Camping

Every year, we go camping. We camp at Memorial Day, Independence Day and Labor Day. Last year, despite Judah's birth, we did not skip a beat. Our hope was to be able to weave him right into our family traditions, in hopes that we would build lasting and fun memories for our little guy.

So, with the commencement of camping season, we were a bit nervous this year. Judah is a lot bigger than last year, but more than that, he is a lot more mobile. I knew that it would be a bit of a chore chasing him around, in addition to the regular camping duties (cooking meals and setting up camp, to name a couple). But, heading into the holiday weekend, we had the additional stress of Judah's sickness. He had contracted the flu, and was throwing up and sleeping a good deal of last week. But, after laboring over our dilemma, Mark gave the final word on Thursday night that we were planning to head out.

We had previously read of isolated thunderstorms in the forecast in Yosemite, but were unconcerned, because the weather was supposed to clear up. On Friday morning, an hour and a half after our estimated departure time, we headed east, my nerves a bit frayed at the free-association of Judah/dirt/vomit/playpen/cooking, etc. Onward and upward, warnings unheeded.

With only a stop at In and Out along the way, we arrived at the campsite within three hours, just in time for the rain. So, with Judah and I waiting in the truck, Mark set up camp. Trying to rein in an energetic one-year-old in a confined space is about as fun as watching paint dry. At the wheel, he was playing with the blinker switch, the wiper blades, the mirrors, the emergency brake, the radio, the flashers, the cigarette lighter, EVERYTHING he could get his chubby little hands on. Add to this the fact that we were closing in on nap time, intermittent cries and eye-rubbing became part of the mix. But, maintaining my sweet spirit and profound composure, I yelled softy (ha): "Husband, are you nearly finished? Your wonderful son is ready for his nap."

And 20 minutes later, I laid Judah inside of his playpen in the cramped tent. He would have no such thing. We discovered that being in his playpen, for him, and for us, is like a fate worse than death. The child tortured us with his cries, and given that we were crammed inside because of the rain, we allowed him to hang with us on the floor of the tent.

Nick and Lindsey arrived half an hour after that, fresh-faced from there childlessness. Mark, with Judah on his back (literally and figuratively) helped them set up their camp as I prepared to cook dinner. But the rain began to come in droves- this was not "isolated" by any means. We moved the dinner table under the trees and soggily, ate our meal of hot dogs and beans. I put an exhausted Judah to bed and happily made my way over to the campfire, which was going strong under the now-softer drizzle. As I sat there, I gratefully prayed, thanking God that Judah was asleep and happy that camping seemed like it might turn out, after all.

We went to sleep at about 10:30, filled and content.

That lasted for one hour. Because like a howler monkey in the rain forest, Judah screeched his way into our dreams at 11:30. Not only him, but somebody in one of the neighboring campsites decided that it was time to bust out the music, and it pierced the night air, the notes echoing loudly inside our tents. I remember laying there, trying to get Judah back to sleep with the words to Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" screaming in my head. The nightmare had begun.

Judah woke up no fewer than fifteen times that night, eventually sandwiching me between him and Mark on the small roll-up pad that was under our sleeping bags. To say it was a miserable night is drastically understating the situation. The last song I remember actually falling asleep to was a non-Beetles version of "Hey Jude." And then it was morning.

The "isolated thunderstorms" continued consistently throughout the morning and I did my best to make blueberry pancakes without getting them wet. We ate in shifts, as the pancakes came off the stove. We decided to hurry our morning along and got on the road toward Yosemite valley as soon as we finished our breakfast.

Loading our day's necessities into the trucks was no small chore, so once that was finished, we packed Nick, Lindsey and Judah in the backseat of our mid-sized Toyota and drove gladly away from the drenched campsite. Nick and Lindsey graciously acknowledged barely hearing Judah the night before, and noted that he was nothing compared to the music and the puddle under the right side of their air mattress.

It took about forty minutes to make it through the line of cars into the valley, only to realize that we could not see remotely past the fog. This would be Lindsey's first glimpse of the grandeur of Yosemite, and so far, it was no different than sitting on an airplane and looking out the window into puffs of white. But we pushed on. We started to drive toward Glacier Point. But at the head of the road, we were cut off by a sheriff, announcing the road closure due to...SNOW! We encountered the same thing on our way to the Meadows. So, we stayed in the valley, hoping to catch site of even a half of Half-Dome. But, when it started to snow down in the valley, and Judah began to scream after three hours in the car, our hopes were quickly dashed.

A unanimous decision was made to head back to camp, and I was the first to voice my concern that a weekend full of this was not something to be too excited about, and that maybe we should consider the glorious alternative: going home. Nick and Lindsey nervously showed little resistance. I say it was "nervous," because they are not people to go against the grain, so they tried to maintain neutrality, foisting the decision on Mark and me (real fair, I know).

It was clear though, that we all wanted to go home, with the exception of Mark, who was holding out hope that the clouds would part and the sunshine would break through and Judah would stop whining. But, after more than an hour of deliberating at the campsite, and watching the rain soak our tents, from the safety of our truck, Mark announced the decision to go home. I had begun to feel nauseated at this point, though I thought it was perhaps due to being stuck in the car. So, I quickly popped a couple of pills and headed down to the site to begin packing things up.

Within a short time, we were headed home, to stop at In and Out again, this time, leaving Judah and me in the car, because I just didn't want anything (which is unusual given that I love In and Out). But after a few minutes of playing with Judah, I decided that we had better get on the road because my sickness was not subsiding, but was getting worse. So, we bid adieu to the Christys and got back on the road. We barely made it home when I began to dry-heave (lovely thought). My fever had risen and I could barely pull myself into bed.

Anyway, I spent the weekend fighting the flu and putting away camping gear. It was a crazy time, and one of the worst camping experiences. However, Mark mentioned on Tuesday how grateful he was that the Lord steered us home because I had gotten pretty sick. So, what we learned: that Mark does a great job taking care of a sickly wife (he's got a future in that, I think:) and that no one should ever tent-camp with a one-year-old (at least that's what I've learned).

Memorial Day 2008 pics are below. Nothing spectacular because you could not see Yosemite!!!