I am not a happy camper.

My idea of a camp-out is in the backyard, where I have easy access to a hot shower and clean bathroom with basic necessities like toilet paper and soap.

But I decided to step out of my comfort zone over the Kamehameha Day holiday weekend so that my kids could experience sleeping under the stars, night hunting for sand crabs and roasting marshmallows on an open fire.

From the moment I arrived at the beach park in Waimanalo, I noticed the crowded parking lot and numerous tents that lined the grassy knoll above the shoreline (one row for residents, another for visitors).

The place was popping. Music blasting, kids shuffling to and from the beach, and the strong smell of kiawe wood permeating the park as campers cooked their evening meals.

“OK,” I thought to myself, “I can handle one night.”

It was about making memories for the kids, after all. These are the experiences my 10- and 9-year-olds, along with their cousins, would one day remember and cherish. It was to be a “good mom” moment as I selflessly relinquished my own comfort for the happiness of my children.

I tried hard not to let my fear of unsanitary public restrooms get the best of me, despite warnings that someone had pooped on the women’s restroom floor and left blood in the clogged plumbing in the bathroom, which did not have a single shred of toilet paper or soap for the dozens of reveling campers.

We did the usual beach camp activities: an evening swim, roasting marshmallows, making s’mores, crab hunting and a dance-off to end our evening of simple living. But that’s not how the night would end.

At first sign of dusk, the smell of kiawe turned into the distinct aroma of pakalolo. I tried to ignore the pot-smoking strangers who were our neighbors for the night and the drunken guys who were singing their hearts out to old-school jams.

But as the evening faded away, the obnoxious music (complete with expletives) continued throughout the early morning hours, even more obtrusive when surrounded by silence. What surprised me most was that the culprits of all the raucousness weren’t the boozy men. It was filthy-mouthed “ladies” who were on a drinking marathon, shouting above the blaring music and LOL’ing (laughing out loud) until the break of dawn.

What I thought would be a wholesome summer camping experience turned into a cover-your-ears-and-noses-and-try-to-ignore-the-pilau-neighbors-next-door night. What was I exposing my kids to? My “good mom” moment was a flop.

At close to 4 a.m., music pounding in my head, I had finally had enough. I got the kids and my dog and headed to the car, desperate for some shut-eye before the sun came up. I was exhausted from my sleepless night and left the park with a stiff neck and a headache.

I’m sure the memories the kids made on our camping adventure were entirely different from mine. But they could’ve gotten almost the same experience — minus the sand crabs — in the backyard.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Kristen Consillio at kconsillio@staradvertiser.com.