In the middle

This is where I feel, most of the time. And most of the time I guess it's a good thing. But what I'm talking about mostly is parenting.

First of all I should say that I really really hate the judgement that everyone loads on each other as far as parenting goes. It's been happening forever and ever, I guess, but I'm in the middle of it right now (see a theme here?) and it's getting on my last "nervous," as one of my daughter's friends says.

To one segment of people with whom I associate, I'm a freak. I put my kid in cloth diapers, I don't take them to McDonalds, we eat bunches of fruit and veggies, and I nursed both kids til two (Mr. Man...STILL GOING). I don't like using my car when I don't have to (like, to drive to the neighborhood pool, for crying out loud) and I'm a vegetarian. So, total freak. My neighbors look at me weird, and other moms at my daughter's school trade stories in front of me (while I'm nursing my toddler) about how they couldn't nurse past (insert shorter time period here, three months, three weeks, whatever). Freak! That's me.

But then there's another segment of the population, and I don't quite fit there either. I don't sleep with my kids in the bed as a regular practice, past the age of about 9 months. I drink Diet Dr. Pepper on a regular (that is to say, daily) basis and my kids eat popsicles, Frosted mini-wheats, and goldfish crackers. I didn't birth at home, I send my kids to school, and I'm REALLY looking forward to a couple weeks away in a month or so.

And where this all leaves me is in the middle. Not crunchy enough, too crunchy. I console myself by repeating Anne Lamott's wise advice, as always, "the most subversive thing I could do is show up for my life, and not be ashamed."

Camping

We had a really great time camping. So starts possibly my lamest blog ever, but I just want it recorded that a few weeks ago, we took four small children, five adults, and three Subarus into the North Carolina wilderness, and we did just fine.

I had been looking forward to this camping trip for quite a while. I have long fantasized about being a person who camps, who takes her kids camping, who casually says to people at the pool and such, "oh yeah, we went camping last weekend" (which I did, completely dorkily, right after we got back). I also would love for us to have a (CHEAP) fun thing to do on weekends for our family.

So, if I'm being honest about the actual setup of camp, the "testosterone brigade" helped quite a bit. Let's just say I could put a tent up if I absolutely had to, but when it started to pour down rain I graciously stepped aside and let the manly men do their work of putting up the rain cover and making sure it was tight enough to not have leaks. This was a STORM, mama, I'm telling you, and then it was just rain, until 1 or 2 a.m.

Nevertheless, all nine of us (including one very confused, but game, four-month-old) hung out in our damp, dark tent for a while, til the kids began to lose their minds. The two-year-olds nursed, the baby nursed, the four year old curled up on her little bed, and although I did learn that a cot is MUCH less comfy than an air mattress, sleep happened for everyone involved.

The next morning was beautiful. I was out before sunrise and the trees were still heavy with the rain, so I occasionally got showered, and I could hear the giant waterfall across the road. We made bacon and pancakes on the cast-iron skillets, which made an unbelievably tasty breakfast, and then we had smores for dessert since we got cheated out of our campfire the night before. "Breakfast SMORES???" said M, in extreme delight.

All in all, a very normal, fun, grubby, happy, camping trip. That is to say, a miracle in my house. I'm a camper! I camp!