(-65 lbs.) Summer Colds

Down 65 pounds and recovering from a nasty chest cold- oh boy! Life's bittersweet!

Last weekend found us out amongst and amidst Mother Nature. We spent four days camping- partially with a group, and partially on our own. Both were enjoyable for the most part.

Camping with a group may be a little tougher for me than others. First of all, I find it really hard to tolerate other people's kids in a normal situation let alone without the comforts of home and my office- in which I hide when the little darlings become absolutely unbearable. Ugh.

Anyway there we were, lots of other people's kids, marshmallows, dirt, bugs, and fire; living in a tent which, amazingly, isn't sound-proof, or smoke-proof, nor does it provide any kind of barrier from any sort of nuisance whatsoever.

Now I have to mention the almost supernatural attraction campfires have over other people's little boys. Gawd! My sons went through it as well; sticks and torches and paper plates and whatever-else usually made its' way into the fire. But these kids!?! Handfuls of pine needles and dirt- nonstop- one after the other creating the smokiest, dirtiest campfire I ever had the discomfort of enduring for three straight days.

I like efficient fires; not too big but just enough to cut the chill and put that warm glow on the faces of all who gather around it, a nice bed of glowing coals to roast goodies over and very little smoke. Other people's kids wouldn't let that happen, oh no, coals covered with dirt, plastic cups and silverware, and billowing toxic smoke to choke and offend. This drove us into our tent and back out again- since we mistakenly placed it where it would ultimately end up downwind from the fire. It was horrid.

Do other peoples' kids' parents put an end to it? Oh hail no! They giggle and talk about how cute and grown up and clever the little scamps are. There was nothing cute about what was going on and when I told them so they all made a half-arsed attempt to put an end to it:

"Johnny, would you please, kindly stop throwing your flashlight in the fire?" and "Pretty-please no more dirt in the fire honey-bunny cause we may desire to cook our marshmallow-wellows on it and you might maybe know the blah-blah-blah."

None of this was effective, obviously. Best not to bruise little Johnny's self esteem by making him keep the toxic plastic and animal excrement out of the fire. Grrrr!

Yeah, I may be intolerant and grouchy. But so what? Other people's kids' parents should manage their kids because if they had, I'm sure we wouldn't have had to suffer through a week of upper-repiratory distress and hacking up brown gobs of dirt and burnt gawd-knows-what.

I'll work on my tolerance. I hope others work on their parenting skills.