3 Things NOT To Do When Camping, Okay?

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Camp toilet w/ a peek-a-booty floor.

We went TENT CAMPING last weekend.  I’ve loved tents since I was a little girl and saw this tent-living community located near a river.   I always loved having my family drive by it so I could just daydream and stare.  I was so impressed that they all lived in tents and seemed really happy about it.  I’m sure there was some little boy getting in trouble for peeing too close to the picnic table, like my son got in trouble for this weekend, but…for the most part, everyone was skipping and linking arms.  They just must have been.  

I go to great lengths to hide my sons’ identity. I made them wear
those basketballs the whole time they were in the crystal clear,
turquoise-tinged water.  The balls floated, so it was
kind of like a life jacket.

The boys absolutely, positively and absolutely again loved every last minute of camping.  You would think we were camping off of Paradise Avenue in heaven.  I’m telling you, folks, if you haven’t taken your little boys tent camping, well, get on it.  Besides the restless nights from sleeping on the “sleeping bag pad” the first night and the air mattress the second night, it was really fun.  We camped right off the Guadalupe River in New Braunfels, Texas.  Up the road a few miles was Canyon Lake, which is also absolutely beautiful.  It was boy heaven with the unlimited sticks, rocks, bugs, water, food and dirt everywhere.

HowEVER, it wasn’t quite paradise for me as I had yet to learn that you…
~ALWAYS check the eggs, for goodness sakes.



I ALWAYS check eggs before I buy them, but the thought of sleeping on the hard ground must have made me so giddy that I had forgotten my normal shopping procedures.  One of my biggest fears, besides running out of milk for cereal, is cracking an egg to find a baby chick inside.  This discovery on the left just about sent me straight to the cuckoo mill.  It reminded me that eggs come from chickens.  Do I really need to know that?  Is this what I get for buying free-range eggs?  Well, I don’t want no part of eeenymore, sister! 

~Don’t put the dirty clothes in the same type of bag as you put the trash.  I mean, really.


The tent & the disgusting tree that was supposed
to be watching our clothes.  DON’T TRUST TREES!!



Because I thought it was only my husband I needed to tell, I made clear to him that our dirty clothes bag was hanging by the tent and our trash bag was hanging by the table.  When we got back from a little tubing excursion, both bags were gone.  My husband ran up to the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Smoke-A-Lot, and they informed him that both bags were in the camp dump.  Thankfully, the official trash man had not been by to pick it all up yet.  Buried underneath lots of cigarette ashes was our clothes bag.  It’s ironic, because I just switched to a new Tide fragrance called Cigarette Ashes, so I wasn’t really all that upset. 

~Don’t help the husband when the raft gets stuck on the rocks if you are half-nincompoop or part seal.

Her seal & hippo features are in the boat, ‘mmkay?

My two little dudes REALLY wanted to go down the river in an inflatable kayak.  The water level was somewhat low and our little happy boat kept getting stuck on rocks in the rapids area.    Chris always got out of the boat and kept us floating down the river.  After a while, though, I started feeling bad for squatting there like a seal/elephant/hippo combo, or “sealphantippo”, while he struggled to move us off the dang rocks.  Like any good sealphantippo, I decided to lug myself out of the boat and help him.  The current was swift, however, and my shoes slipped on the rocks, my oar went floating down the river, my mouth started opening and swallowing water and I started yelping like a newborn puppy dropped into a raging sea grasping at anything at all to keep me afloat.  Meanwhile, Chris yells out, “KELLEY, YOU’RE IN 2 FEET OF WATER!”.  After I recovered, I got back in the boat and sat there like a mute sealphantippo again.



 I could add more things you shouldn’t do, of course, like don’t forget the ketchup and mustard or don’t step on a large staple in your tennis shoes like I did or don’t place the pot handle over the grill or don’t allow your 2-year-old son to rip open the bathroom door while you’re in it or don’t insist that your 6-year-old go on a cavern tour when he is really sleepy and is showing signs of turning into a werewolf, but…you get the idea You’ll be good to go if you just check your eggs, keep an eye on your laundry and send your sealphantippo to rapids navigating school before your trip. 

There is a camping trip in your future, right?

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