Most everyone has a different definition of camping.  Here is the definition my family had of camping:

• Sleeping in a trailer.  (We had a family of six and there was a bed for each of us.)
• Cooking every meal in the kitchen of the trailer.
• Storing all food in the trailer fridge.
• Eating meals off of real live plates with real live utensils that are kept in the trailers cupboards and drawers.
• Spending every evening at the trailer kitchen trailer playing card games with the trailer lights on.
• Eating the same meals we would have eaten if we were at home.
• Taking a daily shower in the trailer bathroom and using the toilet as needed.

I know, I know, most people wouldn’t refer to this as camping and I totally understand.

At some point we did buy a little tent.  But we used it to keep our luggage in.  For reals.

My aunt and uncle and their family would usually go camping with us.   Sometimes even my grandma would bring her trailer and meet us.  We would park our trailers next to each other.  We’d take turns riding bikes and ATV’s.  I think maybe once we took a hike ON A PAVED WALKWAY.  While we weren’t roasting marshmallows and sleeping in sleeping bags, we had fun.  I truly enjoyed all the summers we spent up in the mountains with my family.

(circa 1985)

As a teenager I never really thought about why we didn’t sleep in a tent, pee in the woods and cook over a fire.  I knew my mom had no interest in it and I guess I just assumed I’d have no interest in it either.  And so, I never even imagined camping in a tent.

I was only married to my first husband for a year and that summer we were married we went camping with some of his friends one time.  It sucked.  I didn’t like one single minute of it.  I chalked it up to just not liking camping in a tent, just like my mom.  Looking back I think it was more of “I didn’t like my husband or his friends” and not really “I hate camping”.

After that one trip with the ex, I put the idea of camping out of my mind and never thought about it again.  Until last summer when we got invited to go camping with a group of our really good friends.  The King and Babboo were very excited about going camping and so I put a smile on my face and agreed to go with them.

We borrowed a few camping supplies from The King’s parents and bought ourselves a tent and Babboo a sleeping bag.  The King found some awesome mattress thingys at the REI basement and we were set.

We camped for a weekend with three other families.  All together there were five kids and eight adults.  We slept in our tent, kept our food in a cooler, cooked all of our meals over the fire, went without showers, hiked with the kids, participated in our first geocache, and played in the river.

I had a blast.  (Minus the hike and my fear of falling off a cliff.  Or my kid falling off a cliff.)

(Pictures from our hike last weekend.)

We ended up going camping later in the summer with one of the families.  Again, we slept in a tent, cooked over a fire, hiked, geocached, and went sans showers.  And again, I had a blast.

We’ve been waiting all year for another chance to go camping this year.  Last weekend was our first camping trip of the season.  I was a little nervous about going camping while 32 weeks pregnant.  I tried to ignore my nerves and didn’t share them with anyone else.  I figured I was tough enough to handle a few nights sleeping on the ground in the tent.  The King set us up with a blow up mattress and I booked a camp site near the bathroom to accommodate my THREE nightly trips to the toilet.  The King found a hike that we figured was safe enough for me and my huge belly.

I’ll be honest here.  I slept better in the tent then I’ve been sleeping in my own bed at home.  The weather was perfect.  And I didn’t have to use the potty AT ALL during the night.  And the hike?  Well, it was actually just about perfect.

(Woody and Juggernaut didn’t like the hike as much as we did.  Those silly guys got in a fight while the rest of us found a geocache.)

And let’s not forget the food.

Why is it anything cooked over a fire tastes 100% better.  I mean dude, hotdogs cooked over the fire are AWESOME.  Not to mention s’mores or French toast.

The boys did take a bath in the FREEZING water.  (But not us girls!)

Babboo did end up going sans clothes in the lake.  Or rather, NEAR the lake.  It was just too cold for him to actually get in the water.

Before we left for home we did eight geocaches.  It had been way too long since we’d done them.  I forgot how much fun it is to geocache!

