Camping With Kids

We took the kids camping for a week. 22 kids. 19 adults. 6 days. 5 nights. It was unlike any other camping trip I’ve ever been on.

Were there bugs? Tons.

Tarantulas as big as my fist? Yep.

Was the air fresh and the freedom to be outside all day exactly what my spirit was craving? Without a doubt.

Were the showers filthy and the water cold? Absolutely.

Did we question whether the swimming hole was sanitary enough to allow our children to jump in, mouths wide open like children do? You got it.

And did we still allow them to jump in anyway? It wouldn’t be camping if we didn’t.

But then there were a whole lot of unexpected moments.

Our cook brought a huge speaker system, and blasted dance music around the clock. You couldn't even hear the chirping of the locusts or the howling of the coyotes.

The camp was situated on a working farm, so every day the buses brought in a load of farm workers with their 5-gallon buckets for a day of picking chili peppers.

Mexicans seem to abhor making plans, and even more so sticking to them, so even though Randy brought and prepared everything we needed for every meal, each afternoon we ended up running to town for the fixings we needed to prepare the new menu for the day. We didn’t have hamburgers or hot dogs the entire week, instead having empanadas and carne asada and tostadas. Our entire staff was in the kitchen all afternoon every afternoon, because it wouldn’t be right to go a day without fresh tortillas. Someone even paid a guy to bring us popsicles on his motorcycle. Don't tell me our kids aren't spoiled!

While the mamas were making tortillas the first couple of afternoons, the kids were in their bunks watching movies on laptops. By day 3 I couldn’t take it anymore. I pleaded with the mamas, “No more movies! This is camping! It’s about being OUTSIDE and UNPLUGGED.”

They apologized. “We didn’t know.”

Didn't know? How could they not know? Doesn’t everyone know?

But immediately I felt convicted. Maybe they didn’t know. Or maybe I was the one who didn’t know. Who says my way of camping is the "right" way?

This has become a pretty standard question for me this year. Which on the surface feels like growth. Isn’t it a good thing to get to the place where you can open yourself to new perspectives and new ways of doing things? Isn’t it a good thing to accept that your way isn’t the only way… isn’t necessarily the right way or the best way?

The problem is, once you start asking that question, it can be easy to move from feeling like maybe your way isn't the only way to start assuming that your way is never the right way. Is never the best way. Is never even valid.

What if there isn’t anything wrong with watching movies all afternoon on a camping trip in the middle of 100 degree temperatures? What if there isn’t anything wrong with spending all afternoon in the kitchen instead of taking nature hikes and eating cold meat sandwiches because they get you back out playing quicker? What if there isn’t anything wrong with wearing dresses and high heels to camp, and having dance parties until 3 a.m.?

It’s hard to find balance. To know when to fight for “your way” and when to “let it go.” 

In the end, rather than condemning the ones who wanted to relax in the afternoons, I simply offered alternatives. Arts and crafts. Puzzles and coloring. Swimming with Jovi.

And on the last morning I woke them all up with a "Who wants to go for a hike before breakfast?" Which was met by "Is this an obligation?" To which I responded, "No, but I have chocolate!" Because bribery always helps.