This column was supposed to be a play-by-play from a family camp experience I'd heard about through friends. It was one of those things where you stay in a summer camp setting in the mountains, hang out with other grown-ups and their kids, sleep in a cabin, go on hikes, ride horses. And it turned out that the participants would all be single parents and their kids, and that, according to the organizer, single dads tended to be vastly outnumbered by single moms. Sounded pretty awesome to Simone and me, for very different reasons. But, the adventure was cancelled the week before, due to a dearth of registered families, so I had to break the news to Simone, and provide her with an equally compelling alternative. I reserved us a campsite up in the mountains at a state park.
I was pretty nervous about taking her into the hills for a serious camping trip, though we had spent one night in the tent in the backyard, and that had worked out fine. Well, except for the fact that she wouldn't go to sleep at first, and I'd doze off only to be annoyed awake by a little hand dropped onto my face.
"Simone, why aren't you sleeping?"
"I don't know, Daddy."
I was feeling apprehensive about the whole deal-would I forget something important? Would she be miserable and cranky once we got all the way up there? Would we be forced to pack it in at two in the morning for some reason having to do with:
a. A urine-soaked sleeping bag?
b. Fear of unexplainable noises?
c. Deep chill?
d. Gas?
Plus, the idea of loading up the car with everything we'd need, then being forced to lug it to the campsite and carry it all back the next morning, when I'd be tired and strung out and dirty, sounded daunting. In fact, I started making a list of everything we'd need the Monday before, and added to it up until an hour before we left.
But it was what felt like a bad omen they day before our trip that really got me nettled.
We'd needed a few supplies from REI, so, in my wisdom, I took Simone along on the shopping quest. I'd just picked her up at school, and already had the impression that it had been a bit of a tough day for her. I was very clear that we'd rent a stove, buy a tarp for under the tent, and look at a couple of small essential items. She started out okay, and even agreed to take off her shoes before trying out every tent in the store. And we were almost done. I was at the register, getting ready to pay for our supplies, when she found a little magnet of a scorpion.
A little magnet. For eight freaking dollars.
I gave the clerk a smile, then turned to Simone and told her we weren't getting it. That's when she said, "I won't go camping with you if you don't buy it for me." The clerk guffawed, amazed at my four-year-old's audacity. I told Simone I still wasn't buying it, and we could cancel the trip if that's how it was going to be. I paid the guy, picked up the bag of stuff, but still had to go back into the store to grab the rental stove-one of those double-burner deals.
Simone followed along, scorpion magnet in hand. The rental person finalized the paperwork, while I tried to reason with Simone. Finally, it was time to go, so I took the scorpion out of her hand, and put it on the counter.
(I really, really wish I had figured out how to get her to put it back herself. It was a big lapse of judgment on my part. I was rushed and tired, but I should have taken a deep breath, and sorted things out.)
And that's when Simone had the biggest public temper tantrum/meltdown I've ever seen. People two time zones away turned to look at the screaming child. Yup, my girl. The one who said she wanted to go live with Mommy. The one who shouted, "You're not my daddy if you don't let me get the magnet." So I did the only thing I could do — I threw her over my shoulder, picked up the bag and went to grab the stove.
Luckily, the employee who'd rented it to me offered to carry it out to the car. The three of us, one of whom was screaming and crying and kicking, another who wanted to scream and cry and kick (and swear) and the last who was bemused and maybe a little bit entertained, made our obnoxious parade through the store, through the parking lot and to the car. The raised eyebrows, we encountered along the way only added to my embarrassment. The clerk wished me luck, and headed back inside.
I carefully urged Simone into the back of the car, and belted her into her carseat. She was still screaming. She was still telling me she hated me (which is a word I've said we don't use in our family), and still saying how she wanted to live only with her mom. So I shut the door of the car, and leaned up against it for a minute. I could smell autumn in the breeze, and closed my eyes to feel the sun on my face. Then I sent my sister a text message, telling her I was counting to 10 because I didn't want to spank my daughter.
That helped, so I got into my car, which was filled with shrieks and invective, and started the long drive home. My plan had been to stop at a fun restaurant, eat there, then go to the playground because the evening was so beautiful. We had no food for dinner in the house, at least nothing that I wanted to eat, so I had no choice but to stop somewhere.
All I could think was, "Damn, camping is going to be like this. It's a bad idea."
But the camping trip went off incredibly well-we set up the tent, went for a hike, cooked dinner over a fire and then roasted marshmallows, buried her poo up away from the site (three different times), and even put out the fire, turned off her headlamp, and shared a cup of Sleepytime tea while gazing up at the stars before turning in. She didn't cry when I left the tent to pee in the middle of the night, and she didn't wake up at five in the morning. It was one of the most fulfilling and joyful experiences we've had together.
It went much, much better than I'd dared to hope, standing in the parking lot of REI, holding the bridge of my nose. And it made me, for the millionth time, wonder how kids manage to surprise their parents again and again. I'd never seen her freak out like she did at the store, and though I knew she was adaptable, I also didn't expect her to be so flexible and relaxed on our camping trip. In 24 hours, I saw my daughter at her absolute worst, and then watched her bloom and grow right in front of me.
Parenting is so empirical — the lessons we learn about our children should come with "best if used by" labels.
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