I want to preface this with some major kudos to the single parents.  I don’t know how you do it.  Seriously.

I foolishly decided that I could take all three boys camping by myself.  No husband.

The last time I did something so stupid, Tater was a toddler and I was pregnant with Linus.  It was with the same friends I went with this time, who obviously are just as optimistic/foolish as me, because they invited us to tag along.  Two kids later, no less!  But they had their grand kids and we thought they would all get along swell, which they did.

There is just something about camping with a child under three that is ill-advised if you are down a DNA donor.  You have to have the parent buffer, particularly if the separation anxiety is in full force.  Since I am a SAHM, that it is a given.

For example, the first time I tried it, I had to take Tater everywhere with me.  If I left him with my friends, he screamed.  Sadly, he was old enough to form sentences.  Such as in the restroom where he bellowed “are you POOPING, Mom?”  just before he scrambled under the door on the filthy floor.  The chuckles coming from the stalls adjacent to me did not help!

JD likes our friends well enough, but it is best if I stay within arm’s length, or worst case scenario, visibility.

If I had to venture to the restroom, I prayed JD would not notice my absence.  There is nothing like leaving the restroom only to recognize the distinct wail of your progeny, who was quite certain he had been abandoned forever.

Our campgrounds are continually updated, if slowly, and this time we had a recently renovated facility.

Those automatically flushing toilets scare the bejeesus out of kids.  Ok, me too!  One stall was so sensitive that you were guaranteed four flushes before you could take care of your business.

Needless to say, with five kids, the four who were potty trained wanted escorts to the restroom.  No one wanted to poop alone with those automatic toilets.

And naturally, they never had to go when you did.  The adults would announce they were headed that way.  “Who needs to go?”  Not me!

As soon as you walked back onto the campsite, at least one would now magically have to pee.  By the last day, I did not care.  “Oh, you have to go NOW?  Sorry, been there and done that!”  Ok, I was a little sleep-deprived and not feeling very nice.

JD was teething, so he would wake up every few hours to remind me of that.  Since he also tends to eat what I eat, I had foolishly fed him “grillin’ beans” off of my plate.  No, a gassy and teething baby does not sleep well, in case you were wondering.  You can always tell by the “wahhh” followed by a fart, followed by quiet.  My bad!

The sad truth to camping is that once one person wakes up, everyone is up.  Especially if the first one up is a crying baby.  Just ask our neighbors, who all but high fived each other when they saw me breaking down the pop up!  “Leaving today?” they asked innocently, but I knew better.

Never mind that Mommy laid there, listened to the rain, felt the wind gusts, and prayed for two hours that we would all live to see another day.  Let’s just start bawling at sunrise, even though she has to break camp all by herself and drive at least two hours to get us home, stopping every 35 minutes so someone can relieve themselves.

My friend finally took pity on me, after two days of bathing with baby wipes, and pushed JD in his stroller so I could take a shower.  It’s possible I stank so bad they would no longer let me in their camper.  Either way, I wasn’t looking a gift shower in the mouth.

It’s difficult to say “would you watch my child, who is most likely going to scream bloody murder for the entire time, while I go wash up?”  I was glad she offered, though she made sure I put him in the stroller so maybe he wouldn’t realize it wasn’t Mommy pushing him around the campground.

If you have five kids you are responsible for, chances are very good that one of them will be bleeding, hungry, tired, cranky, thirsty, or need to use the restroom.  They will fall of their bikes, bonk their heads on playground equipment, run into bullies, and never get enough sleep.  You have been forewarned (but seriously, don’t try this at home!).

When we took them to the tractor show, it became evident that people make assumptions.  When we were gathered up in the parking lot, an elderly couple looked at me and said “you have quite the crew there!”  Like all five were mine!  Oh, I have nothing against big families, but don’t give me that kind of credit.  If I had five kids seven and under, I would be in a padded room getting some very good drugs.

It got even better when I had all five around me and the husband, who is a bit older than my mother (who went to school with them), while his wife was in the restroom.  Oh, did we get some looks!

He mock whispers to me “they all figure I must be HUNG!”  Being a man, he seemed pretty pleased with the idea.  Being women, they probably he figured he was rich, but I wasn’t going to spoil his fantasy!

I have to say that the adventure made me miss my husband.  I am sure he missed us too, though all that quiet and sleep probably counteracted missing my home cooking and their dotage.  Maybe we both appreciate each other a little more now.  For example, I learned that a pop up does not stabilize and level itself.  He seemed to learn that the dishes do not walk themselves from the sink to the dishwasher.