As parents we quickly learn that some of the most
important milestones happen at night. The first night after your baby is born,
the first night home from the hospital, the first time they sleep
through the night, and the first time they sleep past 5:00 a.m. Other nighttime
adventures such as staying dry all night during potty training and sleepwalking
sneak in just when the unsuspecting parent thinks they are home-free.
All of this raced through my head faster than Vin
Diesel with a load of contraband across the border. I listened as my daughter
and husband playfully teased each other about the value of actually reading the
directions before putting up the tent. I had a glimmer of hope when I suggested
they could put up the tent in the living room. But then my husband asked the
question that ended all indoor versus outdoor camping debate; “Do you want me
to put on the top or leave it just mesh so you
can see the stars?” Both of the kids have had a fascination with the night
sky since they were toddlers; my daughter because she wants to be an astronaut
and my son because of the Star Wars
Trilogy. That was it. They were backyard bound.
To follow is a timeline of the first backyard
camping trip:
9:00 pm: Tent
is set up in the backyard. The Thermacell lantern and Off fan are activated.
Sleeping bags, lantern, books, Nintendo 3DS, and two children are in the tent.
9:05 pm: Dog
is sent back into the house.
9:10 pm: I
panic as it is determined that my daughter’s cell phone does not have a charged
battery. The tent’s location is close enough to the house for the cordless
phone to work so it is sent into the tent with the children.
9:12 pm: Daddy-Bryan
calls the cordless phone to make sure the lines of communication are open and
functional. I stand at the French doors watching the children in the tent. The
children see me and wave while making faces.
9:20 pm: The
little brother comes into the house. He said that the older sister suggested
that he may want a bottle of water during the night. The little brother is also
getting the older sister a bottle of water, since
he is already getting one for himself. Bryan and I admire this move on the
older sister’s part and decide that she will make a very good wife one day.
9:35 pm: I
go into backyard to check on the children. The four steps from the patio to the
tent are very painful on my bare feet as I manage to find EVERY pinecone on the
ground but these are the sacrifices mothers must make for their children.
Leaning over the mesh of the tent I whisper, “Why did you turn off your
lantern? So you can see the stars better?” My daughter whispers back, “You are
blocking my view.” Feeling full of love, I lurch the four steps back to the
patio, fussing about pinecones, eventually making it into the house to report
that the children are “doing fine.”
9:35-9:45 pm: I
watch the children from the living room without wanting to admit that I am
actually watching the children. Mother and children are now locked in a silent
battle of wills. I am determined that the children will eventually come to
their senses and come into the house to go to sleep and children are going to
prove that they can spend an entire night OUTSIDE in a tent. Their Daddy-Bryan
is incredibly happy that they are interested in something that isn’t a
videogame or a science experiment but knows better than to say this to me.
9:55 pm: Exhaustion
is starting to take its toll on me and I announce that I will go to bed. I
lurch back out to the tent to “tuck in” the children and say bedtime prayers
through the mesh then Quasimodo my way back to the house. My husband,
absolutely jubilant, opens the blinds in our room so the tent can be visually
monitored.
10:10 pm: The
little brother is observed in a tormented struggle with the tent’s zipper
followed by a sprint into the house. He loudly announces that he needs a
bathroom as he blows through. It seems that a bear may poop in the woods but
little boys do not. I admire that he is wearing shoes to avoid the pain of the
pinecones. It is this kind of wilderness know-how that may allow him to
actually make it the entire night in the backyard. I feel a little better about
actually lying down and closing my eyes.
10:30 pm: My
daughter comes into our room. She is very congested. She announces that she
will sleep on the couch in the living room because her nose is “a little
runny.” She says that the little brother will remain in the tent. It is
important to note here that I did NOT say anything close to “I told you so.” It
should also be noted that I just let my daughter go to sleep without a full
inspection or a call to urgent care. I settled down to rest, very smug in the
knowledge that her little brother would soon feel that he had proven his point
and would also come inside. Maybe I could get some sleep tonight after all. My
husband quietly said that the boy was on a mission to prove that he is now a
man and he will stay out all night. He then put a glass of ice water on my
night stand and said something about my daughter learning everything she knew
from me or something like that. I’m not sure. I just thought that he might have
wanted a glass of ice water before he went to bed. I really was thinking about
him.
11:00 pm: The
boy is STILL out in the tent reading. This cannot go on much longer.
Midnight: HE
HAS TURNED OFF HIS LANTERN! WHAT IS HE DOING? Is he actually trying to make me
think he is going to go to sleep, in that tent, in the backyard, all alone? I
am so sleepy. I cannot stay awake anymore. Here’s hoping that no random packs
of wild dogs pick tonight to start roaming our neighborhood in this very
developed and populated part of town.
4:ish am: I
snap wide awake. “Where is my child? Is he still in the tent? Yes, and he just
kind of moved. That means he is still breathing.” I fall back asleep.
6:00 am: In
a kind of half-awake stupor I suddenly think about the black widow spider that was
found in the backyard twelve years ago. Was it actually a black widow spider or
did we decide it was something else? I can’t remember. No time for that now.
Convinced he has been bitten and is suffering all alone in the tent, I run
through the house. When I get to the porch I throw on the lights and run out to
the tent…in bare feet… never even feeling a single pinecone.
A
small boy blinks up at me through the mesh of the tent and smiles. He is
absolutely perfect.
“Good morning, son.”
“G’mornin’, mommy.”
“I love you.”
“I
love you, too, mommy.” He pulls the sleeping bag over his head and goes back to
sleep. I stagger back to the house. Without an adrenaline rush I notice that
there are a lot of frigging pinecones
on the ground that hurt my bare feet.
7:30 am: My
son comes into my room to report that he has “cleaned out the tent and brought
everything inside.” Gone is the glimpse of the little boy from earlier this
morning; he is again the miniature man I see more and more often these days. He
doesn’t even comment on last night’s adventure.
This one snuck up on me. The full impact of what
last night meant to my son didn’t hit home until later in the day. To me, it
was an anxiety ridden sleepless night like so many I have had in my years as a
mom. To him, he was indeed proving that he was no longer my baby boy but a
young man who was fully capable of spending an entire night yards away from home. He is an amazing person and I am incredibly
proud he is my son.
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