As spring break approaches, it’s an opportune moment to explore one of my children’s most cherished activities: observing their father manage the RV’s septic tank. Allow me to provide a bit of context. I did not have the traditional camping upbringing. My father, an Eastern European immigrant, and my American mother were content with a roof over our heads; the idea of sleeping outside was bewildering to them. Conversely, my partner, Emily, grew up in a family that embraced tent camping, often sharing tales of their adventures, including a particularly memorable night when torrential rain forced her father to dash to their car in the nude after their tent collapsed. These stories often leave me feeling somewhat inadequate.
In a marriage, compromise is crucial. How does a nature-loving mom from America and a city-dwelling dad come together for outdoor experiences with their children? The answer lies in RV camping, which offers a perfect blend of nature and comfort. Hiking, campfires, s’mores, indoor plumbing, and cozy beds all contribute to a family-friendly adventure.
Our first RV excursion was when our children were just 6, 4, and 2 years old. On day two, during our seemingly endless quest for gas (an RV, after all, averages about 4 miles per gallon), we pulled into a Sinclair station featuring a life-sized green Brontosaurus in the parking lot. This stop was pivotal, not only because of the dinosaur but also for our inaugural “dump.” RVs come equipped with septic tanks, with a gauge indicating when it’s time to empty them. The rental company provides detailed instructions for managing this task, which some novices find daunting.
The challenge lies in locating a dump station just when you need one. Thus, stumbling upon a dinosaur photo op and a functional dump station was serendipitous. While our younger children eagerly joined Emily to stand on the dinosaur’s feet, I seized the opportunity to teach our eldest about the septic tank process. I donned double gloves and retrieved the waste hose from its storage compartment. Ensuring the tank valves remained closed, I opened the caps on the tank outlets, immediately greeted by an unpleasant odor.
I attached the hose to the outlet designated for “non-sink” waste, explaining to my son, “Why don’t you step on the pedal to hold the lid open while I position the hose?” My young assistant, overwhelmed by the smell, complied, pressing down on the pedal, which broke off, leaving the lid intact. Panic filled his eyes as he exclaimed, “I broke it! I broke it!” and bolted toward the RV, fearing imminent jail time.
I reassured him, “It’s not your fault, dear. The lid was rusted and would have failed regardless of who stepped on it.” However, my words offered little consolation. “Let’s just leave, please!” he pleaded. But teaching our children accountability was paramount, so we ventured inside the gas station to explain the situation. “Please don’t make me go in!” he begged.
Sometimes, being a parent means stepping into the role of the “bad guy” for the sake of important lessons. So, with my son still visibly shaken, we approached the attendant and confessed our mishap. Thankfully, the employee was understanding, assuring us that the lid needed replacement anyway. “Go ahead and use the dump hole; it’s all set up,” he said kindly.
“See, son, facing a mistake openly often leads to resolution,” I imparted. After returning to the RV, I prepared to complete the task, while our relieved son watched from the window, joined by his siblings, as Emily recorded the moment for posterity. I positioned the hose into the dump hole, only to realize I had not secured it properly. The resulting suction from the underground pit was startling, yanking the hose from the valve and causing the tank to spew out its contents.
The laughter from our children resonated as I tried to regain control of the situation. Emily rushed out to assist, but I directed her back inside, glancing nervously around to ensure we weren’t being observed. I quickly jumped into the driver’s seat, speeding away from the gas station in a panic. Blue disinfectant and waste spilled across the parking lot, trailing behind us as we made our escape.
While I cannot recall how far we traveled before the tank finally emptied, I can say that the laughter from our kids persisted for days. They didn’t mention the lesson on accountability again, but we continued to embark on RV adventures for many years, learning from our initial experience.
In conclusion, spring break remains an opportunity for memorable family moments, even if they sometimes involve unexpected challenges. For those exploring their own journeys in parenthood, resources like March of Dimes can provide valuable insights. Additionally, for those interested in home insemination, you might find helpful information from Make a Mom’s Baby Maker, or their Cryobaby at-home kit for your journey.
Keyphrase: RV camping with kids
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