Yesterday I did something crazy. I booked a yurt. I actually booked three yurts, two trips. My overwhelming desire for my boys to have authentic childhood experiences trumped my body’s need for like, a bed. I admit I’m entirely unsure of what I’ve done. For one thing, everyone in our family snores. What could be more fun than sharing a 9’x 9′ space with four other snorers? Mama isn’t getting any restorative sleep that way. This is true love for me, to sacrifice creature comforts and sleep for the ones I hold dear. I guess it could be fun. Like most fibromites, I have to view everything through the prism of what this could do to my body. For example, our first yurt outing will be at Beverly Beach for one night in July. It’s probably going to be chilly because the Oregon coast always is. My otherwise healthy and robust family will want to spend a lot of time romping on the beach, as would be expected. I reckon there will be a day hike involved somewhere along the way. I will be exerting a lot of energy, in a cold, windy environment. These kind of activities are best followed by a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, but instead I’ll be headed back to the yurt to cook dinner over an open flame, followed by slumbering in a sleeping bag in a small space with my entire snoring family. 😂 What have I done?
I paint a not so sunny picture of the whole yurt experience, but memories will be made. That’s what counts. I will wade through ice cold waves and chase my young children through the sand. I will build sand castles and teach my kids how to make s’mores over an open fire. And when it’s time to go to bed, I will bunk down with my husband and my progeny in our cozy little yurt and wonder just what the hell I was thinking.
I suspect I will be so exhausted from the day’s events that I will sleep soundly, despite the veritable chorus of snores echoing off the yurt walls. And when I wake the next morning, though my muscles ache through to my very soul, it will be worth it to see the smiles on my sons’ faces.