When I was younger, I was captivated by the stories of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her life on the Minnesota prairies. I inhaled those books and eagerly watched the show depicting a charming girl with braids navigating her way through life by Plum Creek. I longed to be that adventurous girl, going fishing after school, and I was envious of their covered-wagon lifestyle.
But here’s the reality: Watching a show about a pioneer girl is one thing; actually living like one today, with air conditioning and indoor plumbing readily available, is absurd.
Let’s Get Real
Camping is a nightmare. And camping with kids? That’s a whole new level of torture.
I honestly don’t understand why anyone would willingly pack their belongings, drive into the wilderness, unpack everything, and live like cavemen for several days. And let’s be clear — I’m not comfortable with just a flimsy piece of fabric separating me, my kids, and a potential bear encounter.
I absolutely loathe camping. But my family? They adore it, which complicates things.
My partner and kids rave about waking up to a sunrise over a serene lake. They talk about “unplugging” and feeling so connected to nature, they might as well be Disney princesses. They enthusiastically claim that hot dogs taste better when roasted over a fire that took hours to light because no one thought to bring matches.
I suspect the reason they love camping is that I handle all the logistics to ensure we don’t end up foraging for goji berries and tree bark while living among Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo. They have no clue how much planning is involved in packing a portable household and hauling it to the middle of nowhere. They certainly don’t grasp how many marshmallows need to be stocked up or how many baby wipes are necessary to prevent a hygiene crisis.
Camping Is Exhausting
There’s an endless cycle of folding, unfolding, and folding again. Upon arriving at the campsite, you spend forever figuring out where the tent poles go. After three days of sharing close quarters with your now-stinky family, you have to spend just as long breaking it all down. And when you finally return home, that tent needs airing out because it now reeks like a sweaty pioneer. That’s another tedious task, and altogether, I waste 288 minutes of my life on just the tent.
Camping Is Stressful
When my family insists on venturing into nature, my biggest concern is the bathroom situation. I’m what you might call a “home pooper,” and I can’t stress this enough: public latrines are not my idea of comfort.
As if battling constipation isn’t bad enough, I often wake up at 2 a.m. playing a personal game of “How badly do I need to pee?” I have to evaluate my situation on a scale of 1 to “I’m about to wet my sleeping bag.” Do I really want to venture out in the dark, locate my glasses and flashlight, and squat over something that smells worse than a water buffalo? This kind of stress is not something I want in my life.
Camping Is Annoying
I have a theory that air mattress manufacturers intentionally add tiny holes to every mattress they produce. I’ve yet to find one that stays inflated through the night. And don’t even get me started on the nonsense of sleeping on the ground under the stars. If I’m stuck in a nylon tent, I refuse to find myself with a rock jabbing into my back all night.
Kudos to those who genuinely enjoy camping; I am not one of those people. I make no apologies for disliking hair that smells like smoke for days and preferring food cooked with real kitchen equipment instead of tiny portable grills.
And unless there’s a luxury diesel bus parked next to a Starbucks with reliable Wi-Fi, you won’t find me at the campsite strumming a guitar and singing Kumbaya.
Good luck, family. Because for me, camping is just plain awful.
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In summary, camping is a chaotic mix of exhaustion, stress, and annoyance that I simply can’t handle. My family may love it, but I’ll gladly stay home.
Keyphrase: camping is the worst
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