Hubby is preparing for his annual overnight trek to a motorcycle 'event'. He goes every year (thus the 'annual' part) with some friends of his. I say 'event' because I'm not sure if it's a rally or a swap meet or if it's just an excuse for a (rather large) bunch of guys to sit around a campfire, belch, fart and compare the size of their, um… moto-cycles.

He doesn't ride his motorcycle to the event, but last year he brought it and the mini-bike he had spent every spare moment putting together for the two weeks prior to his leaving. The mini-bike, I'm told, came in very handy for tooling over to the bathroom barracks that can be up to a mile away. That is, until he dumped the mini-bike while riding it in the dark (the headlight was on) on an uneven stretch of gravel. Hubby wrecked up his leg pretty good from the fall, and ended up in the emergency room not quite a week later with a very, very nasty wound occupying the front half of his shin. This year he can show off his impressive scar as well as his impressive motorcycle.

In preparation for his trip, he has purchased a tent and a sleeping bag. When the tent arrived on Wednesday, he unpacked it and, with the help of Punkin, set it up in the backyard. Once it was set up, he invited her into it. She was pretty excited and in turn invited me into it. Oh joy. Have I mentioned I'm not a camper? If you look up "Nature Girl" in the dictionary you will most definitely NOT see my picture there. I. Hate. Bugs. Hate them. That poses a bit of a problem. Creepy things, and crawly things, and flying things.

Hubby went camping with his parents and siblings a lot when he was a kid. A LOT. He LOVES camping. The two of us have never been camping. The closest we came to camping is that time we stayed up at Lake McDonald Lodge in Glacier National Park back in 1994. The walls were paper thin and decorated with squashed mosquitoes. (Before the stay was over I added a few more to the pattern) We were completely tired, and collapsed, each of us on one of two double beds that were in the room. Early in the morning, the guy in the room next to us farted. I heard it and thought, oh thank God Hubby didn't hear that. Then Hubby started laughing. It was funny, and I struggled to contain my mirth when I said, Honey, if we can hear that, he can hear you laughing.

Anywho, Hubby's mission is to take his family camping. The two of us had quite an interesting discussion a couple of weeks ago wherein I grudgingly promised to concede my "No way in Hell am I going camping ever!" stance. Now I'm at "Ok, so I'll go camping ONCE, but I'm not making any promises about whether I'll like it or not." I've also promised to not complain too much on the camping trip. Heh.

His strategy now is to get Punkin excited about camping. Then I'll HAVE to go along. The tent was a big hit. The Three Ring Circus was huddled all cozy like in the two-person tent with Punkin having the most fun. She wriggled and giggled and had a blast going in and out of it. I'm sure the neighbors thought… well, who knows what they thought. I just hope they were amused.

The same went for the sleeping bag, which arrived the next day. Hubby spread it out on the floor (this time IN the house) and spent the better part of an hour playing with Punkin in and around it. It was funny to watch. Of course, I was summoned to join Punkin in the sleeping bag while she giggled and wriggled all over again.

I think his strategy is working. This morning on the way to school, Punkin, out of the blue says "I wanna go campin' Mom. Daddy and Punkin and Mommy."

Yippee.

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