Sherri Cornelius

Like the lovable fool he is, my husband promised the children he would sleep with them in the tents in the back yard. And like the good mom/idiot I am, I agreed to sleep there, too. Actually, I agreed because the hubs said he didn't expect me to. I said, "Why not?" and he replied, "Because I know you." So that was one thing, I had something to prove. Another thing was that I knew he would let the kids drag their blankets in the dirt, meaning mucho laundry-o for me tomorrow.

While I did save the blankets from being dragged on the ground, whatever it was I felt I needed to prove has not been proved. The way I was oriented in the tent left me about two inches shy of being able to stretch out. My old roll-up mattress was only slightly less hard and lumpy than the ground. My joints protest on the average night, but this was an exercise in torture. Also, there was a bug.

Now, I've been camping before. The sleeping arrangements were never my favorite aspect, but I always pulled through okay. However, since the last time I went camping I somehow became middle-aged (might have something to do with all those years passing) and a middle-aged body on the ground is quite a different one than a younger body on the ground. I came in a little after 3 a.m. and haven't been able to sleep from the aching hips and shoulders. It's now 5 a.m.

Wonder how the hubs is doing out there. Probably sleeping like a damn baby.