Insights from Summer 2020 Camping

I have this romanticized view of camping. Escaping the hustle. Connecting with nature. Relaxing by the fire. Not worrying about sentence fragments.

My experiences with camping over the past few years, however, have been the opposite of relaxing. All the prep work. Packing the car. Unpacking the car because everything doesn’t fit. Repacking the car. Setting up the camp site. Broken air pumps. Holes in air mattresses. Lack of sleep. Getting rained on. Grumpy kids. Grumpy wife. Worrying about sentence fragments.

My summer 2020 camping experience was painful. I had planned on taking my two young children camping for a week at a provincial park. I chose a park close to home just to make things easier if I had to cut the trip short. In fact, after less than 24 hours I returned my six-year-old son, crying and covered in mosquito bites, home to his mom. The glare on my wife’s face that day knowing that she would not get a reprieve from the kids that week still haunts me.

I was ready to sell all my camping equipment and put an end to camping forever, but my eight-year-old daughter, for some reason, loves camping. So, after dropping off my crying son to my scowling wife, I returned to the campsite with my camping-loving daughter.

Over the next few days, something magical happened. I can’t say everything completely turned around and camping morphed into this amazing experience. But there were moments of amazingness. Connecting with nature. Connecting with stillness. Connecting with my daughter. Being one with the sentence fragment.

It makes me think that life is one big camping trip. It’s painful. It’s chaotic. Excrement hits the fan and when everything is cleaned up, s’more excrement hits the fan. Yet if we are aware, if we are attuned to what’s really happening, what really matters, it’s full of wonder, surprise, and beauty. And that’s why, like my daughter, I love camping.

Nourishing Gratitude with a Gratitude Party

An article published by the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley highlights research showing that gratitude improves mental health.

With an awareness of the positive effects of gratitude, my wife and I are trying to nourish feelings of gratitude in ourselves and in our young children. (I must admit, however, that my wife is much better at it, and she often encourages me to be more grateful.)

On that note, at the end of last year our family hosted a gratitude party. My wife, kids, and I invited people we are grateful for. It was a great atmosphere. We gave all the guests cards that expressed our appreciation. In turn, they appreciated being appreciated. What an amazing cycle! It makes me even more grateful, and I’m excited to host similar celebrations in the future.

cycle: be appreciative, show appreciation, be appreciated
M. Fleming’s Appreciation Cycle

My Daughter Draws Attention To My Hypocrisy

This morning before getting ready for work, I quickly fill out a permission form for my seven-year-old daughter to attend a school field trip.

“I filled this out for you. Please put it in your knapsack to go to school.”

She looks at the paper and points to a g. “Dad, what letter is this right here? Is that an s?”

“No, it’s a g. It’s just messy. I wrote it quickly.”

“Dad…you’re always telling me to take my time and be neat when I write and then your writing is all messy.”

Touché.

Mustard Pranks

Mustard – I don’t like the taste of it, the smell of it, the look of it, the texture of it, the colour of it. It grosses me out to the max. As a matter of fact, my aversion to the condiment began inside the womb, for my mother’s cells loathe mustard as well.

My children, who are at the sweet young ages of five and seven, decide to play a prank on their old man.

They take a bottle of mustard and disguise it using their red crayons.

mustard bottle
Mustard bottle disguised as ketchup.
Photo by B. Fleming

“Hey Dad, we got this new kind of ketchup to try. It’s really good. I think you’ll like it.”

“Um…okay. I’ll try it on my burger.” I cringe at the site of the yellow stream on my hamburger.

“Ah, kids, it kinda looks like mustard to me.”

“Dad, it’s actually ketchup. It’s made from yellow tomatoes. Try it. It’s really good.”

I take a small bite. My senses cry foul at the pungent yellow nastiness. I spit out the mustarded burger in disgust, and my kids laugh and laugh.

Days later, I come home from work.

“Hey Dad, we got you a present today.”

They hand me a mustard shirt. And they laugh and laugh.

mustard shirt
My new T-shirt.
Photo by B. Fleming

 

Going Out On A Limb

One afternoon, my daughter and her friend decided to climb a large maple tree in our front yard. The first large branch is only a few feet off the ground and easy to get to for a kid who’s climbed a couple trees before. The problem, however, was that my daughter had no experience climbing trees. She couldn’t get up on that first branch that’s only a few feet off the ground. She tried a few times with no success. Her initial frustration quickly escalated to catastrophic heights.

As she stormed away from the maple and into the house, she screamed, “I suck at climbing trees! I’ll never be able to climb a tree in my life! I’m a loser!” Then the tears came.

I waited a moment before I followed her into the house.

I found her face down on the couch. I rubbed her back and said, “Listen. Climbing a tree is hard. It takes lots of practice. If climbing a tree is something you want to be able to do, we can work on it. You can’t do it yet. Remember, you couldn’t ride your bike at first, but now you’re really good. You are good at lots of things. You are definitely not a loser.”

Over the next few days, I found my daughter under the maple tree trying different ways to pull herself up onto that first branch. And the look on her face when she finally did was priceless.

 

 

A Dent In My Boat, But She Keeps Me Afloat

Peace at 7:00 a.m. in a kayak on a summer morning. Just me, my daughter, and nature.

My serenity, however, is broken when I arrive home, for when I unload my kayak, I notice a couple small dents on the hull. I’m angry. How could I have let this happen?

“Man, I can’t believe it! Look at these dents.”

My seven-year-old daughter responds in a calm voice. “Daddy, it’s fine. I have a dent in my water bottle and it still works just fine.”

There is wisdom behind her words. Don’t let the imperfections, the nicks, the scratches, the dents, the depressions—whatever you call them—consume you. Things still work just fine.

Beware the Smelly-Cheese Beard

Humans are very good at recognizing the emotion of disgust in a person’s facial expressions.

The other night I saw it in four faces: my wife’s, my daughter’s, my son’s, and my own.

There was a nasty smell in the house. Foul. Disgusting. Gross. Rank. It was bad.

I suffered the stench for two hours. It seemed like it was so close, yet for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out where the putrid smell was coming from.

Finally, it dawned on me. The fetid, rancid, putrid smell was right under my nose. The revolting odour was emanating from my own beard.

Imagine the shame I felt and still feel today. Even Brené cannot help me.

It could have been the corn on the cob or the garlic chicken or the Coors Light or the Staphylococcus hominis. It could have been a combination of them all. But whatever it was, I’m telling you the smelly-cheese beard exists. And if you succumb to it, like Mr. Twit and I have, your wife and kids will never let you live it down.

My Daughter’s Clean Drawing

“What should I draw?” my six-year-old daughter asks.

“Draw a turd,” her younger brother replies.

“Kids, you’re obsessed with pee and poo,” I say. “Why don’t you drawing something clean?”

“Okay, fine.”

So my daughter draws the following: bar soap, hand soap, dish soap, and laundry soap. Very clean, indeed.

A clean picture
My daughter’s clean drawing of different soaps.
Photo by M. Fleming

My son's seven pennies

Cents for the U.S.

My five-year-old son was emptying his piggy bank.

“Dad, I want to give my pennies away.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I want to give them to the United States.”

I found this very interesting. I wondered why he wanted to donate money to the States.

He said, “They still use pennies.”