I’m an indoor person. When I feel adventurous, I pick up a book or watch a movie on cable rather than the usual news and food channels. I occasionally go on three-mile “hikes,” but that just means four laps around the circle in my neighborhood.
OK, I’m not that bad. I used to be the type who would love to spend whole days fishing and a week or two camping out in a tent in the front yard. I was almost outdoorsy as a kid, but not exactly a tomboy. But that was years ago. Now I feel weird without my cell phone, and I’m a little computer-dependent.
I enjoy our beach trips almost every Monday, and I really enjoy coming home to shower when we’re done and curling up on our memory foam pillow-top mattress to sleep comfortably.
Last weekend, we changed it up a little.
Josh, my husband, is on an outdoorsy kick. He’s always watching videos online about survival in the wild and browsing the internet for the best tents and geocaching equipment — for those who don’t know, geocaching is like treasure hunting with a GPS.
Last weekend, we traded in our usual daytime beach trip for an overnighter in a tent. No memory foam pillow-top mattress. No air mattress. Just me, Josh, our 9-month-old daughter and the hard ground beneath a borrowed tent padded only by an old comforter.
Weirdly enough, I loved it. The whole experience was a surprising amount of fun. I know I’ve said a million times that to have some fun around here, you just have to get out of the four walls of your own home and explore a little.
Sometimes I’m reminded of how much of a hypocrite I can be. Just as long as that reminder always comes in the sweet form of a freshly made s’more for breakfast, I’m perfectly alright with it.