A couple of weekends ago, I took Feral Child #1 and Feral Child #2 camping. I kind of wonder if there’s actually much point in writing this post, because let’s face it, you can imagine how it’s going to go, can’t you?!
I’m going to keep this post short and sweet because a) I think the doodles speak for themselves, and b) I’ve just hosted FC#1’s fourth birthday party (Beta Mummy-style) AT MY HOUSE and I am now exhausted and need to sit quietly in a darkened room with a stiff gin.
(Yes, there will be a post about that, once I’ve recovered).
Anyway, back to the camping. Alpha Mummy epitomises what I always imagined camping with my offspring would be like – good wholesome fun, Fat Face catalogue-looking children enjoying the great outdoors, and of course entirely stress-free due to exemplary advance planning.
Whereas my camping trip was pretty much along these lines….
Thankfully, I actually went with a group of friends – nine kids between nine adults, which is a more favourable ratio. And luckily (for me), they were all far more organised than me, and made up for my equipment shortcomings and domestic failings – thank you friends!
One of them kindly even took this lovely photograph of me and my youngest, capturing a typical moment in my life. He’s swigging cider out of my can, which I fail to notice due to looking into the distance for his big brother, who I’ve just realised has disappeared.