On the drive back to our house on Sunday evening The King and I got to talking about tent camping.  I told him that I loved tent camping way more then trailer camping.  We tried to figure out what it was about tent camping that my mom hated.  And what it was about trailer camping that she liked so much.  We couldn’t really figure it out.  Maybe it was because there were four of us kids and so maybe camping in the trailer was easier.  Or maybe she just hates going without a daily shower.  Or maybe she can’t physically squat to pee.  Although I really doubt it’s any of those things.

Maybe she’s just never tent camped and doesn’t know how awesome it is.

This weekend we’ll be visiting my family in Utah.  During this trip I plan on sitting my mom down and getting to the bottom of this.

So tell me, do you prefer tent, trailer, or hotel camping?  And why?

—————————————-

OH MY GOSH, we’re going to see The Old 97’s tonight.  It’s been almost two years since we last saw them.  We were able to see Rhett Miller in concert when I was about this far along with Babboo, so I think it’s pretty cool that Rerun will get to attend his first Old 97’s concert while in utero too!

The topic?

Telling everyone how boy crazy I am.

Apparently I was 14 in my dream. (No really, I was 14 in my dream.) And back then I was pretty boy crazy.  At the time I think I thought that every girl was as boy crazy as I was.  Honestly, I probably thought all the boys were girl crazy too.  Now that just a few years older (hello, 20+ years older) I’m starting to realize that not every girl was that boy crazy.  And definitely none of the boys were girl crazy.  (Although some might have been boy crazy too!)  I literally spent the majority of my teen years looking at boys, talking about boys, giggling about boys, dreaming about boys, reading about boys, and even writing in my journal about boys.

I wasted a lot of those years.

They might not of felt as wasted if I would have actually talked to an actual boy during my Golden Teenage Years.  Or if a boy would have actually talked to me.  But I didn’t. And they for sure didn’t.

My hair looked like THIS, for crying out loud.

(Oh my gosh, remember before this pregnancy when I was skinny?  Yeah, me neither.)*

And I had a snaggle tooth that insured no boy would ever want to kiss me.

You don’t need anymore proof as to why no boys were ever crazy about me.

(Go figure how I ended up with this blue-eyed hottie.)

Anyway, you may or may not remember, but I work with the 12-14 year old girls in my congregation at church.  (We refer to them as “Beehives”.  Odd, I know.)  (But still, Mormons Rule!)  The girls that I spend my Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings with are super cute.  They hair cute hair and always look nice.  They don’t cover their faces with too much make-up or talk loudly.  They speak kindly about everyone and seem to be sincerely and genuinely nice people.  And they rarely talk about boys.  They don’t chase after the boys in our congregation or show off in front of them.

What I’m saying is they are about 100% the opposite of how I was at their age.

I know they have crushes and think about boys.  In fact every single one of them as told me, in private, that they have a crush on the same specific boy in our congregation.  I don’t blame them. This kid is adorable.  (Think Zac Efron, but with actual athletic talents and high moral standards.)

I’m in on their secret.  I know they all like him.  They don’t even know that they all like him.  They are around him at every church function. And not a single one of them are making a fool of themselves over him.

If it were me I would have been talking loud, so the object of my affection would notice me.  I would have had my bangs ratted as high as I could, so he would see how beautiful I was.  And, of course, I’d have on my best blue eyeshadow and I’d be wearing my best KMart outfit.

The Mormon Version of a Young Zac Efron might not notice my girls at church.  Not yet, at least.  But if they keep up with the way things are going now, I’m quite confident that one of them will date him at some point.  Not like me, who honestly didn’t get any positive attention from any boys at that age.

It makes me wonder if I was an especially dorky 12 year old, or if things have changed in the 20 years since I was in their shoes.   Maybe these girls are exceptional girls.  Especially when compared to me.

I don’t know what it is.

All I know is that I sit back and watch them and wish I’d known what they know at my age.

