Josée in Ottawa


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Camping: I Think We’re Doing it Wrong

Alternate title: We’re a Bunch of Wusses

*I just found this one in the drafts folder and thought it might be nice to forget about cold and snow for a minute!*

 

Not our camping trip. "Camping" by Roderick Eime, Flickr Creative Commons

                       Not our camping trip!                                    “Camping” by Roderick Eime, Flickr Creative Commons

The first sign that we might not be a camping family was that we each insisted on bringing two pillows. I should have called it right there. But I had a vision (had I been silly enough to share it with Hubby he would have call it a delusion): the four of us by the side of a pristine lake, each having brought only what we could fit in our backpacks, the kids frolicking in the water, Hubby and I relaxing on the shore, having possibly even travelled there by canoe.

Before you call me crazy, know that I have learned a thing or two about myself and my children over the last few years, and so I also had a more realistic, attainable vision (though apparently Hubby knows us best -he actually did call this one a delusion): the four of us in a provincial park, no more than five lots away from the bathrooms, sleeping in a ten-person, two-room tent (if the kids are in the same room together, no one is getting any sleep) equipped with cushy air mattresses, having travelled there in our car over a distance of no more than 100 kilometres.

When I tried to sell Hubby on the realistic vision he shook his head and said, “You and the kids will hate it.” On some level, I must have known he was right; I never had the confidence to put my money where my vision is and gear up.

And then my parents bought a trailer.

I asked my Dad if he would set it up for us for a few days  since our car doesn’t have the capacity to tow a trailer, not to mention that we have no idea what we’re doing. He graciously agreed, and we found ourselves spending two nights on the shores of the St. Lawrence river in a 21′ foot trailer. Thanks to my mom, the trailer came equipped with the following, in addition to a bathroom and queen size bed:

  • plates, cups and cutlery;
  • condiments; tin foil, garbage bags;
  • marshmallow sticks and at least ten bags of marshmallows (my mother refuses to acknowledge that my kids are pukers);
  • more Tupperware than we have here at home;
  • a stove with three burners;
  • an oven;
  • a 21″ flat-screen television and a DVD player (sadly no blue-ray – the kids were forced to survive on SpongeBob videos alone);
  • a mix-master (“In case you want to make a cake”, my mom said. Sometime I wonder if she’s ever even met me.)
  • two containers of Rice Crispie squares;
  • one container of homemade soup.

Here is what we brought, in addition to the aforementioned pillows:

  • enough food to last a week;
  • enough clothing to last us each a month;
  • a Rubbermaid bin full of Play-Doh and Play-Doh accessories;
  • three sleeping bags;
  • three flashlights that provided ten minutes of light each before the batteries burned out;
  • four camp chairs;
  • sunscreen, bug spray, children’s Advil, and children’s Benadryl;
  • Bunny.

What we didn’t bring:

  • booze (looking back on the camping I did when I was in high school, booze seemed to be a key ingredient to ensure a good time- perhaps this is where we went wrong);
  • Tylenol.

Here’s what we learned:

  • We are not a camping family.

We had reserved the only lot in the park without one square inch of shade. The kids weren’t interested in playing on the beach, swimming, playing at the playground or doing anything else we suggested. All they wanted to do was fight over the Play-Doh, but they had to do it sitting in the blazing sun.  I fought with them every hour on the hour when it was time to reapply sunscreen.

To offset the day’s blazing sun, it rained the minute we tried to start a campfire. The first night I shared the bed in the camper with B.G. while Dan and Bonhomme slept in a puddle in our small, leaky tent. B.G. couldn’t fall asleep and spent half the night crying about it. On night two we switched kids (though I still got to sleep in the bed – no way was I sleeping outside in the tent! So much for my “vision”). Bonhomme slept like a baby but he kept elbowing me in the kidneys all night.

The best part of the camping trip occurred when we left the actual campsite and visited Upper Canada Village on day two. We expected to blow through the village in a couple of hours, but the kids loved the working sawmill, the horse-pulled boat ride and exploring the houses, and we ended up closing the place. I’ve tried unsuccessfully to block the rest of the weekend out of my mind.

Hubby was right all along. We’ve decided that on our next camping trip, we’re going to skip the actual camping.


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It’s a Bit Much, Don’t You Think?

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Every forty feet for forty kilometres.

After spending five glorious and relatively ad-free days in the Canmore-Banff-Lake Louise region, Sis, B.G. and I headed into BC. We drove forty kilometres down Highway 95 between Invermere and Fairmont, and the highway looked like this the whole way. Each billboard was like a slap in the face: “HEY! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! NEVER MIND THE MOUNTAINS – LOOK AT ME I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU! LOOK! AT! MEEEEEE!!!!!”

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More ad space than ads. If you look closely you can see five billboards at once.

Yeesh. Shut the &*% up already, would ya??