Roaming Towards Myself

Yes. I have been camping.
And because I am apparently incapable of having a normal, uneventful experience, I also have a camping story.
Years ago, when I was married, my husband and I took the three boys camping. They would have been about six or seven, somewhere around that age where they still thought sleeping in a tent was exciting and not a strange social experiment in discomfort.
We had one of those big family tents with separate rooms. My husband was sleeping in one section with two of the boys, and I was in the other section with one of them. Outside, we had a fire going because it had been cold. It was all safe, under control, and very wholesome in that outdoorsy family way people pretend is relaxing.
Then, in the middle of the night, I woke up because I felt something run over me.
Not a breeze. Not a leaf. Not my imagination.
Something small and alive had just scampered across my sleeping bag.
Naturally, my brain went straight to snake, because why stay calm when you can immediately choose terror? I grabbed my torch and looked around, and then I saw it out of the corner of my eye. A mouse. Or a rat. Some tiny little camping intruder had decided our tent was now shared accommodation.
My son was sound asleep in his sleeping bag, completely unaware that we had a little rodent visitor. I looked at him and thought, well, he’s fine. He’s not waking up. Why disturb him?
So I did what any brave, sensible mother would do.
I abandoned the tent.
I put my jumper on, put my beanie on, went outside, sat in front of the fire, put my feet up on the camp chair, added a few more logs, and stayed there.
My son remained peacefully asleep in the tent with the mouse.
In my defence, he really did look very comfortable.
Would it have been kinder to wake him up? Maybe. Would it have been more chaotic, cold, loud, and dramatic? Absolutely. So I let him sleep. I chose peace. Mine, mostly.
That is camping to me. Fresh air, family memories, a warm fire, and the quiet realisation that I will happily sacrifice almost anything for my children, except apparently sharing a tent with a rodent.