Krista Lauren

I love Hallmark movies. They’re great because they’re lighthearted, you don’t have to pay attention the whole time you’re watching to understand what’s happening, and the conflict part of the movie is always so short that you don’t even start feeling bad for the characters before it’s all over.

Life is not a Hallmark movie. I am 29 and I know this by now, yet I still expect parts of it to have that cute Hallmark glimmer. Robert thinks this is funny because he knows when my mind starts working and picturing something we’re doing to turn into a Hallmark movie. For example, we went to a drive in movie one weekend and I was expecting to snuggle up close and hide behind him while watching back to back horror movies. Well, the sound in the car didn’t work for the first half of the better of the two movies, and I made such a ruckus when I had to get out of the car to go to the bathroom. It was embarrassing walking through a sea of cars back to the concession area, and it didn’t help that our truck lights would flash every time the door opened. It was still a lot of fun, but will take planning for next time to be more of a Pinterest drive in scene.

This brings me to my next Hallmark mission: “Kindling Love By The Campfire.” In English, this means going camping.

I haven’t been an outdoorsy girl in years, but now that I’m managing my POTS better I want to get out more.

The way I picture it:

We walk up to our campsite, which is a perfect circle with beautiful fall leaves surrounding the mulched campground. There is already a cute little spot for a bonfire that was left by another couple from the night before, and our tent is pitched in a matter of minutes. We put one fluffy sleeping bag that is built for two on top of the most comfortable down comforter you’ve ever seen that makes the mulch feel like a cloud. We laugh as we roast perfect s’mores, and eat a warm dinner we make on the campfire. Having a little romantic time in the tent and under the stars is perfect, but even in my Hallmark fantasy I wonder if the rocks will hurt my back… I think I chalk camping fun to being similar to shower fun — the idea of it is a lot better than the execution. Everyone knows it, too.

Realistically:

We have our own sleeping bags. If we did invest in the two person one, though, we would immediately regret it because the warmth of our bodies against each other is too much and we don’t have space to move away from each other when the kicking and elbowing begins. I don’t think sleeping will be easy while camping, and not because we’re off having fun doing other stuff, but because there’s no temperature regulation and there are bears in the woods. There will be animals, all of which I will assume is the rustling of a serial killer outside our tent. If you think I’m being paranoid, listen to the Park Predators podcast. You’ll never look at nature quite the same way. Being away from the city is actually quite terrifying.

The “mulch” I expect to be there is actually solid rock with some dirt with worms mixed into it. Speaking of worms, there are bugs everywhere. Mosquitoes bite our ankles and millipedes terrorize our tent. I cry as one crawls up my leg, and sleep with one eye open because of a spider the size of a golf ball that we saw earlier. There are no serial killers in the woods, but there are little animals that all give off grizzly bear vibes in the darkness outside our tent.

The one thing I am pretty certain of exceeding expectations is the s’mores. Maybe we won’t get a hot dinner and the trail mix will be filled to the brim with raisins and almonds when there should be mainly M&Ms with a couple of peanuts sprinkled in, but there’s nothing in the world like a good campfire s’more.