By DAVID IZRAELEVITZ
Los Alamos

I have constructed and updated spreadsheets for every upcoming and possible money-related life-cycle decision. I have to consult Consumer Reports and online reviews for any substantial purchase, which by my definition is anything over $50. Someone who agonizes over such monetary matters is, almost by definition, not an impulse buyer. Yet, it was an impulse purchase thirty years ago that has provided me with some of my most cherished memories. I thought I was getting a good buy; I didn’t realize just how valuable it was.

My wife and I have enjoyed the outdoors since we first met; unsurprisingly, one of our wedding gifts was a two-person dome tent. This present got a lot of use in those early kid-free days, and even after we had our firstborn, we could comfortably cuddle up with Joe in the middle. When Jacob came along we could squeeze two adults, a toddler, and a baby. I slept against the door to guard against midnight escapes, but the kids got bigger, and our humble two-person dome tent was soon literally bursting at the seams.

Ask any outdoorsy New Englander, and they have probably made at least one pilgrimage to the LL Bean flagship store in Freeport, Maine. For those readers who have not experienced bicoastal consumerism, the Denver REI looks like some early 1900’s peddler’s pushcart. To give you an idea, this outdoor equipment and clothing Taj Mahal welcomes you with a giant duck shoe at its entrance, incorporates a life-size moose into its outfitter equipment display, and even features an indoor trout pond to put you into that fishing mood. 

I blame that carefully architected money-spending ambiance for my loss of control, because, although we had not considered buying a bigger tent, there it was, on the sale rack, The Big Momma Tent i.e., a six-person Eureka! Equinox. It was tall enough that I could put my pants on without writhing around the tent floor and untwisting my back slowly, wide enough that it could accommodate the diaper bag, the potty chair, the bedtime books, the blankets and pillows rainy day toys, a few extra blankets, and the soon-to-be five of us. We would be able to sleep Tetris-pattern-free. 

I wanted that tent, I needed that tent, and driven by a feverish craving that bordered on animal lust, I was going to get that tent. Soon we were lugging all 20 lbs of camping comfort back to Massachusetts, and a few years later, the Big Momma Tent accompanied us to Los Alamos as we explored almost every national park within driving distance.

What did I learn from the BMT? Let me share a few lessons. That one can play hide and seek in a tent if you have enough space and enough blankets, and that Lego pieces multiply in the wild and really hurt if you sleep on them. I also learned that whether the Grand Tetons or an RV is outside your campsite, cuddling on a stormy night is just as pleasant if you can play cards, tell stories, or read by headlamp.

The BMT is now in our basement, smelling old (but not moldy!), next to our post-parenting equipment. Instead of weeklong camping trips, we are lucky to spend a night in the Bandelier backcountry once in a while. When we do, the only giggles are from crickets; the only eyes twinkling are far above us. 

Joe recently gave us his two-person backpacking tent because, ironically, and wonderfully, his family will need a bigger tent. We have a tent for him to try. It comes with lots of blankets.