when I'm 80 years old and sitting on my front porch with Gary drinking tea
at three o'clock in the afternoon.
...the Suburban packed to the gills with not an inch to spare
...the way the tent gets so crazy hot during the day and coldddddd at night
...the kids making finger shadow puppets by lantern light in the tent
...how camping coffee is so super delicious
...how he was all smiles, even though he was on heavy duty antibiotics for a horrible ear infection
...that they took the raft out on Lake Tahoe all by themselves
...that little boys like dead, stinky crawdads
...kids and dirt and forests go really well together
...how much they love the campfire every night and how good the boys got at starting it themselves
...that tin camping mugs from my grandpa are perfect
...that little boys like live crawdads with enormous snapping claws
...the view on the hike we take every year
...the sound of the wind on fallen leaf lake
...huge ice cream cones
...sunsets over the lake
...how the thinner air makes you sillier
...camping hair
...and freedom.
I probably won't remember what a pain it is to pack for camping,
or how many days I spend doing laundry after we get home.
I'll just remember how the kids think it's the best vacation ever
and how spending every night with all five of us in one tent
pretty much makes me the happiest in the world.
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