Pitch a tent for me, big boy!

When you have kids in a one-income family, vacations can’t lay claim to a huge chunk of the budget. As much as we’d love to jet off to foreign lands, the closest we come to jets are the ones in my sister’s in-ground pool or perhaps in a hot tub at a “driving distance” hotel. No one complains – but no one would complain either if I were to muse “hmmmm… how does Disney World sound this year? Or maybeeeeeee… Italy?” They’d be dragging out suitcases in the blink of an eye and waiting for me to pack ‘em. “C’mon MOM, let’s goooooooooooo!” They love me, the little boogers. Anyway…. My husband has this idea in his head. “We should go camping. It’ll be fun. The girls would love it.” Yep – I’m sure they would. In fact, so would I. Except, in my book, camping is not a vacation. Camping is doing all the same things I always do – without helpful appliances, heat, abundant running water and supplemented by bugs and other furry critters of the run-away-from-them-screeching-like-a-girly-girl variety. YAY! Doesn’t that sound like fun? I admit I’ve considered it. I do love being outdoors. I love scenic locations. I love walks in the woods. I love sitting around a campfire. The idea of being totally disconnected from phones and computers is incredibly appealing. We could buy some basic equipment for not a whole lot of money and we’d probably have a wonderful time. I was on the road to convincing myself – until today. Today, we decided it was time to put up the new tent/sunshade/keep-the-damn-bugs-outta-my-dinner “structure” that we bought for the backyard. We have precious little free time to enjoy our yard so we figured this addition would make it more comfortable and welcoming. After debating for weeks about where to put it – i.e., determining the farthest geographic point from the back neighbor we like to call “Fruitcake” – we finally chose a spot. Private, quite shaded, out of direct view of any neighbor so we can enjoy a meal without feeling like the evening’s entertainment. Here’s how things went: Him: Dear? I’m gonna go and put that tent up now. Me: OK GREAT! I’ll finish what I’m working on and then come out and see how it looks! Five minutes later… Him: Uh… dear? Can you come help me for just a sec? Me: Well ok… but I don’t have a lot of time. Him: It won’t take long. Five minutes later… Him: Why won’t these $#$%$#$% poles stay together?! (side one falls apart) Me: Are you SURE you have them in the right places? (side two starts to slide) Him: I’m NOT $#$#$%#$ stupid… they’re numbered for %#$%’s sake! (side four falls apart) Me: Swearing at ME isn’t gonna get the $#$#$%#$% thing up any faster you know! (side three collapses) Him: Well it shouldn’t be this %#$#$% hard. (we start coming unglued) After succeeding at getting the basic bones of the thing to stay upright, we attempted to place the fabric cover. Holy crap. I thought World War III was a given at this point. Much pulling, tugging, yanking and swearing ensued. Finally, we got the cover anchored securely to the poles. Him: Wow. This is gonna be pretty nice. Me: Yeah. When it’s straight! Him: Well #$%# … you have a better eye than me… figure out how to make it straight. Enthused at finally getting all our ducks in a row, I retreated to the relative safety of my desk, leaving him to attach the mesh sides. Five minutes later… Him: Uh… dear? Me: WHATTTTTT?!?! Him: STOP getting pissed at me. Me: I’m NOT pissed… I’m just BUSY! Him: Well you wanted the damn thing up in the first place, didn’t you? Convinced that this fiasco now rested securely on my shoulders (without the benefit of the guide ropes to keep it from blowing off), I proceeded back outside to try to help him adjust the ties for the sides of the mesh panels. I swear the manufacturers of these things deliberately make them either too small or only the right size if you have 72 pairs of hands to make adjustments. I don’t enjoy their sense of humor. Five minutes later… Him: There’s already flies in here. Me: Well, I’m not finished tying the sides yet – they’ll get in. Him: Yep… and they’re too stupid to fly back out. Speaking of too stupid… what were we thinking? Can you imagine us trying to set up a whole camp site?!? We’d kill each other and, quite possibly, one or more children – if they weren’t already cowering under a rock to escape the trauma of “tent tantrum.” We’ll happily visit friends and family at their campsites but, I’m just about convinced now, our vacations will require pre-constructed accommodations. We’ll be "pitching our tents" in far less public (and less stressful) venues than the great outdoors.