Mommy Perfect takes the family camping and my husband learns that camping is f*cking intense.  (Part 2 of 2)

Continuation from Part 1 in which we set out on a group camping trip to Walt Disney World Fort Wilderness Campgrounds.  We had just finished our first night there, waking to sore backs and tired heads.

Once the coffee and Advil had kicked in and we’d had breakfast, it was leisure time, sitting around sipping beers and chatting with the grown-ups while the kids kept themselves entertained.  After lunch the kids asked to go swimming at the public pool.  We looked at the map Disney provided us to see that the pool is in a location separate from our campsite loop.  Since we didn’t rent a golf cart, we got to walk there.  Mr. Perfect declared that he’s not coming.  I notified him that he was mistaken, he is in fact coming, and that since he didn’t want to rent the golf cart he gets to carry the bags.

I loaded up our beach bags with towels, sunblock,  water bottles and snacks, and off we marched to find the pool.  It was about a 15 minute walk to reach the pool — the Disney campgrounds are massive.  Guess who suddenly decided that we should have rented a golf cart after all?  Since we still had 3 more days on this trip and he had come to his senses, after the kids were done swimming Mr. Perfect took the bus up to the main office to rent a golf cart for the remaining days.  Surprise! — they were all sold out for the remainder of our trip.

For those who’ve never been, Disneyworld was built on a swamp.  Through earth-moving and landscaping they’ve done a good job masking this fact, but the facility is dotted with lakes and man-made canals linking all the bodies of water together.  They call them “rivers”, but its stagnant water; no flow.  Disney rents canoes for people to paddle around and pretend they are in a Davy Crockett movie.  These canals are about 20-feet wide from one shore to the other, with an embankment on either side, and we had one of these bluffs right alongside the edge of our campsite.  It was very pretty, especially at sunrise when fog would settle along the surface of the water and the sound of bird calls filled the setting; you peer half expecting Hiawatha to appear from the mist paddling his canoe in the pre-dawn light.

Around mid-day the 7-year-old boys were out riding their bikes around the campsite loop.  They would ride through our campsite, up onto the grassy bluff beside the canal (“river”), then back down to the road making a loop.  The bluff beside the canal was a broad, smooth, grassy section with plenty of space to ride.  I was sitting in camping chair by the canal sipping a hard cider and watching the boys in their mock BMX race, when suddenly one of my son’s friends named Cam steered a little too close to the canal-side of the embankment where the slope became quite steep, gravity took hold and he rode his bike right down into the canal, disappearing out of site under the murky brown still water.

I’m sure you remember that 2-year-old boy who was killed by an alligator at Disneyworld this summer (2016).  This canal is connected to the same lake where that deadly incident occurred.  The spot where Cam and his bike disappeared is at least 50 yards away from me.  I stood up urgently expecting to see a flock of adults rushing to him, but I realize that I’m the only adult around who witnessed the event.  I haven’t done a 50-yard-dash since high school, but off  I ran to the boy’s aid while shouting “help help”.  Fortunately Cam could swim and by the time I got there he was dragging himself back onto the grassy bank.  He was scared and crying, but unhurt, so I told him that was a neat trick, gave him a high-five, and helped walk him back to his campsite.   Fortunately no hungry alligators were involved in this story.  After that excitement Cam was not allowed out of his mother’s sight for the remainder of the trip.

The bathroom and shower facilities at the Disney campsites are very nice and clean, unlike most other campsite restrooms I’ve been to, and that night my husband decided he was going to take a shower.  As he tells it, on his way into the facilities there was a boy leaning against the wall beside the entrance door, giving him a very strange look as he walked in.  Mr. Perfect walked through to the shower area, there was nobody else in there, he stripped down and jumped into the shower.  Hot showers on a camping trip when you’re not the one paying the water bill tend to be a long ones.  He washed and rinsed and soaked his sore neck muscles, when he suddenly heard two women talking through the sound of the running water.  As confusion led into fear, he turned off the water and stood in silence listening to the unfamiliar female voices outside his shower stall — inside the building, not outside.  Realizing that either these women are in the wrong showers or he is, and that his towel and change of clothes are on the bench outside his stall, he stood still, wet, and silent, waiting for the sound of their showers to start up.  When he thought the coast was clear he tip-toed out of his stall, dressed himself while still wet, put his towel over his head, and charged out of the building.  As he walked out he looked beside the door at the obvious “WOMEN” sign attached to the brick facade.  The boy who was there when he entered was no longer standing beside the door, but the youngster’s head would have stood conveniently where the letters “WO” are.  Although Mr. Perfect claims to not have peeked through his shower curtain at the women as they undressed, I remain slightly suspicious — he is a man after all.

After that excitement he decided to retire to our tent.  He set upon making up the bed with the newly purchased inflatable mattress he had bought that afternoon (see part one of the story).  Perhaps he intended for me to join him, given the voyeurism that may (not) have just occurred in the lady’s showers because he asked me to help him setup the bed.  He unboxed and spread out the mattress, the smell of fresh rubber filling the tent, then I asked him where the pump was.  “Isn’t it in the mattress box?”, he replied.  I handed him the empty cardboard box and pointed at the text on the front: “Pump sold separately.”  He went to bed grumpy and alone.

All in all it was a fun trip.  The kids had a blast, nobody got seriously injured or ill.  Disney does a really great job about theming everything; you really feel like you’re in an old western movie.  My husband learned a few things for next time, not the least of which is that camping is a lot more than just f*cking in tents.

Mommy Perfect takes the family camping and my husband learns that camping is f*cking intense.  (Part 1 of 2)

As a child my family camped often.  Several times a year, every summer, camping in tents, in campers, in rain or shine, we were a camping family.  I love camping, but since having kids of my own we hadn’t made time to take them camping.

