glamping – 4 Princes and Me

Or why I am a terrible human bean, because Husband does a good job of packing most things and maybe it’s not really so heinous.

My sleeping bag: swaddled in nylon, and not the cute vintage nightgown type, but the padded tarpaulin that doesn’t breathe and makes my vagina swampy because of the not breathing, not natural fabric, type nylon.

The weather: Hot and soupy in the bus, then freezing in the night so I wake and double-check the boys are covered since they weren’t before when it was hot af, and not be able to get back to sleep.

My sleeping bag: it makes lots of noise because of the tarpaulin thing, which keeps me awake and wakes me up every time I fucking move or breathe.

People: they start their diesel engined RVs rudely early, which wakes me up and because I can see outside, it stops my brain from going back to sleep, so… fuck those guys.

Packing: I always forget that I want to clean my ears after swimming or just baking in my sleeping bag and I don’t bring any cotton tips.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not not an outdoor girl, but I respect outdoors when I can come indoors and wash it all away. And also, I guess I need a new sleeping bag.

And by camp, I mean glamp. Husband put up the tent earlier today and after a few hours of knuckleheads going crazy in it, it’s still standing so we have to sleep in it after all. 5yo keeps asking if it’s bed time yet. Of course, that is up to him. “Just go to bed already” works for me. We brought down the mattresses – yes, mattresses – and sleeping bags, pillows and toys. Husband is leaving it to the last minute to take his sleeping bag out there, because he wants to accidently on purpose fall asleep in our bed, instead.
We then let the boys watch some tv and eat chips to settle down, and 3.5yo promptly fell asleep. I woke him for dinner and he reinforced the baby-isms by being grumpy and pouty and adorable and needing to be cuddled to eat his dinner. Husband just rolled his eyes, jealous much?
We have a fun day planned tomorrow which may or may not be thwarted by sleeping in a tent with three boys. If the weather is good then it’s off to BMX, if not, then it’s back to the concentration camp that is ‘Gardening Camp’ in the backyard. The boys have robbed me of my will to live on occasion over the past few days, due to their whimpering and complaints of prickles or bugs. Mostly they played while I tilled the planter box and dug and weeded. I was telling Mum all about this wonderful week of Gardening Camp, but after looking at my list, my accomplishments have paled somewhat. There are 11 things on the list; 1 of them was done before the camp, 2 others were properly done and 2 more were half-heartedly half-assed. Which means that I’ve done jack shit, and now I need a wine. At least camping means no chores, right??