I'm not sure you can actually call campground camping "roughing it", exactly, (I'm married to Mr. Backpacker) but it was a little rougher than home, and with the boys, the rougher the better.
And the dirtier, the better. Good thing there was a giant mud puddle on one side of the tent.
And a fresh water pond on the other side.
We had to rest in the hammock by day, because the frogs kept us awake by night. Darn, those frogs.
And even when you're camping, you've got to have your sketchbook along, even if mom has to drive back home to get it!
And a dinosaur, or two, or three, come in handy, because dinos know all about roughing it.
There were snuggles, games, stories, campfires, s'mores, bug bites, bacon, camp oven biscuits, crickets, hatchet-throwing contests, whittling, hide-and-seek, naps, bandages, laughter, peppermint tea, dirt, smoke, firewood, birdsongs, camp coffee, and sponge-baths.
Memories.
