Parenting Olympics

In my eight years of being a parent, I have never attempted to take my kiddos camping until this weekend. Camping is like the Olympics of parenting. When camping, you cannot do what I did thirty minutes ago.

Me: "Alright, Parker, I don't care what you do, but you're in your room for the rest of the night."

Parker: "Why?"

Me: "Because I'm done being a mom."

Parker: "Oh. What are you going to be now?"

You cannot check out of parenting during a camping trip. All my mommy senses were tingling as I mentally checked off where each of my children were in relation to fires, bodies of water, and dead animals. I felt no danger as Deacon bounded off in pursuit of the deer and chipmunks. Those living animals are relatively harmless. It was the bacteria-laden dead ones alongside the road, that I was concerned about.

We were out on a family bike ride together, when Parker noticed something amazing alongside the road.

"It's a snake!" he exclaimed, slamming on his brakes and turning around for a second look.

Hallelujah for me, the worst creature known to mankind was lying dead alongside the road.

"Can I keep it?" Parker asked, reaching for it.

"DO NOT PICK THAT THING UP!"

"But mom, it's dead. I have a bag in my knapsack. Can I pick it up with the bag and bring it home with me?"

"Absolutely not."

Parker was grumping along, pretty annoyed that he couldn't have a pet dead snake, when his ever vigilant eyes picked up another equally delightful find.

"Look--deer bones!!!"

Lying in the gravel by the road was a pair of amputated deer legs with one random white bone lying beside them.

"Mom, since you won't let me have a dead snake, can I have these deer bones?"

If you are the type of mom who would let your child bring deer bones home to your house, please let me know. Parker has informed me he would like to live with one of those types of moms, and not with his type.

I definitely earned a gold medal for my parenting performance with McKay. I had to assist her in all basic toileting needs, such as pulling her pants up and down and opening the door of the outhouse. She would not let go of her nose that she was plugging tightly to do these things for herself. She actually told me she could wait two days to use the toilet rather than use one that didn't flush.

Deacon still sleeps in a crib. There is a good reason for this. I can put that kid down awake, and unable to escape his wooden prison, he is asleep in minutes. Camping, however, left him unconstrained.

"Mommy, we're together," he declared happily, when he saw me get into a sleeping bag next to his. Then he was out of his sleeping bag, and into mine with me. "Mommy, we're together," he told me happily, patting my cheeks. Then he was out of all sleeping bags and laying above my head. "Mommy, we're together!" Then he went headfirst down his sleeping bag. This one resulted in tears, when he couldn't figure out how to get back out. But back out he got. And back into mine. And back out of mine. And back into his. He finally fell asleep a little before midnight. But never fear, after a short six hours of sleep, he was awake and crawling in and out of sleeping bags again.

Results of parenting Olympics--all children survived. Including Chris. He has a painful speckled sunburn due to his wife spraying sunscreen onto his back in a haphazard manner and not rubbing it in. Looking at his back covered in spots of white and red, he declared, "I look like a leper. Don't they teach you basic sunscreen application before they let you take your babies home from the hospital?" Apparently not.