When I was young, I found myself captivated by tales of pioneers and their adventures, similar to the ones described in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s beloved books. I eagerly flipped through the pages and enjoyed the television adaptations featuring a charming girl with pigtails living life to the fullest in the great outdoors. I longed to be that adventurous spirit, roaming freely alongside the rivers and fishing by the lakes.
But let’s be honest: there’s a huge difference between enjoying a nostalgic story about frontier life and actually enduring it. With the conveniences of modern life—like air conditioning and indoor plumbing—how can anyone willingly choose to camp? It’s downright absurd.
Camping is a nightmare.
And when you throw kids into the mix, it becomes even more chaotic. Why on earth would someone willingly pack their belongings, drive out into the wilderness, and then live like cavemen for several days? Plus, I have a serious problem with a flimsy tent being my only barrier between my family and a potential bear encounter.
I genuinely despise camping.
Yet, my family is a different story. My husband and kids rave about the thrill of waking up to a sunrise over a serene lake. They gush about the joy of disconnecting from technology and embracing nature, claiming it’s like stepping into a fairy tale. They even wax poetic about how roasting hot dogs over a fire makes them taste better, despite the hours it takes to get that fire going—thanks to my husband forgetting to bring matches.
I suspect my family loves camping because I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting. They don’t grasp the immense amount of planning that goes into creating a portable home and hauling it out into the middle of nowhere. They’re blissfully unaware of the sheer volume of marshmallows I have to stockpile or how many baby wipes are needed to avoid a hygiene disaster.
Camping is utterly exhausting.
There’s a relentless cycle of folding and unfolding gear. Upon arriving at the campsite, I spend what feels like an eternity trying to figure out how to set up the tent. After three days of sharing close quarters with my now sweaty family, I have to repeat the process in reverse, with the added bonus of airing out the tent when we return home—because it now smells like a blend of sweat and charred wood. All told, I waste countless hours dealing with that wretched tent.
Camping is also stressful.
The bathroom situation alone is enough to send me into a tailspin. I’m what you might call a “home pooper,” and let me tell you: public restrooms in the wilderness are not my idea of comfort. The fear of camping-induced constipation is real, and I often find myself weighing the urgency of a bathroom trip at 2 a.m. It’s a game of “Do I really need to go?” followed by the dread of navigating through the dark to find a latrine that smells less than pleasant. I don’t need that sort of anxiety in my life.
Camping is annoying.
I’m convinced that air mattress manufacturers purposely design their products to leak. I have yet to encounter an air mattress that doesn’t deflate, and I refuse to accept the idea that “real campers” sleep on the hard ground. If I’m stuck in a nylon tent, I refuse to endure the discomfort of rocks digging into my back all night.
Kudos to those who can genuinely enjoy camping—I’m just not one of them. I have no interest in hair that smells like smoke for a week or meals cooked on tiny grills. Unless my camping experience involves a luxurious RV parked next to a Starbucks with reliable Wi-Fi, you won’t catch me strumming a guitar and singing campfire songs.
As for my family? They can continue their outdoor escapades without me. Because quite frankly, camping is the worst.
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Summary
Camping can be a grueling experience, especially for families. The stress of planning, setting up, and dealing with the discomfort of outdoor living far outweighs any romantic notions of wilderness adventures. While some may find joy in the experience, others, like me, prefer the comforts of home over the chaos of camping trips.