Last week my dad took my son and his friend camping down at the bottom of the field in front of his house, behind the pond. My daughter and I stayed up in the house where I learned how incredibly uncomfortable adjustable beds can really be and how miserable toddlers can be when they have a virus but their mom has no idea it is a virus.

Staying over was impromptu for Little Miss and I which meant an impromptu trip to the little town near us for some take out at the only place in that one stop light town that offers take out. My parenting was put to the test when Little Miss decided she would prefer to explore the town instead of pick up our food and go back to her grandparents and actually eat it. 

She threw a tantrum and then I threw one and eventually we sat down at a table outside the little restaurant and attempted to make peace. My mom and aunts supper was getting cold, though, so I finally had to drive her home, with her screaming like a crazy person the whole five miles and me crying like the sometimes mentally unstable mom I am. 

Bedtime was more than welcome an couple hours later until I realized sleeping on my dads bed could be compared to sleeping on a bed of nails. Everywhere I turned I seemed to hit another hard spot. Then I rolled unknowingly on to the remote and suddenly my now angelic sleeping toddler and I were being folded in half inside the bed. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to adjust the bed so their head is crushed into their knees but apparently someone enjoys this because the bed allows for such a position to be achieved. Maybe it is to help yoga students complete some position they’ve been trying to get into. 

Here I was at some ungodly hour, flapping my hands in the covers wildly, desperately trying to find the remote to avoid us being crushed and Little Miss, who I had nicknamed “little nightmare” for the day, being awakened and reminded she wasn’t at home and decided she wanted to wake up and play with my grandmother’s bottle collection.

Luckily the remote was found fairly quickly and Little Miss slept through all the drama.
In the morning I called Dad to be sure the bear that had been visiting the property hadn’t eaten him or the boys. They were all fine except I was fairly certain Dad had decided he was pass his days of camping out and maybe doing so three months after knee replacement wasn’t the best decision after all. 

Little Miss and I found the boys fishing by the pond when we used the golf cart to reach them. My son told me peeing in the night had been an adventure while he stumbled in the dark. His friend had less of an adventure with his middle of the night peeing needs and instead simply opened the tent door and peed out of it, he told me. This story was not well received by my mom who said everyone had probably walked in the pee when they took their middle of the night bathroom journey. 

Overall the experience was a success- for the boys at least – and especially my son who thought all of it was “great” especially cooking over a fire, peeing on trees, and fishing even if they didn’t catch anything.