So summer is in full swing at my house and my girls are slated for a series of summer camps and family trips to keep them busy and engaged during the break. Last week, little Celie enjoyed 5 days of zoo camp (no Celie, mommy will NOT buy you a new pet chinchilla) while Chloe enjoyed 5 days of Survival Camp via Adventure Carolina. Before I start my rant, let me say that my kid had an absolute blast at the camp…the kids learned to pack a backpack, hike through the woods, cook an entire meal on a portable stove, purify water, build an emergency shelter when lost and that’s in addition to canoeing, kayaking and camping in a downtown Columbia park. She loved every minute of it, is counting down the days until next year and made several new friends.
So, Saturday night was the big finale, when moms and dads were invited to go camping with the kids, providing an opportunity for the wee ones to show off their new skills. In all of my 32 years, I have never been camping (unless you count that one week at Girl Scout Camp when I was eight years old) and there’s a damn fine reason for that: it’s not my bag. So I was not surprised when the office staff and my neighbors snickered at Chloe’s exuberant announcement that mom was taking her camping. However, I was determined to rough it and prove them all wrong. We packed up and headed out early Saturday morning, and soon found ourselves parked in a canoe, paddling down the ridiculously drought-starved Edisto River. I don’t know how many miles we canoed, but it took 6 HOURS in 97 degree weather and the water level was so low that we frequently had to abandon the canoe in order to pull it over giant logs which are usually submerged. Yippee. I started out in the steer position, but almost tipped the canoe so many times that little Celie fled straight into the boat of Derek, Capable Camp Counselor. After Chloe took the navigational position, we found our niche and made great time. We arrived back at the cabin safe and sound and enjoyed a nice dinner and good conversation.
After listening to hour upon hour of rambunctious children, we finally settled in to sleep around midnight. I decided to forego the tent and claimed a chair in the living room. I had the worst time getting to sleep and a migraine set in that necessitated some soft crying and a repeat sighting of the aforementioned lovely dinner. I finally caught a few hours of shut-eye and we headed home after breakfast on Sunday, with my chest exaggerated with triumphant pride for having survived a camping trip. While I enjoyed imagining my neighbors and the office staff eating their words about me being a crappy camper, I could not deny that I felt weak and exhausted and was itching like mad. Though I slept for the better part of Father’s Day, I did manage dinner and a delicious ice cream cake and a story before bed. By Sunday night, my sweet husband had begun spraying me down with Benadryl to help negate the itch and swelling of the wretched bug bites that dotted my back like some grade school dot-to-dot gone awry. I jumped up from a deep sleep several times and stripped myself down and cried for more spray and he patiently obliged. I was out of the office Monday morning, but that headache was getting worse and I was dizzy and had a stiff neck and was (you guessed it) generally quite whiny. I rolled into the office after lunch and asked Melanie and Jackie to look at my back. After the gasps, Jackie informed me that those were most certainly NOT mosquito bites.
A few hours later, I was stark naked in an ER with a visibly embarrassed Indian doctor counting cystic bites. “1-2-3-4…turn…..5-6-7-8-9….lift your arm….10-11-12-13…is that one on your breast?…14-15-16…oh, found one more…17-18-and that one at the small of your back is a whopper….19. I think that’s it.” The doctor could not precisely identify the insect, other than to say it’s not mosquito, bee, hornet, or ant. Likely spider, but it’s unheard of to have 19 bites isolated to your torso from spiders as they usually don’t swarm. Needless to say, I am the weirdo Buddhist mom who makes my kids relocate house-bound spiders to the outdoors rather than squash them and I am rethinking my whole “respect for the animal kingdom” bit as they certainly seem to have forgotten their manners with me. My heart was racing, blood pressure was significantly elevated, I had a terribly stiff neck, 102 fever and was in some pretty intense pain. Two hours, one steroid injection, and three prescriptions (steroids, antibiotics and pain meds) later, I was on my way home. Doc said I was in light shock as my body was processing whatever venom the little beast(s) injected and now I’m cozied up in my bed with Emerson for the next few days.
Next year, Dad is taking the kids camping… should I be nominated again for the honor, Chloe can make mashed potatoes on a portable stove in the middle of our Hilton hotel room as we watch kayaking videos. That’s the closest I can ever see me getting to camping. Peek below for a picture from the trip. That’s my monkey Chloe hanging off the left side of the hammock stand (those are the camp counselors in the hammocks) and you can barely make out Celie’s head just under the left side of the top hammock!
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