My Single Mom Life

This weeks topic is:
Whatever your definition of "camping" is, let's hear your camping stories. If you're unfortunate enough not to HAVE a camping story, what would your ultimate camping dream trip be? To the middle of nowhere or the top floor of a penthouse?

I posted this before, but it's worth repeating for the CHBM carnival.
Here are some of my camping stories from when I was a kid.
Needless to say, my idea of camping since then involves a hotel room with AC and a full bath.

Our family was middle class, and with so many kids, myself, my older brothers and sister, Mike, Jo, Frankie, and many foster kids, camping was what we did every summer for vacation.
We went to all kinds of campgrounds. Some good, some bad.
Some of the places we went had leeches in the water. Ack!
Some, had black flies buzzing about all the time, so the only safe place where those nasty critters couldn't get you, was under the water. Come up, take a breath, go back down.
We started to make games as too who could stay under longer.

There was the time it rained for hours, and our tent nearly floated away.
Another time, moms grill rack fell in the fire, and we ate really well cooked, charcoal flavored chicken, for dinner.
The time Frankie slept on a fold out chaise lounge chair and tied his dog to it for protection from all the wild beasties.
It was a great idea until the dog caught glimpse of a raccoon and went chasing after it.
With Frankie holding on for dear life.
And then there was the time with the spider.

I was about 8 or 9 years old and at bedtime, I told everyone I saw a spider crawl in my sleeping bag.
No one believed me. They humored me though and did a quick search.
I went to sleep knowing that spider was in there.
I knew. It was in there.
In the morning, I went out of the tent and showed my parents what that spider had done to me.
I was hysterical, screaming at them, "I told you it was in there! I told you! And now look! Look what happened! What the hell is wrong with my arm!?"
My mom took one look at the giant sack of blue, purple and green colored flesh hanging off of my left upper arm, and screamed for my father to get the car.
We went to the local hospital where my parents were told within ear shot of me, "A brown recluse has laid eggs in your daughters arm. These types of spiders sometimes lay eggs in the flesh of dead animals so when the babies hatch, they have food to eat."
Excuse me, what?!?!
"We have to make a small incision in her arm and suck them out."
WHAT?!?!?!?!
So the doctor told me to look away, my mom and dad held me down, and they made a small slit in my arm and stuff started oozing out. Then they stuck in this sucker needle and sucked out all of it.
They kept squeezing it, sucking, squeezing. Then they bandaged my arm and let us go.
We left the campground that day.
To this day, I see a spider and climb the highest piece of furniture I can get on, and demand the cats and children kill it by whatever means necessary.
I don't care if not all spiders bite, I don't care if not all spiders do the same thing, one interaction has scarred me for life.