———————————————————

*and in totally non related to being boy crazy news, here is my first (and maybe last?) official Belly Shot. 32 weeks.  Only 8 left.    (Although my top isn’t maternity, the slacks clearly are.  And they might be a little too “wide legged” for the look I was going for.)

Yep, that’s how my family hiked; we went on the same hikes that people in wheelchairs could manage.

(I’m embarrassed to even share this with the interweb.)

(And yet, I’m about to share more.)

After I graduated from high school and moved away to college I never returned to Zion or went on any hikes, handicap accessible or not.  I married my first husband shortly there after.  When I married him I knew I was marrying into a family that enjoyed spending time in the outdoors.  (And by “spending time in the outdoors” I mean “spending time hiding behind trees and bushes killing defenseless animals.)  (Let’s try to not turn this into a discussion on hunting.  I’m just saying that the ex’s family was not like my family in that regard.)

While my first husband wasn’t a hunter, he did like to fish and hike.  He went fishing almost daily….sans me.  He rode his mountain bike and hiked with his friends occasionally.  Again, sans me.  here towards the end of our marriage I remember going on one hike with him.  I can totally see the picture he took of me during that hike.  I did not look like I was having fun.  Maybe it was him, maybe it was the hike, I can’t be certain.

That last hike had to have occurred somewhere around 1998.  That’s about 12 years ago.

When I married The King I knew that while he liked the outdoors, he wasn’t planning any hikes up Mt. Rainier in his future.  Fine by me.

This summer something odd happened.  The King decided he wanted to go camping as a family…in a tent…out in the open.    And oddly enough I thought it sounded like a good idea.  On this first camping trip (to Mt. Rainer, strangely enough) the family’s we were camping with wanted to go on a hike at Mt. Rainier.  Dude, I did not want to be the one person that was all “dude, you want me to walk up a mountain, while I could be back at our camp site eating s’mores, FOR NO GOOD REASON?!”  So I went along and acted like hiking was no big deal to me.

Whatever, it was a big deal.  First off, it was hot out.  Secondly, THERE WERE SHEER CLIFFS.  Thirdly, dude, the trail was long and straight up.  I was tired and sleepy and just feeling a general sense of laziness all around.

While I enjoyed spending time with friends, I was pretty sure it was going to be my last hike. At least for another 12 years.

The thing is, The King loved the hike.  My Sweet Babboo loved the hike.  LOVED IT.

Thankfully, right about that time, I found some new meds that started to work.   Gone was The Tired.  We were also introduced to Geocaching.  And made some new friends in our church congregation that loved to hike.

Put this all together and what do you get?

A family of hikers, that’s what.

We started to stalk the returns section at REI (referred to as “the basement”).  We found The King some fancy new (slightly used) hiking boots.  We found Babboo some new (slightly used) hiking shoes.  And then we found me some new (slightly used) hiking boots.  We were now officially “people who hike”.

Since the house is pretty much done, our Saturdays have become more open.  Lately, we’ve been using our Saturday’s to go on hikes with different friends, my in-laws, and even some with just the 3 of us.  We’ve hiked in other states and other countries.

I’ve even gone hiking on business trips.

While it’s highly unusual for me to be hiking so much, it’s even more highly unusual that I’m enjoying our hikes.  I even commented to The King on a recent hike “I sure do like hiking!”

He about had a heart attack hearing those words come out of my mouth.  And frankly so did I.

After talking to my dad last week about a recent hike we’d taken, he said “I didn’t know you guys were so into hiking.  Next time you’re in Utah for a visit we should go on a hike.”  I had to laugh (on the inside).  The thought of my parents going on a hike IN THE MOUNTAINS was comical.  The only thing they do in the mountains is ride their huge 4-wheelers around.

Yesterday My Best Friend Who Deserted Me And  Moved To Reno (aka: May) sent me an e-mail where she said something to the effect of “don’t be offended, but it’s hard for me to picture you taking a hike.  Do you do it dressed in all black and wearing heels?”

