When I was younger, I was captivated by the tales of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her escapades across the Minnesota prairies. I couldn’t get enough of those stories and the charming TV show featuring a sweet, gap-toothed girl with braids, frolicking by Plum Creek. I dreamed of being that girl who went fishing after school, and I envied their covered-wagon lifestyle.
But here’s the catch: Watching a show about a pioneer girl is one thing, living like one in today’s world—where air conditioning and indoor plumbing exist—is just absurd.
Camping? It’s the Absolute Worst
And camping with children? Even more unbearable.
Honestly, I can’t fathom why anyone would willingly pack up their belongings, drive into the wilderness, unpack everything, and live like cavemen for days. And let’s be real: I’m not comfortable with just a flimsy piece of nylon between my family and a potential grizzly bear encounter.
I utterly detest camping. Yet, my family adores it, and therein lies my dilemma.
My husband and kids rave about the beauty of waking up to a sunrise over a lake. They tout the joys of “unplugging” and feeling so connected to nature that they might as well be Snow White. They even wax poetic about how delicious hot dogs taste when roasted over a fire that took hours to build—mainly because no one in our family thought to pack matches.
I suspect the reason my family loves camping is that I do all the heavy lifting to ensure we don’t end up foraging for goji berries and tree bark while living with Yogi Bear in the woods. They have no clue about the meticulous planning that goes into turning our portable household into a makeshift home. They can’t possibly grasp how many marshmallows need to be packed, nor do they understand the sheer volume of baby wipes necessary to avoid, well, discomfort.
The Draining Experience of Camping
Camping is utterly draining. There’s an obscene amount of folding, unfolding, and folding again. Once we arrive at the campsite, I spend what feels like an eternity wrestling with the tent, trying to figure out where the poles fit. Then, after three days of sharing close quarters with my now-stinky family, I have to spend another eternity dismantling our wilderness abode. And when we finally return home, it’s not over yet—I have to air out that tent, which now reeks of sweat and smoke. All told, dealing with that tent is just shy of five hours of my life I’ll never get back.
The Stress of Camping
Camping is also stressful. When my family insists on this nature escapade, my biggest concern revolves around the restroom situation. To spare you the details, I’m a “home pooper,” and let me tell you, latrines do not bring me comfort.
As if the prospect of camping-induced constipation wasn’t enough, I find myself awake at 2 a.m., playing the “How badly do I need to pee?” game. I ask myself on a scale from 1 to “I’m going to soak my sleeping bag,” how urgent it is for me to find my glasses, grab my flashlight, and venture into the night to squat over something that resembles a water buffalo’s rear end. This level of stress is completely unnecessary.
Frustrations of Camping
Camping is annoyingly frustrating. I’m convinced that air mattress manufacturers intentionally create tiny holes in every mattress. It’s as if the factories are filled with workers chuckling about the poor souls who drag their faulty products into the woods.
Every air mattress I’ve ever bought has leaked, and I’ve yet to meet anyone who’s had a different experience. And don’t even try to sell me on the idea that “real campers” sleep on the ground under the stars. If I’m stuck in a nylon chamber, I refuse to endure a night with a giant rock jabbing into my back.
Kudos to those who can genuinely enjoy camping; I’m just not one of them. I make no apologies for disliking hair that smells like smoke for a week or for not wanting to eat food cooked on tiny grills that fit into my pocket. And unless it involves a luxurious, tricked-out diesel bus parked next to a Starbucks with decent Wi-Fi, you won’t see me at the next campsite strumming my guitar and singing Kumbaya.
Conclusion
Good luck to you, family. Because camping really does suck.
In summary, camping is a daunting task filled with stress and discomfort, especially for those of us who prefer modern conveniences. While some relish the adventure, many would rather avoid the struggle.
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