Camping with Kids Chaos

Camping with Kids: What Went Wrong (and Why We’ll Still Do It Again)

By Jessica Monroe
An honest reflection on outdoor mishaps and priceless memories.

Why We Decided to Take the Plunge Into Family Camping

I had been holding on to this romantic vision of family camping for years. You know the one—kids toasting marshmallows under a blanket of stars, soft guitar music in the background, cozy sleeping bags in a tent, everyone smiling like we just stepped out of an outdoor gear commercial.

The reality? I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple. Two kids under eight, a husband who’s more “hotel breakfast buffet” than “trail mix in the woods,” and a mother (me) whose camping skills peaked at Girl Scouts twenty years ago. But still—something in me wanted to do it.

I wanted the kids to know what it feels like to wake up to birdsong instead of an alarm clock. I wanted them to get muddy, catch fireflies, and fall asleep smelling like campfire smoke. I wanted us to have those uninterrupted moments you can’t get when Wi-Fi is strong and schedules are full.

So, with misplaced confidence and a borrowed tent from my cousin, we booked a weekend at a state park two hours from home. I told myself it would be magical. Spoiler: it was magical… but in the most unpredictable, messy way possible.

The Packing List That Looked Perfect—On Paper

I thought I nailed it. I made a packing list a week before and checked it twice. Tent, sleeping bags, lanterns, first aid kit, extra clothes, snacks, s’mores supplies—it all went in neat piles in the living room. The kids got their own little backpacks for “important treasures” (read: stuffed animals, toy cars, and glittery notebooks).

The thing about camping packing lists is that they never quite account for real life. On paper, you think, “Okay, four pairs of socks per person should do it.” In reality, within the first two hours of arrival, my youngest had stepped ankle-deep into a mud puddle and soaked through two pairs. By the first night, we were improvising with pajama socks because all the clean ones were in the laundry bag.

I’d also completely underestimated how much food two kids can eat when they’re outdoors all day. By the second afternoon, the snack bin looked like a raccoon had raided it, and we were rationing granola bars like pioneers.

And yes, I forgot pillows. Every single pillow. Which meant we slept with balled-up hoodies under our heads—a detail my husband still brings up every time I mention “next time we go camping.”

Setting Up Camp: The Moment We Realized We’re Not That Outdoorsy

If you’ve ever set up a tent while your kids ask, “Is it ready yet?” every thirty seconds, you know it’s a true test of patience. We arrived in the late afternoon, the sun shining just enough to lull us into a false sense of security. My husband and I looked at the instruction sheet for the tent like it was written in hieroglyphics.

Meanwhile, the kids chased each other through the grass and somehow managed to lose a shoe within ten minutes of being there. Every five minutes, one of them would wander over to “help,” which really meant tangling themselves in tent poles or dropping stakes in the dirt.

It took us an hour and fifteen minutes to get the tent up—and that was with help from our camping neighbor, who, thankfully, was both skilled and patient. By the time we finished, we were sweaty, slightly irritated with each other, and seriously questioning our life choices.

But then the sun started to dip, the air cooled, and we stood there looking at our little campsite—tent pitched, camp chairs out, cooler in place—and I felt it: that first glimmer of “this was worth it.”

The Night the Weather Turned on Us

The weather forecast had promised “clear skies with a gentle breeze.” The weather forecast lied.

At 2:17 a.m., I woke to the sound of rain pounding the tent like a thousand tiny drums. Within minutes, it was clear the rain had found its way inside. The corners of the tent were damp, my daughter’s sleeping bag was wet, and my husband’s balled-up-hoodie-pillow was soaked through.

The kids were surprisingly calm about it—mostly because I handed them flashlights and told them we were going on a “midnight adventure.” In reality, I was frantically moving our gear toward the center of the tent and trying to remember if the park had cabins available.

By morning, the rain had stopped, but everything smelled like wet dog and campfire smoke. We hung sleeping bags on tree branches to dry, and the kids played in puddles like the night’s chaos had never happened.

The Mishaps We Laugh About Now (But Weren’t Funny Then)

Looking back, the disasters are the best part of the story. Like the time my son accidentally dropped his hot dog in the fire and cried as if we’d lost a family heirloom. Or when a squirrel stole half a loaf of bread from our picnic table, sprinting into the woods like it had won the lottery.

Or when my daughter decided to “help” clean up after dinner and poured the last of our drinking water over the dirty plates—meaning I had to hike to the park’s water pump at dusk. Alone. In flip-flops.

At the time, each mishap felt like one more reason we might never do this again. Now? They’re the moments that make us laugh until we cry when we tell the story.

The Magic We Didn’t Expect

Despite the chaos, there were moments of pure, unfiltered magic. Watching the kids catch fireflies at dusk, their faces glowing in the soft light. Sitting around the fire with sticky marshmallow fingers, telling ghost stories and laughing so hard we woke up the campsite next to us.

Waking up to the sound of birds and unzipping the tent to see mist rising off the lake. Holding my daughter’s hand as we walked to the park’s overlook, the view stretching for miles under a pink sunrise.

Those moments are why we’ll do it again. Not because it was easy—it wasn’t—but because the hard parts made the good parts shine brighter.

What We Learned for Next Time

• Bring twice as many socks as you think you’ll need. Trust me.

• Pillows are not optional. Even if you have to strap them to the roof of the car.

• Expect rain, even if the forecast says otherwise.

• Let go of perfection. Kids don’t care if the tent is crooked or if dinner is just peanut butter sandwiches—they care that you’re there with them.

• Laugh when it goes wrong. It’s all part of the story.

Why We’ll Still Do It Again

Camping with kids is messy, unpredictable, and sometimes downright uncomfortable. But it’s also a rare chance to be fully present with each other, to trade the noise of daily life for the hum of crickets and the crackle of a campfire.

It reminded me that “perfect” isn’t the goal. Connection is. And you can’t always get that in a tidy, controlled environment. Sometimes you have to go where the mud puddles are, where the squirrels steal your bread, and where rain might soak your socks—just so you can see your kids’ eyes light up when they spot their first shooting star.

We’ll camp again. Not because we got everything right, but because we got the important things right.