This past weekend, my husband took my two older boys camping with his dad.
Camping is the ultimate nature experience.
It was a spur of the moment plan really, having booked it at 8am on the morning they planned to leave. Nothing like I would have done. Plans that I make are marked on the calendar months in advance, with confirmation numbers in hand, printed out and easy to access. There is anticipation and excitement as we all count down the days.
This trip was a vague idea, a trip that almost didn’t even happen. With it being a holiday weekend, my husband wasn’t the only one who thought it might be fun to camp. In fact, it seemed everyone thought it would be a great weekend to go camping, as my husband called around searching for vacancy this week and finding none. I scoffed a bit when he told me no one had any room, wondering why he was so surprised — it was the Saturday morning of a holiday weekend! I was even a bit annoyed at the amount of time he was spending trying to find a place, especially when it seemed there were no options. I did later reconcile that it was probably the equal to the amount of time I’ve spent sifting through places when I’m planning a trip months in advance, when there are indeed many options.
It’s true. My husband and I, we plan differently. And yet, I know our kids are benefiting from the strengths of each of us. How to plan ahead and how to be spontaneous. My hope is that they will carry a little bit of each of us with them as they grow or at least have a tolerance for how some people do things differently.
Spontaneous yet committed to the plan he made, my husband persisted calling around until he eventually found a campsite. I admit, I was a bit relieved. He had told me the week before as we sat down to fill out our summer calendars together as a family that the one thing we hadn’t planned for that he really wanted to do was to go camping with the kids. That was the only other thing, his only real request.
But there was just one problem — I hate camping.
I remember sitting at our kitchen table surrounded by calendars, markers, and stickers as we all plotted out our summer schedule, hearing his request and feeling obligated to make sure we made his one wish for this summer a priority. And yet, I couldn’t muster up the excitement to want to tag along.
Over the years, while I’ve learned to love hiking and to ignore the mud that comes in on my children’s shoes, I still don’t like camping. Even despite embracing my children’s passion for rocks, leaves, and pinecones that find their way into every crevice of our life, I still don’t like camping. And although I’ve myself brought bugs into my house and placed them on the shelves of my playroom, watching caterpillars grow into butterflies in a matter of weeks, I still don’t like camping.
My entire theme the past few months has been on the importance of getting outside with kids and embracing the many benefits of the great outdoors, but it just doesn’t include camping.
I have tried several different methods to warm up to the idea. I have read blogs about camping and how to make it fun, packing lists of things to bring to make it easier and more enjoyable. I have brought foods I like and I find spots on beautiful campgrounds (months in advance of course), full of activities for my kids. And I absolutely love a roasted, chocolaty, gooey S’more.
But when it comes down to it, I am just not a camper. I imagine my feelings for camping are similar to those of people who just don’t like the cold. Despite a cup of hot cocoa and multiple wool layers with a warm fire and great friends — there are still people who just don’t like being outside in the cold. And I just don’t like camping.
When our kids were little, it was easier to compromise with my husband. We would set up a tent in the backyard and we cooked outside. My kids brought out their flashlights and searched for fireflies and I headed inside to my bed while they enjoyed sleeping under the stars. But now as they are growing older, my husband, an Eagle Scout, wants real camp outs. They all do — except me.
So knowing his wife, my husband did us all a favor, and he called up his dad. The duo had spent my husband’s childhood camping together and were ready to do it with the next generation.
With only a few hours to plan their trip, I heard them quickly discuss the menu and any camping supplies they would need and hang up, both of them in search of items they would need for a successful trip with two young kids.
Wanting to offer my assistance knowing I was now off the hook, I helped pack my boys, gathered some household items I thought they could use, and grabbed groceries for their trip.
And within a few hours, they were off. Huge grins on each of their faces, the young and the young at heart.
As they pulled out of our driveways, I was happy. This was the village that I had imagined. An opportunity for my kids that I didn’t have to give them, an experience that others could offer them. Time to bond with their dad and grandfather.
But as they left, I started to feel a little guilty. Should I have gone too? Why wasn’t I embracing the great nature experience? I was even kind of mad at myself for not liking camping. I know there’s so many benefits to being out in nature, I write about them! And I was going to miss them.
Just a few hours before they had left, I had bumped into someone I knew at the grocery store and mentioned that my kids were going camping with their dad and grandfather. Her response was, “Oh, you aren’t going too?” It wasn’t at all judgmental and nothing about her response induced more guilt — my feelings of mom guilt were completely on me. Still, her words made me think and all of that thinking was making me feel worse I wasn’t going.