She knows me very well.

But she knows an older version of me.  She knows the person who was ruled by The Tired.  I totally understand what May was saying to me and it made me feel good to know that I had been able to change. And for the better, I hope.

I tried to count the number of hikes we’ve taken since that first hike on Mt. Rainier this summer, and I can’t.  There are too many to remember.

And I like that.

(Oh yeah, The King plans on hiking to the top of Mt. Rainier this summer.  I don’t plan on going with him!)

(Yes, these are just some of the pictures from different hikes we’ve taken. All since last summer.)

I tried to get involved with the 2002 Olympics as best I could.  The King bought me the sweetest Olympic sweat suit.  I wore the hoodie just about everywhere that winter.  My mom also sent me as many Olympic pins as she could get her hands on.  Before 2002 I didn’t even know there was such a thing as Olympic pins or that people collected them like crazy.

My mom even sent me the coveted green Jell-o pin.

(If the green Jell-o one baffles you, then you must not be a Mormon.)

(That just sounds more confusing.  Let’s just say that there are a lot of jokes that involve Mormons and green Jell-O, or something like that.)

Not only do I have the green Jell-O pin, but I also have the Mormon missionaries pin.

I loved the Roots berets, but I would have never had the balls to wear one.  I just coveted from afar.

(Looking at the beret now, I’m very glad I never got one!  That is a look that would not have withstood the test of time.)

While my pins and hoodie are awesome, they don’t take the place of actually being at the Olympics.

Welcome to 2010, where the winter Olympics are taking place a mere three hours from my house in a city we l-o-v-e and visit oft.  And here I am, again, not attending.

(That’s me in front of the 2010 official Olympic countdown way back in 2008.)

I was nice enough to buy my mom an Olympic pin in Vancouver and send it to her for Christmas this last year.  But no hoodie or pin for myself.

Honestly, we didn’t try too hard to get to the Olympics this year.  We heard that hotels we usually get on priceline.com for $60 were going for $3000.  A NIGHT.  Yeah, The King family can not afford that.

I can’t even imagine what the border crossing is going to be like.  I’ve sat there for 7 hours before when it wasn’t the Olympics.  Geez, it’s got to be bad now.

(I just checked the Peace Arch border wait times online and it said there wasn’t a wait time.  YEAH, RIGHT.)

Our excitement for the Vancouver Olympics was shared by some friends of ours.  Let’s call them the JJ’s.  So the JJ’s are awesome, awesome people.  Mr. JJ is the happiest, nicest, genuine person I’ve ever met.  Unlike us he was a little more proactive in getting to the Olympics.  He told us he planned on just getting to Vancouver and then he’d figure it out once he got there.  He WAS going to the Olympics.  He was adamant.  Thankfully he wasn’t going to pull his wife and 3 kids into his madness.  He’d leave them at home so they wouldn’t have to sleep in the car.  Or in the park.

The King and I just rolled our eyes anytime Mr. JJ talked about going to the Olympics.  We couldn’t believe he wasn’t putting some thought into his plan.  He was just about The Action.  That’s how Mr. JJ rolls and it usually works out just fine for him.  (I think it’s karma for how great of a person he is.)

We weren’t that surprised when Mr. JJ told us that he was given tickets to some of the Olympic events as well as a FREE HOTEL ROOM for him and his family.

Seriously.  I guess his brother in New Mexico knows a guy who knows a guy who had some tickets/hotel rooms he wanted to just GIVE AWAY.  While I can’t think of a better recipient it’s still quite amazing that someone would do this.

I got a text this morning from the JJ’s. They were just crossing the border into Canada and wishing we were there with them.  Dude, me too.

This whole thing made me realize that the JJ’s had been right along.  You just had to believe you were going and it would just happen.

That’s what I get for being so cynical.

And for not knowing the right people.

So tell me, did any of you actually buy one of those 2002 Olympic berets and wear it?

