So why am I always having to convince myself that I'm having it? Fun, that is. Consider the prep work:
Plan meals, write a grocery list, shop, pack.
Drag bags out of the recesses of the closets.
Clothes for the kids.
Toys for the kids.
Comfort items for the kids.
Various accoutrements for the baby. (Somewhere to sit -- saucer... somewhere to be in case it's muddy - pack n play... backpack carrier for hiking...)
Diapers for two. Wipes for two.
My clothes and toiletries. The Papa's clothes and toiletries. (Yes. He could do this, but I like to be sure he has his toothbrush!)
Clean the house before we leave, because there's nothing I hate more than coming home to a mess.
Make sure all of the camping gear is packed. Don't forget toilet paper!
Drive an hour to a campsite. Set up the camper. Roast weenies and marshmallows while choking on campfire smoke. Sleep (if we want to call it that) on a less than comfortable bed with a baby attached to my boob all night since she won't sleep in the pack n play.
Wake up the next morning to rolling thunder and sit under a tarp (pat myself on the back for remembering the tarp) to wait out the rain for about 4 hours before deciding to pack up and come home.
And I wonder why I find myself muttering, "We're making memories here! This is FUN. Really."