I'll begin my first post here with a trip some said I was brave to take: camping alone with my two sons. Mazi headed to DC to celebrate the impending birth of one of her dear friends, so I headed to Leo Carillo with the boys, and an old friend with his son.  

When we arrived at the campsite I was excited and focused.  I had rehearsed many times in my head all the things I had to do before nightfall.  To me this was survival.  But the kids had different ideas.  They wanted to explore the campsite, meet people, chase each other around with sticks.   I tried to be firm and authoritative, keep them safe.  I wanted them in my eyesight at all times, but I couldn't pitch the tent, cook the food, tend to their needs, while watching them like a hawk.  After much shouting and angst,  I realized that I needed to be more flexible.  They were having a blast, and I was the only obstacle.  As I sat there struggling, the tent flapping in the wind, I remembered that we were there to forget about the rules and routines.  I quickly faded to the background, did my survival thing, and let the kids run and explore every bit of nature they could find.

We ended up having a wonderful time.  Survival was a lot of work indeed, but the kids enjoyed every minute, which in turn made me forget about the work. For Mateo, it was a welcomed opportunity to discover new things and test himself in new ways.  For Nico, it was learning to hang with the older kids and find his own way in nature.  And for me, it was a great lesson in letting go.