I decided to organize a four-day camping trip with a few other families who’s kids are friends with my own.  After all, camping is great fun and an inexpensive way to vacation!  We reserved some adjacent campsites at the Walt Disney World Fort Wilderness Campgrounds several months in advance and waited excitedly for the date to arrive.  The campgrounds are a sprawling 750 acres of pine forests, lakes, deer, rabbits and frontier theming with 800 campsites.  Because the grounds are so large, the Disney people recommended that we reserve golf carts for an additional $250.  My husband thought that was a ridiculous idea and flatly refused (“Its a campground,” he said, “we sit by the tent, then we sleep.”).

Gradually I purchased the necessary camping supplies, prepared, and packed all the non-perishables for our drive to the campgrounds in central Florida.  I suggested to Mr. Perfect that we buy inflatable air mattresses to sleep on, but again he flatly refused (“When I was a Boyscout we slept on the ground,” he lectured again — so that was supposed to be good enough for our kids and us.)

Finally the week of our departure was upon us.  Our living room was filled with an orderly stack of supplies in lidded-plastic bins.  My husband made me aware (with a slightly snarky tone I will add) that my pile of supplies that was filling our living room — not yet including food — was larger than our SUV.  Honestly he is better at solving spacial puzzles than I am, so I flippantly told him to figure out how to pack it all in.  Initially his solution was to bring less stuff.  I permitted him to cull some of the less-necessary items like board games, but the remainder were mandatory and I wasn’t going to budge.  He attempted to cull the supplies further, but as I said I was not budging, and the pile was still larger than our entire SUV.  So he drove away and returned an hour later with a new flatbed trailer he had bought at Lowe’s for $1,000.  Triumphant at having solved the spacial puzzle he declared, “If it doesn’t fit on there, it’s not coming!”

Two days before the long drive our SUV began to make an unusual squealing noise as it drove.  An unscheduled trip to our mechanic determined that a bearing in a joint on the drive shaft was worn out and that it would only get louder until it was replaced.  Fortunately the repair job only took a day, but that was another $500 that we hadn’t planned on.

It was the day before our departure, which meant it was time to shop for perishable food stuffs, when lo and behold I wake up with a stomach virus; vomiting and all the lovely rest.  All day I got nothing done, stuck inside with one end or the other on the toilet.  It was horrible!  I was almost sure that we would have to cancel the whole trip.  Fortunately the bug only lasted 24 hours, and by that evening the worst of it had passed; bonus, I was 10 pounds lighter!  I managed to rally enough strength to get the groceries bought that evening — at least now we could eat on the camping trip.

Next morning we loaded the trailer full, the SUV full, the kids were strapped in, and away we went.  On the road at last!  Flying down the highway I’m watching telephone poles go by; my eyes hypnotically tracing the power lines as they sag, meet up to the next pole, and sag again, like an endless wave.  Suddenly I catch my breath and sit up straight.  Sh*t!  I forgot the extension cord and power strip.  The next exit with a Walmart and we were supplied with the necessary electrical cords.

Back on the highway again when the kids begin asking the inevitable questions in 60 second intervals which only aggravates Mr. Perfect.  I guess this must have gotten him wanting alcohol because he asks me, “You did get beer, right?”.  Sh*t!  I forgot.  The next exit with a supermarket and we were supplied with the necessary adult beverages.  I got some hard root beer for me, because yum.  Back on the road again.

After many more hours of driving, stops for fast food, bathroom breaks at rest stops, we finally arrived at the Walt Disney World campgrounds and by some miracle we were first out of the four families to get there.  We check-in, unload, pick our tent spot, and set up everything.  Yeah camping!  Now what do we do?  I guess we just sit in a chair and do nothing.  That is the weird thing about camping: you hustle and work so hard to get there, but then once you arrive you have nothing to do.  You have to force yourself to just stop, relax, and do nothing.

Eventually everyone else arrived.  We helped them unload and set up while the kids ran around like wild animals.  Soon it was dark, time to make dinner and smores by the campfire.  Smores and campfires are a stressful venture with kids. Not only do you have the possibility of kids falling in the fire as they push and shove for a good spot, but you also have the inevitable excited swinging of the flaming marshmallow on a long stick.  Hazards everywhere.  You want them to do it themselves and learn how it all works, but after they lose their 15th flaming gooey marshmallow into the fire you end up doing it for them anyhow.  Then they want another one.

After everyone was ready for bed one of the other kid’s father decided to tell all the kids ghost stories around the fire, preschool aged through middle school.  Mr. Perfect and I were tired and ready to crash, so we left them to it.  Are you ready to not be surprised by what we learned?  When kids are told ghost stories they scream.  A lot.  By midnight my husband had had enough.  (How does that father know so many ghost stories?)  The talking, the giggling, with the dramatic finale and a dozen kids screaming was impossible to sleep through, so Mr. Perfect eventually announced that it’s time to pipe down for the night.

The next day at sunrise the coffee couldn’t be ready fast enough.  With sore neck and back from sleeping on the hard ground (remember, Boyscouts don’t use air mattresses), I sat zombie-like with a mild headache in front of the fire with coffee in hand like Gollum with his ring, waiting for my brain to wake up.   The kids were charging all about undoubtedly waking up the rest of the campground.  Mr. Perfect informed me that it didn’t hurt to sleep on the ground when he was kid, but for some reason it does now.  No sh*t genius.  Later that afternoon he made a trip to the nearest Walmart and bought a queen size air mattress for us to share; the kids can still sleep on the ground though.

To be continued… in Camping if F*cking Intense Part 2 of 2.