"Shit," I cursed as yet another match went out without lighting the camp stove. It was drizzling and I was cold and hungry. Who's idea was this camping trip, anyway?
Of course, the answer to that was that it was mine. I'd been itching to get out and get this camping season started, but I guess I forgot that I was really a fair weather camper. We'd obviously jumped the gun here.
The kids were huddled under their raincoats, occasionally sniping at one another. "Stop looking at me, Max!" "What? I'm not looking at you."
"Come on, guys. Consider it an adventure. You're always up for some adventure, aren't you, Davan?"
"Yeah, an adventure," Davan answers. She put forth some effort for a while, but soon it was back to, "Stop looking at me," and looking miserable.
Max, for his part, was yelling, whining and glaring at Davan whenever he thought we were looking away. Ah, the sibling love. It's heart-warming.
Anthony finally finished rummaging in the kitchen box and came up with the flame thrower, as we affectionately call it, and we were able to get the camp stove lit.
"When is dinner?" Max yelled yelled at the top of his lungs. "What is for dinner? Macaroni and cheese! Scrambled eggs! Chicken noodle soup!"
"Fried slugs," I informed him, "Your favorite."
"Ew!!! Really? Really? Really, Mom? Dad! Really?!?!?!"
"No," I sighed, exasperated. It's hard to joke around when that's the reaction.
Anthony got the camp minestrone going while I took the kids into the tent to get dry and, hopefully, more comfortable. After the requisite struggle with shoes - Max must make a big production out of everything - we finally made it into the tent and out of wet raincoats.
It took so long that Anthony was soon handing in bowls of minestrone. Max promptly slopped his all over the bottom of the tent. Astounding. At least we'd thought ahead and didn't have him sitting on his sleeping bag while eating.
With nothing better to do in the rain and cold, we climbed into our sleeping bags after dinner and the bare minimum clean up. We at least had to clean up that soup spill before putting Max's sleeping bag down.
After the usual poor first night of camping sleep - okay, that's just me, the kids seem to sleep fine other than the sleep boxing they both engage in with whomever is sleeping next to them - we woke up to clear and cold. Better than wet!
I lingered in my sleeping bag as long as my bladder would let me, reluctant to venture out in the cold. Finally, though, it was time to face the music.
No one wanted to sit on the wet benches for breakfast. It being the first camping trip of the season, of course we'd forgotten things - like a tarp to put over the picnic table. We all ended up standing around, munching on slices of fruit, waiting for the water to heat for oatmeal.
I got out the bubbles I'd stashed away in the kitchen box for some unknown reason many trips ago. The kids got warm and giggly chasing the bubbles around while I blew.
Then the oatmeal was ready. It was warm in our tummies. A lingering bubble was stuck in the (soft) brillo pad of Max's hair. I pointed it out to Davan with a wink and we all ended up giggling.
Maybe this camping trip would turn out well after all.