Last weekend we stupidly went on a camping trip. Don't get me wrong, we had a great time, it's just that sleeping on a half-inflated mattress in the damp and cold does not say "five star hotel" to me.
Surprisingly, we have all the camping gear. The big tent with three rooms and a "sunroom", the outdoor table and chairs, the kitchenette. And yet, there is just no escaping the fact that camping is dirty and sandy and not-at-all comfortable. So, why do we go?
Why do we do anything my friends?
Guilt.
My gorgeous and very practically-minded eldest daughter said one night at dinner, "We should go on camping trip".
For me, the killer is the word "should". She may as well have said, "You two are bad parents who make no effort to get your children away from every electronic device known-to-man. If you don't get us out of the house and into some fresh air this instant I'm going to report you to child welfare."
It's that word "should", and all its guilt-ridden connotations.
So, we packed up and left for Moore River. It's a pretty little place on the coast about an hour and a half from home.
We spent lots of time walking, taking photos, playing card games and getting rained on. And it was fun.
In a stroke of parenting-genius we went fishing. There must be lots of good-parenting points in that. We caught nothing, but got our feet wet and sandy, got rained on again, and laughed more than we have done in a while.
You see, the thing about camping is that there's no getting away from anyone.
And that was lovely.
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