We camped last night. In our backyard. I was so determined that we were NOT going to sleep in the house. Because only wimps do that. And besides, my kids are seasoned campers.
We grilled, we made ice cream and we toasted marshmallows over our fire pit. Grown ups talked, enjoyed each other's company. Kids ran around wild, in and out of the tent, on swings, near the fire (great idea, mom!) and generally made us grateful that we don't have many close neighbors right now. And, we hoped that no one good was househunting for the vacant houses around us.
After dark, kids who weren't staying the night went home, dad went inside to sleep (because he's smarter than me, thinking that sleeping in a tent with four kids is brilliant) pajamas were put on, ghost stories were told (which, apparently, when you are eight, involve lots of bathroom humor and not a lot of scariness), and children were hushed. The baby fell asleep first, my oldest second, his friend finally fell asleep, then it was just me and my daughter, who hates sleeping - always has.
Then it started to rain. Because we can bring rain to the most arid desert. Simply by trying to sleep outside. I put on the rain fly, because I was determined to make it through the night outside. I put the dog inside, because she's the biggest wimp ever, and I can't believe that she even attempted to sleep outside. But the rain kept coming. And coming.
Because I'm a wimp, and because I made a decision with input from a five year old (who wanted to sleep in her bed even before it started raining), I woke everyone else up and shooed them inside. The baby wouldn't wake up, so I carried him. Got everyone settled and crawled in my warm bed, next to my warm husband. We only made it two hours in the tent.
The oldest came up to me this morning and said, "mom, how did we all end up inside?" I guess I didn't quite wake him up.
We're going to camp again tonight. Because I'm brilliant.