In a few weekends we are going hiking/camping. I can almost see you over there, with the wheels turning. Where could you hike in Florida, you ask? I get it. There’s not a lot of change in altitude for us good ol flip flop wearing folk but it still counts as hiking when you’re walking through the woods and taking a lot of steps. This will be our first trip with a child on board for the overnight haul as the goal is that she gets a taste of the outdoors, demanding that we drop everything, get an RV and homeschool her for years as we live like a little nomadic tribe happily ever after in every park the US has to offer.
A mother can dream. I also wish sometimes that my child was the epitome of charming obedience but what’s childhood if you don’t tell inappropriate fart jokes in public and waggle your tongue at your parents sometimes? (She’s since learned that mom is not the one to do that to. Maybe.)
This camping trip is a test. Can we do this? Is family primitive camping going to be a thing in our lives? How much should I really be bringing to keep her busy. I’m thinking I don’t. I was only going to go as far as a lamenated sheet for “I spy” and see where that takes us. Bugs here are another story. There was an attempt over the holiday to test our defenses and I can’t figure out if mosquitoes are suddenly resistant to all things citronella or if they are so programmed to suck blood that suffocating to death mid blood flight means nothing to them. Just rows of little army men breaking through the smoky wall of pesticide and building up their confidence with each drop of a soldier in front of them.
I love camping but I have since become very drawn inward. Life has caused me to want to be in a bubble. I’m terrified of what ifs. I’ve said it before. This year I’ve been making steps…maybe in a few years I can look back and laugh at how freaked out I was. But in all seriousness, I can’t wait to get out there and enjoy it. Everyday is a push forward towards all the adventures.