The ultimate test of how much you love doing something is whether you’re willing to do it with a three-and-a-half-year-old. Apparently, I really like shopping at Michael’s and hanging out in beer gardens. Cooking spicy food? Staying out past 7pm? Nope and Nope. (Sorry, Travis.) Now that our 40-pound threenager has solid opinions and words with which to express them, could we find a way to keep hiking? Or would our favorite pastime be kicked to the curb for the next decade, like chili powder and our social lives?

This is the story of how a woman with both a job and a 3-year-old managed to go for a hike by herself during a pandemic. It is more comedy than tragedy. You’re welcome.

Last Monday and Tuesday, schools were closed, and when we came back on Wednesday, students (and many teachers) complained of having been “bored.” I know that my toddler will one day be a teenager, but it’s almost impossible to imagine him bored, ever. There are just too many things for him to be delighted with in this still newish world, and as I started to feel cooped up inside and a little bored myself, I was even more impressed by the things that Levi is entertained by.

A vignette of me, a Seattle transplant, packing for a 10-day trip home to see my family in New York over Christmas with Travis and Levi: My massive suitcase will probably exceed the 50-pound limit. No matter. I need all the things: Running gear times 3. Yoga outfits times 5. Should I bring hiking clothes? Might we go Nordic skiing? Should I bring two novels, or just one? How many skeins of yarn? … Ultimately, the bag weighed in just under the limit, and I sent it off in the hopes that for 10 days, I would be able to commune with the spirit of Old Sarah, in the traditional garb of Lululemon and Nike, unobstructed, disenfranchised, sweaty, happy, free. 

Only 2.5 months have gone by since the Labor Day vacation that is sure to go down in Menaul Family History as the Camping Trip That Broke Us. If I start banging my head against the laptop while writing this, I’ll know I need more time to elapse before tackling this post. To maintain distance from the events of the weekend, I shall write this post in the 3rd person.

My friend and her husband were planning to take their infant to Family Swim Time at the Y. After packing up (a phrase that does not adequately reflect the laborious process of assembling everything you could possibly need), her husband cheerfully said, “I’m so glad we’re doing this!” to which my friend immediately replied, “We’re not doing it yet. There’s a 30 percent chance it won’t happen.” 

I was 2 months pregnant and camping with Travis at Yosemite National Park. We were about to go to bed, and I was extinguishing our fire with a bucket of water. I hoisted the full bucket over the fire and, remembering our midwives’ warning against lifting heavy objects, I said, “Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.” To which Travis, without missing a beat, replied: “What would Sacajawea do?”

If you’re reading this post, you want to spend the night at a campground with your infant. Hooray! Read on to find out what worked for us when Levi was a wee little babe.

We are Sarah, Travis, and wee Levi Menaul. Because Levi can’t talk yet and Travis’s nickname is “Silent Bob,” Sarah will from here on out be known as “I.”