Summer Camp

I'm happy to say that since M. Edium was born, we haven't let a summer go by without taking him camping at least once. The first time he was just old enough to stumble around the campsite on feet that he had just recently discovered had some purpose besides preventing his legs from fraying at the ends.

The second time, he was just old enough to let us know when he wanted to duck into the tent for a quick pacifier break to calm his nerves, probably because as far as he knew, we had permanently forsaken our comfortable home in favor of a nomadic existence centered around a nylon house, a picnic table, and a great deal of wood smoke.

The third time was last year, when he was more comfortable with the overall concept and able to participate more actively in the process, in ways like jumping up and down on the air mattress while I was orally inflating it.

The fourth time is coming up, and he's old enough to be looking forward to it. To the point where, every time the subject of camping comes up, he says, "Let's go right now!"

If only.

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Summer Camp

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