Being OK with who you are

I am not a camper. I grew up in the Black Hills, and I love hiking, and all the things that go along with being a nature lover. I love the wilderness, staying at our family's cabin and lying all night in the hammock. I know what to do when an animal crosses your path in the woods, and I appreciate them from a safe distance. I love campfires and making s'mores. I love all of this in small doses. Small, perfect doses that are followed by a shower and a latte and a return to civilization, where I can recount the beautiful hikes and wonderful time spent in the fresh air. People love to do these little trips to the cabin with me, because I make it fun. I am really, really into this when I know what it will be like, and I know when it ends. I have control, and I use that control to ensure that everyone has a great time: perfectly timed hikes, with snacks at the scenic overlook, meals on the picnic table, a creek to fish in, dessert by firelight... You get the picture.

I have always politely declined when friends have asked us to join them on their 3-day camping trips in the wilds of Wisconsin, state parks with crazy names, necessitating long drives, too much planning, and far too many horror stories for my liking. I have been OK with refusing these outdoor adventures, but my husband has not been. He has been secretly pining away for a chance to camp.

So I went camping. I went because when I threatened to stay home after an argument with my husband about my slowness at packing, my almost 7-year-old son looked at me with teary eyes and said, "Mommy, it won't be any fun at all if you don't go. Please come, Mommy...Please!" And so, of course, I went. I could not bear to leave him to the deep, dark forest alone. He might need me. And I might need him. Plus, I do like nature, and how bad could it really be? My husband promised, after apologizing for his packing freak-out, that if it was terrible we would go to a hotel, find a children's museum and farmer's market, and everyone would be happy. So I put on my brave face, shoved the last item into the front seat of the car (with my laptop!) and we headed for Wisconsin.

I won't bore you with the details of camping. I mean, it was camping, with a tent, and sleeping bags, and two blow-up mattresses for the 4 people who would sleep in the tent. Our little family was taking its first camping trip together! And yes, just like it should in the middle of Wisconsin in the summertime, it was humid, and it rained. Overnight. A lot. Everything was wet. But I just rolled with it. I mean, what could we do? No one complained, no one. Not the kids (who slept through the raging thunderstorm, I might add), not my husband, and certainly not me. There were no mosquitos to speak of, which was a shock. We had food, we had fresh air and trees, we had plenty of alcohol to drink, we had s'mores around the campfire. The kids could run around in the woods, all sweaty and dirty, just like little boys are supposed to do. They could pee on a tree anytime they felt like it. They could have juice boxes and Gatorade and chocolate milk, anytime they wanted. They were in kid heaven. So there was no reason for me to complain.

But I have determined, that I am not going to try and BE a camper. We don't need to buy camping equipment and go whole hog. I am who I am, a city girl who just happens to love nature. In doses. I don't have to pretend to be all granola-y just to be cool. Camping once or twice a year would be fine with me, and I think it will be. Because I know who I am, and I'm OK with it. And being a Sweet means learning to be OK with who you are.