When I was a kid, I went camping. A lot. I loved it.
My husband on the other hand; not really a camping guy.
We went camping together once, on the May long weekend; it was at a music festival that Husband was playing at, on a friends' farm, about a three hour drive away.
When we arrived, about ten o'clock at night, it was pitch black and pouring rain. We couldn't set up our tent, so had to sleep in the back of our rented PT Cruiser. The air mattress fit, so we blew it up.
That turned out to be a mistake, since it put our faces about a foot from the roof of the car. I woke up in the middle of the night, screaming, from a dream that I'd been buried alive.
The rest of the trip, it both rained and SNOWED. A lot of people were staying up all night and sleeping during the day because it was too damn cold to sleep at night. My toes still hurt when it gets cold.
Needless to say, it was not exactly my favourite camping trip ever.
That was over ten years ago, and we have not been camping since.
Which brings me to today: Today, I will be embarking on a three day camping trip with the girls. Husband will not be joining us. (More because he has to work than because he hates camping. I think.)
I have to admit though, that it's not actually "camping", as I would define it. We're setting up a tent in my parents' backyard. We will have access to running water, a refrigerator, and a barbecue.
It's more of a "practice" camping trip, to see how the girls do, because Husband has promised me a proper camping trip next summer.
(And if it goes anything like that trip with Husband, we can always pack up and slink into the house.)