Let’s be honest—camping is quite possibly the most overrated experience ever.
As a child, I was captivated by the tales of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her adventures on the Minnesota prairies. I eagerly read her books and enjoyed the TV show featuring an endearing girl with braids navigating life by Plum Creek. I dreamed of fishing after school and envied their covered-wagon travels.
However, there’s a significant difference between watching a show about a pioneer girl and actually living that lifestyle in today’s world, where air conditioning and indoor plumbing exist.
Camping? It’s a Nightmare.
And camping with kids? Even worse.
Honestly, I can’t fathom why anyone would willingly pack up their lives, trek to the woods, and then pretend to be cavemen for three days. And let’s be real: I’m not comfortable with just a flimsy piece of nylon separating me, my kids, and a massive grizzly bear.
I absolutely detest camping.
But my family adores it, and therein lies the dilemma.
My husband and children rave about how magical it is to wake up by a serene lake at sunrise. They gush about “unplugging” and connecting with nature, claiming it makes them feel like Snow White. They even extol the virtues of hot dogs roasted over a fire that took hours to start because no one remembered to bring matches.
I suspect they enjoy camping because I do all the legwork to ensure we don’t have to resort to foraging for goji berries and tree bark while cohabitating with Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo. They have no idea how much planning goes into creating a portable household and lugging it to the middle of nowhere. They don’t grasp the number of marshmallows required, or how many baby wipes are needed to avoid the dreaded crotch rot.
Camping is Utterly Draining
It involves endless folding, unfolding, and folding again. Upon arriving at the campsite, I spend what feels like an eternity trying to figure out where the tent poles go. After three days of sharing quarters with my now-odoriferous family, I must spend just as long dismantling our temporary wilderness home. And when we return home, I have to air out the tent, which now reeks of sweat and burnt remnants. That’s a total of 288 minutes I’ll never get back.
Camping is Also Fraught with Stress
When my family insists on venturing into the woods, my primary concern is the bathroom situation. To be frank, I’m a “home pooper.” Latrines are not my first choice for feeling comfortable.
As if the anxiety of camping-related constipation isn’t enough, I find myself awake at 2 a.m. debating the urgency of a bathroom trip. On a scale from “I can wait” to “I might wet my sleeping bag,” how badly do I need to find my glasses and flashlight, trek to the latrine, and balance over something that smells horrendous?
Camping is Just Plain Annoying
I have a theory that air mattress manufacturers intentionally create tiny holes in every mattress they produce. I’ve yet to buy an air mattress that doesn’t leak, and I refuse to believe that anyone has successfully camped on the ground without a mattress. I’m not about to spend the night with a rock digging into my back.
Kudos to those who can genuinely enjoy camping; I am not among them. I have no qualms about disliking hair that smells like smoke for a week or eating food prepared on tiny grills. Unless it involves a luxurious RV parked next to a Starbucks with reliable Wi-Fi, you won’t catch me camping.
So, family, you’re on your own. Camping is just not for me.
In Summation
Camping is a laborious, stressful, and frankly unpleasant endeavor that I would rather avoid. For those who don’t share my sentiments, they might find joy in the simplicity of nature. But for me, I’ll stick to my creature comforts.
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