The families who fall in love with camping almost never start with a fortnight in the wilderness. They start with a single night, twenty minutes from home, on a site with a working toilet block — and they treat that first trip as a rehearsal rather than a holiday.
Sleep is the whole ballgame. Cold ground is what ruins a first night, so an insulated mat under every sleeping bag matters more than the bag itself. Everyone sleeps in dry, clean base layers and a hat; you lose a startling amount of heat through your head, and a beanie is the difference between a good night and a three a.m. mutiny.
Keep the food stupidly simple. One hot meal that everyone already likes, cooked on a single burner, plus more snacks than seems reasonable. The first trip is not the time to attempt a three-course camp banquet — it is the time to prove to small people that sleeping outside is fun, and full stomachs do most of that work.
Bring a plan for the dark. Camping days end early and children are not tired at eight, so a head torch each, a couple of glow sticks and a story turn the long evening from a problem into the best part of the day. A short walk to look at the stars, if the sky is clear, is worth staying up for.
Above all, keep the exit easy. Close to home means that if it genuinely falls apart — illness, a storm, a child who simply cannot settle — you can pack up and drive home without it being a disaster. Knowing the escape hatch is there is what lets nervous first-timers relax enough to enjoy it, and enjoying it is the only thing that gets you a second trip.