I don’t know who first told me about Fritzies.  It was as if I had always known it existed.  As if everyone had always known.

Fritzies was located in a giant warehouse a few towns away.  There weren’t any signs on the outside of the building.  So honestly, I’m not sure if Fritzies was even its actual name.  The inside of the warehouse was a mess.  Basically it was just racks and racks of clothes in no particular order.  When there wasn’t room for a rack, a huge cardboard box was filled with clothes.

It was amazing and disgusting, all at the same time.

I have no idea where these clothes came from or where they were going.  I just knew they were inexpensive.  It was like magic.  When you found something you liked on the rack, you have to look it over very carefully to make sure there weren’t any holes in it.  At the time I had no idea what that was about.  As an adult I know they were samples or seconds.  But back then, I just thought someone had been pissed and sliced the clothes.  (duh!)

You didn’t always find anything to buy at Fritzies.  Sometimes, after hours of searching, you had to accept that it was a bust.  But sometimes, sometimes, you hit pay dirt and found the most perfect item for less then $10.  Finding something I loved was a treat for me. Finding something that didn’t cost a lot of money was a treat for my mom!  (You know, since she was paying for my clothes back then.)

Here’s the thing about Fritzies; since it was technically just a warehouse, it didn’t have your typical changing rooms.  What it had was one big room where everyone would try on their clothes together.  TOGETHER.  This frightened me to the core.  Before a planned trip to Fritzies I would spend days and days stressing over having to change in front of people.  The odds were that it wouldn’t be anyone you knew.  But, naturally, there was the possibility of going in the dressing room and seeing the most popular girl from school, your Sunday school teacher, or even your English teacher.

Gulp.

Because of this I never went to Fritzies with girlfriends.  I took my mom.  And as I got older, I went alone.  I wasn’t dumb enough to bring someone with me that I’d have to change in front of.  Thinking back, when my mom did come I’d make her stand in front of me and be a sort of screen when I changed.

As I got a little older, and stopped growing, I didn’t have to try the clothes on as frequently.  I could usually just hold something up to me and tell if it fit or not.  Thankfully.

We went to Utah last weekend to visit my family.  The King and I had a little time to ourselves to go out.  We just happened to be driving through the town were Fritzies was located.  As we passed the street it was on I was reminded of Fritzies.  The warehouse looked empty.

I’m not sure where the locals find cheap clothes anymore.  (Probably Wal-Mart.)

While thinking about this post I knew I wanted to try to include a picture of me wearing something I got at Fritzies.  I could remember one (black velvet) dress I got there that I wore to a dance.  And I knew I wore a skirt from there on my way to my first wedding ceremony.

I knew I wasn’t going to find a picture from my wedding day.  But I was pretty sure I had a picture of the black dress.

(I bought this dress for $10.  My mom bought the white lace, which cost more then the dress, and sewed it on to the front of the dress and the sleeves.)

(Yes, I’m a senior in high school in this picture.  Yes, my date was 15!  He asked me.  I didn’t want to be rude and turn him down. So instead I dated a minor.)

(Plus, dude, check out his sweater!)

Then I found this next picture.  I KNOW I got this dress at Fritzies too.  (It had all this weird extra fabric on the back.  I wasn’t sure what it was for.  Mostly it just made me look like I had a bubble butt, which you can see in the picture.)

(This date is also younger then me.  Again, he asked me!)

(Again, check out that sweater!)

I about died when I found the next picture which is from my COLLEGE GRADUATION.  Dude, I got this dress at Fritzies too.  As well as the white shirt I wore under it.  (To be fair, it was adorable.  I wore it with white knee high socks and Doc Martin mary janes.)

(That boy isn’t younger then me, nor was he my boyfriend.  I mean, seriously, while I will date a boy with a horrible sweater, I draw the line at dating someone with suspenders.)

I didn’t realize I was still shopping at Frtizies in college.  E-gads, that’s embarrassing.