I’m not that girl.

A friend recently posted something fantastic on her Facebook page.  (Yes, I love Facebook.  I understand this makes me old and uncool, and I’m okay with that.)  It’s a piece of paper that reads:

Dear Diary,

Today my friends asked me to go camping so I made a list of the things I will need:

1.  new friends

Can I get an Amen?

I understand some of you won’t get this.  Well, I can’t say I really understand, much like you probably can’t truly understand the depth of my loathing distaste for camping.  I figure this is something akin to being left-handed – you’re either born with the I-love-camping gene or you’re not.

This isn’t to say someone can’t learn to tolerate camping.  People endure many things for the ones they love, and camping could certainly be one of them.  Setting up outdoor shelter using convoluted instructions, sleeping on the ground, watching bugs skitter across your shoes, going to the bathroom in the woods or (often worse) campground facilities – all of these are prime negotiating tactics when your back’s to the wall.  (“You DO remember that horrid camping weekend I went on when it rained the ENTIRE TIME, right?”)

Or you could be doing it out of, you know, love and stuff.

But the thing is, I’m not that girl.

I like to think of myself as hale and hearty, able to tackle any task put before me, but I draw the line at camping.  It’s cold at night and sometimes wet and walking to the bathroom in the dark is potentially catastrophic for me.  I can’t think of a single thing about camping that’s enjoyable, except perhaps the feeling of getting away from it all.  But I can do that by stepping into my backyard and looking up at the stars, so I don’t feel any great need to schlep off into the woods and gather around the campfire.

Which is why it was so shocking to find myself going on a Mom & Me campout with T-man a few years back.

He was in the Boy Scouts, and one of their annual activities was a Mom & Me campout.  As the name implies, this was when the mothers took their sons on an overnight camping trip.  I managed to finagle my way out of it the first year he was in the troop, but by year two there was no avoiding the feeling that I was a Bad Mommy if I didn’t sign us up to go.

To be clear, I didn’t really give a rat’s ass what the other parents in the troop thought.  There wasn’t much need to explain that I’m not into camping since I’m sure I already give off that vibe.  The problem was T-man – all his friends were going with their moms, and the look in his eyes when he asked why we couldn’t go, too…well, mommy guilt got the best of me, damn it.

I won’t lie – I was sweating it by the time we were a few days away from the trip.  BrightSide helped me do a practice run setting up the tent in our driveway (an activity that is much more entertaining with a beer, by the way) and tried to reassure me that I’d be fine.  I was fairly sure we could survive an overnight without death or serious injury, but fine? I wasn’t so sure about fine.

A mass of humanity greeted us at the campground when we arrived.  Mothers and sons were scattered everywhere, waiting to register, while I stood there transfixed by the scene.  Eventually we managed to work our way through the check-in process and head to the opening ceremony.

A number of alarming elements popped up right off the bat.  When we checked in I was handed a map so we could locate our scheduled activities (that’s right, there was a schedule).  Except my map skills kind of suck.  Plus we were in the woods – my map skills with landmarks and street names are somewhat iffy, so I’m sure you can imagine how I do among the trees.

Check-in took forever so we were late to the opening ceremony (now I’m hyperventilating because I’ve already dropped the ball, I CAN’T EVEN GET HIM TO THE FIRST EVENT ON TIME), then we were supposed to set up tents at our campsite before going to the first class (that’s right, there were classes because, well, MOMS).  Okay then!  I pulled out the map, circled slowly to get my bearings, then followed a large crowd up a nearby hill.  It may have been luck that this led to our campsite, but let’s say it was skill.  Very lucky skill.

We arrived at the campsite to find that our supplies hadn’t been delivered.  This led to much walking up and down the aforementioned hill, checking other sites for our gear before finally returning to find it at the entrance of our own campsite.  Then I hit my first Type A crisis.  The Schedule said we were supposed to be at a class in five minutes, but my instinct said I’d better get the tent set up or I’d be fighting it in the dark.  I wrestled with my inner schedule freak (What do you mean, you’re not taking him to the first class?!) before getting to work on the tent.

To T-man’s credit he did offer to help, but I sent him off to play instead.  I told myself it was because I’d get things done faster on my own, but let’s be real…I wasn’t entirely sure what would come out of my mouth as I set up that tent, and I didn’t want a witness.  **Bragging rights here: I did actually put the tent up entirely on my own.  It may have taken three times as long as when BrightSide does it, but it got done.  Girl power, baby.

Saying it was an extraordinarily long 24 hours would be an understatement.  There were spiders and hyped up boys and cruddy meals with a hundred plus people.  There was late night sugar around the campfire, constant reprimands to “Put down those sticks!”, and a flashlight shuffle to the bathroom at midnight.  Plus I’m now convinced it is literally impossible for a female side sleeper to camp because, you know, hips.  I’d last about 30 minutes before having to turn over and go back to sleep.

By the end of Mom & Me I was tired, dirty, and completely exhausted…but T-man was happy.  Sheesh.  The things we do for our kids.