoon planning the most efficient way to handle the inevitable middle-of-the-night bathroom emergencies caused by Jamie hogging up the space that used to be taken up by my bladder.


Then, entertainment while camping was typical lake fun during the day and campfire games at night.  Sometimes, we'd mix it up and recite the Little Mermaid by heart, including the songs (Jon can witness that my sisters and I can STILL do this.  And HE LOVED LISTENING.  Don't let the twitching fool you). 

Now, camping entertainment is cataloging all the ways my children can maim and/or kill themselves using nothing but nature.  I thought I had a pretty complete list at this point:

1.  Fall into the campfire
2.  Fall into the ragingly flooding river
3.  Get lost in the forest and eaten by a bear
4.  Sneak food into the tent and get eaten by a bear

Then I found out I missed one: 

5.  Get eaten by the chupacabra. 

Jon and I got back from a walk with Gabers (the other boys were too busy falling into the flooding river and being eaten by bears to come with) when we noticed what looked like blood from the bite mark of either a really big vampire or smallish chupacabra dripping down the nape of Gaber's neck.  I'm sticking with my chupacabra theory, although Jon is quick to point out it was a stupid chupacabra, because it missed the jugular and/or other major veins/arteries.  It was still disturbing, though, and we never figured out what caused it.  Talk about a campfire mystery.


Speaking of bears, I'm with Stephen Colbert.  Bears are on report.  After rationally calming the boys' fear of being eaten by bears during the night, I spent the night freaking out the that boys were going to be eaten by bears (or would sleep walk into the flooding river).  We were pretty clear about the NO FOOD IN YOUR TENT thing, so imagine my chagrin when I realized, the next morning, that Gabriel's diaper bag (which I rarely carry these days) was loaded with granola bars and fruit snacks to keep him quiet during sacrament meeting.  FACEPALM.  Thank heavens the chupacabra scared off the local bear population.

A few other things that make camping as a mom so unique...

Getting mad at the boys for declaring a hike to be "Boys Only" (and trying to exclude the Mirror-Alfred Daughters) and then laughing hysterically because the BOYS ended up picking flowers on the hike and reenacting the opening credits of Little House on the Prairie by romping down a rolling hill.  Hail, the conquering hero:

Also, as a single girl at Lake Powell, I never got to listen to a nine-year-old pout his heart out because his friends/brothers changed the rules of a game so they didn't favor him anymore:

I'm pretty sure Elijah's telling us to take him to shore.  (If you don't know, please don't ask.  It's not a proud moment for me)

At Lake Powell, I never got to watch my OCD toddler repeatedly move "his" camp chairs closer to the car...and then sit and stare longingly at the car and wait to be taken back to civilization.

The kids enjoying the Mario Big World-style marshmallows and the resulting Monster S'Mores

Ethan's version of a perfectly roasted marshmallow.  Gag.  I love the Marshmallow Smear all over Mirror Ethan's face.  Snicker.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I just checked my blood sugar and I REALLY need to go on a walk, so please pardon the abrupt ending...

Peace.