The Monkey's Paw punched me in the...

We went camping this weekend. It was fairly fun to spend 2 nights and 3 days in the woods with my family. More fun if I don't dwell on it too closely.

Camping is therapeutic to family development. It puts our 4 somewhat emotionally healthy individuals into a cloth room with no running water or electricity. In these conditions it takes a few hours before the bickering, yelling, and unfortunate human odors to take hold. And that's just my wife and I.

When my wife was asked why we liked camping she was short on answers. I like it because it's fun to legally burn things, see the stars, and not feel the uncontrollable pull of electronics. Oh, and I hate being around people.

We try to keep our campsite clean and kids quiet. I resent it when in campgrounds children scream and shriek at the top of their lungs. I wish it were a reverse of the "kicking scares away sharks" tactic for bears. I get comfort imagining a bear lumbering into their campsite just to scare their kinds into silence.

Yesterday morning I was tending to the breakfast while trying to teach my older daughter about making a campfire. In the midst of describing to my bright 7 year old that tepees were actually somewhat vertical in construction I was interrupted by a cacophony from the tent.

To quote my wife:
"Oh God! Wait! No! Stop! No! NOOOO! Not here! Help!"

I imagine that's the script for someone inadvertently wearing moose musk during a rut and consequently becoming the object of some bull's desire. Gives new meaning to being "caught in a rut", although I would choose "Hunter violated by moose in season" as my newspaper headline.

I was aghast. How could my wife make that much noise in a campground at 8 in the morning? I said:
"I sure hope that she pooped in our tent for you to be making that much noise"

Now let me digress to the "Monkey's Paw" for a moment. The Monkey's Paw is a short story by William Wymark Jacobs about fate and wishes. It is a horror story not too unlike mine, except that mine is only a horror to me. I have wished for my daughter to be hurt if she's making a noise "like that". I have wished for human waste to be deposited in my fabric room. These, unlike the lottery, are wishes that do come true. It's like I have a frikkin sadist Jimminy Cricket.

Sure enough I enter the tent to find my wife hurriedly moving clothes and books upstream from our tent Huang He. My younger daughter has struck a pose from an 80's hair band lead singer, legs spread wide. She is watching with fascination the fact that she has indeed peed in my temporary abode. We cleaned her up, cleaned the tent up, instituted an "emergency log" toilet behind the tents, and went on with the day.

And yes, we will go camping again. Why? I still don't know yet.