Into the Wild

Last weekend we were fortunate to be invited on a multi-family camping trip in the California Redwoods.  My husband and I have done some camping - he more than I - but we hadn't yet done a full family campout, kids and all.  Cold water? Late night trips to the pit toilet? No electricity?  No problem. I was raised in Oregon after all. I like tall trees. I've slept on damp ground. I'm hardy.

Hardy or not, camping with kids is a ton of work!  They want cocoa with marshmallows. They want s’mores. They need changes of clothes and a good night’s sleep. The bulk of the pre-trip week was devoted to making and reviewing checklists and tossing various kitchen items, tools, and foodstuffs into a large tub. Trips to REI, Costco and OSH. Planning. Purchasing. Packing. Overpacking. My husband was in London all week and not set to return until Friday, after our planned departure time. Due to his being in charge of most loading and hauling, he is normally the voice of reason in the packing department. Well that voice was too far away for me to hear.  The car was stuffed.

On Friday afternoon, an hour before John was due to land back in the States, the kids and I were off.  Knowing their father would be tired from the flight, and wanting to flex my campworthiness, I crowned my boys temporary "man-of-the-house" and "second-in-command" thinking I could secure their help in setting up camp before dark. Ours were walk-in campsites which have the benefit of being away from cars and their non-woodsy noises, yet require you to haul e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g to the site.  Hardy.  From Oregon.

When we arrived, the kids carried down a sleeping bag or two, and then scampered off to join the ten other kids - ages 5 to 11 - in hollering and running all over the woods. In no time, they had built a fort with sticks and pine boughs in the base of a giant redwood tree. My younger son convinced me it was a former bear cave.

As the parents continued to haul gear and pitch tents, the kids broke into teams, started using pretend code names. Then they established jobs such as guarding the cave, procuring building materials, and gathering pine cones. When someone went over to the dark side and tried to invade the cave, it led to a "Lord of the Flies" situation where the "prisoner" was hauled into and detained in a hollowed out redwood tree trunk. When I passed by the scene, on load five or six from the car, they were guarding him with long sticks and wild eyes. He was in on the game, at least for the initial stages.

Day two brought a hike on which the kids forded streams on fallen logs and ran ahead of the parents only to ambush us with a ululating war cry reminiscent of Planet of the Apes. We all learned how to spot poison oak and stinging nettles, some a bit too late unfortunately. By afternoon, the arsenal of pine cones had become a currency with values assigned according to their uniqueness and quality. Cones were used to purchase various sizes of whittled sticks in a makeshift "store." Stick whittlers were on different pay scales and people took timed "breaks." Such inventiveness. And not an iPad in sight!

Sounds idyllic, doesn't it? Ten kids - eight boys and two girls - spending two days running freely, breathing fresh air, collecting pine cones, whittling sticks, creating a mini-civilization, comparing banana slugs, eating S'mores, and chucking various things into the fire-pit when parents weren't looking. They enjoyed each others company and flexed their imaginations while stoking campfire flames and telling each other about their latest dreams. No one asked for screen time.

Now that we are back - and still unpacking - I look forward to more camping trips and hope they result in just as much free-form fun and as many lasting memories. Not just for me, but for my kids. I also sincerely hope my kids - and their friends - have internalized how much more thrilling camping is than even the heartiest round of Angry Birds. They better. Hardy or not, camping with kids is a lot of work.

**This post first appeared over at Silicon Valley Mamas on June 3rd.  Come check 'em out.

Opting Out of the End-of-School-Year Scramble

Do you ever consider it?  Just packing up early and heading out of town simply to avoid the last two weeks of school end-of-year parties, end-of-season parties, recitals, movie nights, award ceremonies, field days, and all manner of other excuses for another juice-box and pizza-filled celebration?  By this point in the year, it's not like there is much learning going on.  So why not just head to the hills - or Yosemite - before the summer crowds arrive?

Lisa Belkin - who always seems to be reading my mind ;-) - recently addressed this in her Motherlode column in the New York Times.  I had been griping about the end of year craziness all last week to anyone who would listen, and then I saw it in print, in her May 31st column called The End-of-School-Year Scramble.  I enjoy reading her brief pieces, yet I often find much more entertainment and enlightenment in the comments section where all sorts of opinionated, and often quite witty, people from across the nation and world chime in with their own personal perspective.

On this topic, I'd put the bulk of commenters into a few categories:

The Harried Helpless: those who are genuinely overwhelmed by it all, yet somehow feel powerless to make a change or stop the madness for fear of upsetting their children (or their friends) in some way.  Many of these commenters seem to come from Northern Virginia and the Midwest.  Hmmm.

The Bitter Breadwinners:  More than a few people pointed a finger toward their nemesis, the bored "SAHM" contingent who some of these commenters suggest sit around all day dredging up parties and events to fill the ample time "they" all seem to have on their hands. **

The Artful Avoiders: Those who manage to cherry pick a few of what they deem the most meaningful events and avoid the rest.

So where does your family fall?  Or are you - you unique person you - not so easily categorized?  I'd like to think we are Artful Avoiders, but since I don't work for a salary anymore and we are still establishing roots and friendships in this area, I fear we are often one of the Harried Helpless; that is, part of the problem itself.

To that end, I am trying to do my small part to curtail waste generated by many of these events in which we participate.  In addition to voting "no" to trophies, goody bags, and other trinkets, I've increasingly become a bit of a commenter (not quite a crusader) against all the juiceboxes, juice-pouches and snack wrappers generated by these events.

While I know my comments are not always welcome, and I am sure there are plenty of other more important causes to take on than juiceboxes, there does seem to be a growing awareness in our community about "going green" at more of these events.  Not quite as much as the evergreen Seattle community we left, but it is here, too.  Tonight, my son is attending a potluck where families have been asked to bring their own dishes and utensils.  I applaud this group for that, even if that is exactly what one should expect from the Cub Scouts.

The other conversation I'm starting to hear is that of opting out of the less meaningful parts of this end-of-year bonanza.  Of the trophy.  Of the goody bag.  Of the entire party in some cases.  The family calendar is saturated and wise parents are realizing that all meaning is lost on a child once they reach their seventh pizza party of the month.  When your child says "Can we just stay home tonight?"  That is the time to opt-out of the scramble.  Your family, and the environment, are likely to be all better off when you do.


**  I was a full-time working mom for 4.5 long years and am sympathetic to the pros and cons of both "sides".  That said, it is fun to try out a little dramatic prose for the sake of entertainment.