The first sign that our family camping trip was a bad idea was that my husband and I were fighting.
Although he was a rugged outdoorsman who took frequent solo kayaking expeditions in the wilderness, he hated dragging our two kids into the woods in the peak of summer heat and mosquito season.
I disagreed. I’d only discovered a love for the outdoors as an adult, but I had a vision: our family playing in the water, me lounging by the lake in my sundress while the 13-month-old napped.
In truth, I had mid-summer anxiety and was desperate. Born in East Africa, I hated Minnesota winters. So I was frantic when I realized it was July and we hadn’t moved beyond a 10-mile radius of our home. I wanted our family to make memories in the woods, and I wanted it now.
We went camping with our 2 kids
Finally, he consented. He booked two nights in a state forest at the edge of the Boundary Waters, a massive forest on the border of Minnesota and Canada.
The next sign of trouble: we weren’t prepared. With three days to go before we left, we dashed around the city for essentials in 90-degree weather: a clunky fan from Cabela’s and a screen shelter from the RV store (that turned out to be gazebo-sized and had to be replaced). I balked at the $100 camping chair but added it to the cart anyway. Finding the right tent was a challenge. We had a two-person backpacking tent from life before kids. A no-go. Luckily, a friend lent us his tent. We packed enough for two weeks, and by the miracle of extra daylight, we were ready to go by Friday.
We arrived at the campsite. I slapped citronella spray on my toddler’s legs before she excitedly ran through the winding path from our campsite to the water. I followed her, and my daughters and I sat by the water, watching three boys hunt tadpoles. I didn’t notice the bug bites she was getting, preoccupied with blocking the sticks my newly mobile infant was trying to sneak into her mouth.
The kids woke up at 2 a.m.
We quickly learned that camping with young kids was just like parenting at home, only with fewer amenities, more dust, and no safe spot to park our infant. After dinner, while we were playing card games, my toddler started complaining that her legs were itchy. I rubbed a balm from a tin with a badger on her. I was ill-equipped for what followed.
At 2 a.m., we woke to the kids’ meltdown. The bites were too itchy. The tent was too warm. The sheets irritating. I rubbed more balm. For an hour, she wailed as I hunted for stronger and stronger concoctions that weren’t locked up in the car to prevent bears from wandering over.
Eventually, the baby woke up and needed to be nursed.
No amount of balm helped. We switched to distracting her and cooling her down. I stripped her down and cranked the fan on her legs while my husband told the world’s longest story about the bear with no hair.
The next morning, our girl was keener to jump into the lake than to process how she felt. The cool water was both delightful and soothing. In good spirits, she made friends with the boulder by our campsite.
We left early
Success, I thought, as I lounged at base while the baby napped in her Pack ‘n Play. The park had running water, so at dinnertime, I suggested a cool shower to help the kids get ready for bed. The heat clung to our bodies, and I thought a rinse-off would help with sleep. We were nearly scalded. The tap had two settings: off or lava.
Within minutes, the bites flared up again. As she wailed, I looked into her bloodshot and unhappy eyes. I thought of spending another night in the cramped tent with paper-mache zippers while the mosquitoes hovered outside. I thought of another 3 a.m. therapy session to soothe my child. I thought of the rock that had lodged itself against my thigh as I slid around our 1-inch sleeping pads while tending to both kids. We were miserable.
“Let’s pack up and go home,” I told my spouse.
While I fed the kids yogurt bowls, my husband quickly stuffed everything into our car. Driving home with the kids soundly asleep, I looked out at the forest and the setting sun. A black bear poked its head up as we drove through empty roads. It was my first sighting.
Back in cell service, we stopped at the pharmacy and then gave our child Zyrtec before tucking her in.
“I feel like we’ve been gone for a week,” my husband remarked as we collapsed on the Adirondack chairs on our front porch.
It should have been our last time attempting this madness. By all accounts, it was a flop. But our daughters played with sticks and water. Our toddler made friends with a rock. Our 36 hours of suffering had to be for something.
So a few weeks later, we cautiously tried again. This time: one night, shorter drive, better tent, pre-cooked meals, and lots of bug spray and long sleeves. We ran our Thermacell most of the day at camp. I actually sat in my new chair while we played Go Fish.
The kids splashed in a clear lake, played with sand, and slept soundly under the stars. As we drove home, our toddler asked, “Mama, when can we go back?”
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