Game Night Devolution

I love Friday nights. It's the end of the work week, the beginning of the weekend; it's game night. I love game night. I love gathering the family in, challenging myself mentally with word or strategy games, but mostly I like that I don't have to cook. Game night means take out-Chinese or pizza-and paper plates.

I live for game night. I live for cheese pizza. (and yeah, I kinda live for beating Philoboy at Scrabble. I'm such a good sport when I win. I have to win, or put up with him bragging for the next 6 days about his score. His good sportsmanship sometimes gets knocked out of the ballpark.).

Game night took an unexpected turn this week. You might say I was blue about it. (Or you might not, since you have no idea what I'm talking about.)

It started very innocently. Sometimes the Whee is all moody teenager, and sometimes she is still a delightful youngster, unconcerned about being all cool and hip. On game night, she had an attack of bath foam-possessed young-'un.  It began like this.

Looks almost good enough to eat, doesn't it?  Then it advanced to this.

Coiffure de cuckoo. I should have seen the red flag. Who knew a 69 cent can of kids bath foam would be a weapon of gross destruction? Who knew a 69 cent can could hold so much foam?!

Can you imagine where this is going? Can you envision the unsuspecting parental units, seated at the table, thinking they are providing their offspring with nurturing in a warm family gathering, stimulating her brain with words games?

When instead, the spawn was in the other room, planning her attack. Plotting her frothy assault.

The end result was blue foam innards all over the house. Humans, cabinets, carpet, the cat, and furniture splattered with blue viscera, the scene of a horrific massacre, the death of decorum.  Oh, the carnage.

Only my camera survived unscathed. I don't know where she gets these tendencies. I think I'll see if we can prepay her spot at the home for delinquents. In the meantime, be warned young one, no foaming goes un-avenged....

Some long, hard, hat miles

This is my hat. It's not my only hat, but it's my favorite hat. It's the hat that says "ME".

It's my summer too-cool-for-school hat. It's my umbrella from the rain, my UV protection for my delicate ears. It's what makes me look taller. If I'm wearing this hat, it means there's adventure afoot.

This hat has been with me through thick and thin (me being thick, mostly.  Thin was a decade ago.) It's been with me in 115 degree heat in Utah, becoming soaked with sweat as me and my damaged knee toiled up the solid slab of rock 400 feet high.

It's been with me in the tick-infested trees of Missouri. Tick infested is an understatement, by the way. On the banks of the Eleven Point River, there's tick acreages which happen to have grass and tree coverings. "Indy, why does the ground move?"

My hat has been borrowed by my adorable spouse. But it smelled funny after that.

But now my hat is AWOL (All Worn Out and Lost). The central piece to my summer wardrobe is missing. I'm not sure I'll be able to get dressed. I won't be able to go out in public. I will be unable to function on any adventures.  

My winter hat cannot be substituted for my summer hat. My winter hat is too warm for summer. And it's brown. Somehow, deep in my fashion sense soul, I know this is important. I just don't know why.

Until my hat appears, or I give up and allow a (gasp!) new hat to cross the threshold, I'll be sitting under the table, in the dark, whimpering "my precious, my precious.."


      Happy Trails, and may your adventures get a hat trick.

Make like a Boy Scout!

I know there's still two more months of school (grooooan, oh yes I know; two loooong months), but preparations have already begun for summer fun. We pretty much live for summer and school breaks. Unfortunately, societal compunction, a dislike of juvenile delinquent facilities, and a fondness for eating force us to attend school and have semi-real jobs.

Preparing for summer activities like camping takes different forms depending on your level of expertise, the number of closets already crammed with outdoor gear, and how much of the preparation labor rests on the poor, tired, overworked mother. Lately, my preparation consists of grabbing a box of crackers and calling it good.

National and state parks have seen a significant increase in visitors in the last two years, due to economic changes and gas prices. I suspect it will be the same again this summer. For those taking their spawn (or grand spawn) into the wilderness, I'm passing on some great information from REI, on camping with kids. I love REI. REI should hire me, we would both be very happy. And I'd get an employee discount, which means I could also fill up the attic with outdoor gear. And the basement, except I don't have a basement. But maybe if I had that much gear, I'd get a basement.

Two months seems almost adequate time for preparing for a summer full of adventure. What are your plans?