Camping Pains...

Camping Pains

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By Monica Sarabura, Guest Blogger, Mom of 3
I believe I deserve a special parenting award this week for not freaking out when my daughter got injured.
I have heard that some parents never freak out.  They are the calm ˜Oh dear, he’s screaming uncontrollably, I suppose I should see what’s wrong type of parent.  This would be the same parent who would never
lose patience with his child, even after his daughter asks the same question 67 times.  This is not me.  This is not even remotely me.
I am the  Chicken Little of parents.  I am so panicky that I now make my husband check out injuries in case it is gruesome and really really bad.  Its not like I’ll be able to avoid a potential gross injury indefinitely so my reaction is flawed and irrational.  I get that.  I’m ok with it!
The first question I always ask is ‘How bad is it?  and his response is invariably ˜Not too bad.  I think my kid could have lost a limb to a wolf which could be seen trotting off with said limb in mouth and my husband’s response would be the same.
So, back to the latest injury.  We went camping last week at the Pinery Provincial Park.  Much in the same way I am not one to remain calm, I am also not one to embrace camping.  I really don’t get it, and neither does my
husband, but the kids love it.  And don’t get me wrong.  They don’t just ˜enjoy camping.  They consider it the highlight of their year (which might give you an indication of how boring we are as a family).  They talk about camping non-stop throughout the year, wistfully, counting down the months, then weeks and finally days until we can go camping again.
We went to the Pinery with three of my brothers and their families.  There were 12 kids altogether.  The adults were severely outnumbered.  Every night we had a campfire and the kids sang songs and roasted marshmallows.  The songs seemed to all have a farting theme about them.   Farting never becomes boring when you’re a child apparently.
My little nephew had his 2-pronged magna-impaler in the hot embers burning off the previous night’s marshmallow gunk so as to roast marshmallows with a relatively clean poker.  He lost concentration, turned to see something, taking his poker with him still super hot, and hit my daughter across the bridge of her nose and eyelid.
Screaming followed-lots of it.  My husband flew out of his chair, my daughter wasn’t able to stop screaming to answer his questions and me, hands clasped and at my mouth saying ˜How bad is it?
It was bad, but I got a predictable ‘Not too bad response from my husband, bless his heart.  My daughter had a burn with was extremely painful but thank goodness for the instinct to close her eyes.  Otherwise, I’m not sure how my husband would have been able to shoot me a reassuring ˜Not too bad.
Did the marshmallow-near-blinding experience dampen the kid’s enthusiasm for camping?  Nope.  And for my part, I’m glad.  Camping from a parent’s perspective is a great deal of work in a different location.
I’d hate to think however, that my kid’s favourite holiday event, the fodder of hours of story telling throughout the year would be taken from them.
Give me a few more injuries and I may change my mind or maybe not if the injuries are ˜Not too bad.

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