Camping with Emma
My grand daughter, Emma, was six years old when her mommy, on a whim, bought a tent at Target.
I told Emma that we could “camp out” some night if she wanted to.
“OK,” she said.
A few days later I pitched the tent in the yard, eight steps off the back porch. Emma said she wanted to bring some of her puzzles, and some of her books, which we did.
Inside the tent, as darkness fell, I read the book, "Dora the Explorer", propping up a flashlight and shining it on the pages, which were fabric, not paper. Cute, I thought, as Emma crawled into the sleeping bag while I read.
Lying on her back, head peeping out of covers, she looked over at me. “I can’t go camping with you tomorrow,” she said, apologetically.
I said, “OK.”
“Cause I have to sleep over at Grammy’s for forty days,” she explained.
"That's OK sweetheart," I said. I made a note not to plan on tomorrow, or anytime soon thereafter, which likely was Emma's point.
I continued reading.
“If we are camping, we need some marshmallows, and wood,” Emma interrupted.
I explained that the stores were closed. Emma responded with tiny whine - soft and sweet.
“The next time, we camp we’ll get some,” I said. She whined again, a little louder, but just as sweet.
Emma fiddled with her other books, as I read on.
She asked me to take the berets out of her hair. I did this and she seemed to be getting sleepy. This is it I thought as I gently unfastened the berets. After all, we were "sleeping in the tent," so was that not the ultimate goal?
Then she said, “You know, papa, camping is not so much fun if you miss your mommy.”
I looked at her, she at me. “Do you want to go in and see mommy?” I said.
"I don't want anyone seeing me talking to mommy."
“Why is that?” I said.
“Because they’ll laugh at me,” she said.
"Don't worry," I said as we crawled out of the tent.
Inside, I told her mommy that Emma wanted to speak with her alone.
After talking to her mommy, I took Emma up to her room. I sat on the bed as she got under the covers. I sang some songs like I used to do with my daughters, Brett and Ashley. “Golden Slumbers” and “Summertime” were my favorite bedtime songs to my children. The songs seemed to make Emma sleepy.
“Papa?” Emma said.
“What?”
“When are you going to go downstairs?”
“Are you sleepy,” I said.
“Uh huh.”
I kissed her goodnight.
The camping trip was officially completed. But that small experience is one of the most beautiful and memorable things I have ever done.