I was feeling like I was going to miss out, because I was going to miss out!
I felt bad for not embracing my husband’s hobby, an activity my kids enjoyed too.
And after this week, all I wanted to do was hold my kids and be with them.
Maybe I should have just gone.
Would it really have been that hard for me to go for one night?
But as I grabbed the mail from the mailbox after I watched them pull out of the driveway, I noticed the June issue of Pediatrics, the official journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics had arrived today. Taking it out of it’s plastic wrap, I noticed the first article featured on the cover was entitled, “Family Connection and Flourishing Among Adolescents in 26 Countries.” Flipping to that page, I read the abstract (and later this weekend, the entire article), that discussed findings that suggest it is family connection that helps children flourish.
According to this article, there is evidence to support that kids flourish with family connections — family connections, not just maternal connections.
The article went on to describe how these relationships are not just important for building resiliency and helping kids cope with adversity, but they are also important for kids to thrive. Feeling cared for, supported, safe, respected, and a participant in the family, all promoted feelings of family connection which were associated with greater feelings of self-acceptance, a purpose in life, positive relationships with others, personal growth, autonomy, and an overall general feeling of being able to manage their daily responsibilities.
My kids need not just connections with me, but with their family — their dad and their grandfather.
That article arrived just in time for me to quickly let go of my mom guilt.
Being out in nature with my kids is important but I can do that in so many ways other than camping. And when they do want to go camping, it doesn’t have to be me there with them. They have their dad and their grandpa to make those memories with — two people who love being out there with them under the stars. This camping trip was an opportunity for them to foster stronger family connections among three generations — and they didn’t need their mom there to do it.
My husband had made this trip happen, and his dad had helped make it a success. Sure, I helped too by helping them prepare for it, packing and stocking their backpacks and cooler. I made sure to give my husband a gentle reminder about the curiosity of children and my own tips for how to keep them safe and healthy while they traveled. Similarly, I spoke with my children about the importance of following directions, safety around campsites, and having a buddy. My four year old assured me that one adult would watch him, and the other adult would watch my oldest. They would work out a buddy system.
Car packed and safety plans reviewed though, my part was done and I had good-bye. The rest of it, pulled together in a matter of hours, was the work of their dad and their grandfather. There is no doubt that my kids were going to feel cared for, supported, safe, respected, and a participant in the family with those two people by their side, two people they trusted and enjoyed being with.
I saw them off, set down the mail, and I took my youngest and our dog out for a walk through our neighborhood. We blew bubbles on our driveway before we left and watched planes fly over our heads in the blue sky. We stopped to touch pinecones and smell flowers along the way, and we listened to a stream flowing near our house. I wasn’t camping, but I was still immersed in nature. I was immersed in the way that I’m comfortable and the way that I find joy in it. The way that doesn’t cause me additional stress.
I am not entirely sure when many moms started feeling like they have to be there for everything and “do it all.” Perhaps it is with the growing concern and headlines that bombard us making us feel like no matter what we do, we may not always be able to keep our kids completely safe.
But, even I still needed a reminder this weekend that it doesn’t just take a mom — it takes a family. It takes a village.
My husband and I share many hobbies together, but camping may never be one of them. And that is ok. I know that he cherished this weekend with his boys and his dad, a weekend they will all remember. The kind of memories they will think of when they smell a campfire, taste a S’more, and feel the sloshing of mud beneath their shoes.
Camping doesn’t need to be something that I won’t do. Because camping is something that they will do — together. It’s all about perspective and the lens we choose to see things through. It has nothing to do with me not being part of it. It has everything to do with them getting to be a part of it.
When they walked in the door, I asked my boys if they had a fun time with their dad and their grandfather, if they felt like they had gotten to really bond with them, get to know them better, and feel closer to them — the answer was, a resounding, “Yes.”
I could tell from the photos that I saw, that the spontaneous trip, that almost didn’t happen, was exactly what they all needed — family connections.
And as for me? I wish I could say that I accomplished several tasks on my to-do list or used that time to catch up with a friend or simply catch my breath and embrace the peace and quiet. But not this weekend. This weekend, I missed them. I missed the noise. I held my youngest closer and snuggled him for far longer than I have in months before I tucked him in for bed.
And when they all arrived safely home, that was exactly what I needed. <3
Please see the reference below for the article I discussed above.
Whitaker RC, Dearth-Wesley T, Herman AN, et al. Family Connection and Flourishing Among Adolescents in 26 Countries. Pediatrics 2022; 149(6):e2021055263.
