I never knew it could be that simple; that the upper echelons of motherly sainthood could be achieved by incorporating two simple words into my weekend. But there it was.
Backyard tent.
I guess I should have known, after all, it’s been a topic of discussion for months.
After enjoying herself to epic proportions at our church group’s annual daddy-daughter campout for the past few years, my 7-year-old daughter began planting seeds for another version of this familial bonding experience: The mommy-daughter camp. With a frequency that left no question about her passion for the topic, she regularly asked when we might follow the lead of the fathers and daughters in the neighborhood, arm our selves with tents, sleeping bags and snacks and slip into slumber beneath the stars.
It sounded fun in theory, but there was always something holding me back. First my baby was too young to leave and then it was too hot to camp. I didn’t like the idea of heading off into the wilderness as the lone adult, so for a while the excuse was simply not having a place to make camp. Then it came to me. Why not just keep things close to home. In the backyard.
The date was set and instantly my daughter’s elation knew no bounds. Her happiness fortified me through a few days of single-parenthood while my husband traveled out of town for business. Then, upon his return, the date was set.
I have to admit, even if you’re not the camping kind of person, this really is a relatively simple gig. And the payback comes in spades.
After assuring my 3 ½-year-old son that he and daddy would have their own fantastic night, Lydia and I set out for some pre-camping shopping, followed by pizza dinner and then a quick stop to grab some s’more supplies.
By the time we reached home, there was already a fire built in the backyard fire pit, thanks to a fabulous father-in-law who wanted to help his granddaughter achieve her perfect night.
I can’t count how many times during our marshmallow roast, our rounds of Uno and Go Fish and the sweet moments before she fell asleep that she uttered phrases like “I love you mommy!” and “This is the best night ever.”
Why on earth had I put this off so long?
After listening to her breathe for a while and reveling in the fact that, for reasons unknown to me I was lucky enough to be chosen as her mother, I also fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of crickets playing their song.
Somewhere around 3 a.m. I realized my inflated mattress had gone completely flat, so the rest of the night was spent somewhat fitfully on my part. Lydia, however, was the picture of serenity.
Any discomfort I experienced thanks to the cold, hard ground vanished from my mind when she awoke and the first words out of her mouth were: “This was fun.”
You know what? It really was.
We are definitely doing it again. Maybe next time I won’t wait so long.
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