Bidding a reluctant au revoir to summer...

It is becoming something of a tradition, seeing as we've done it two years in a row now, to go camping on Labor day weekend. This year we trekked all the way to Millersylvania, a wildly over-populated state park near Olympia -- all of 45 minute from home. It was our first camping trip in ages that found us in a park without a burn ban, so the boys experienced their first campfire. They were unimpressed. The dirt, however, was endlessly fascinating. By mid-day Sunday, they were quite literally walking through personal dirt clouds much like Pigpen from the old
Peanuts strips. (Eddie was clearly more into the dirt than his brother, but Chas progressed from what you see here.)


Steph, meanwhile, had to keep walking away from the fam to make conference calls and at one point actually worked on her laptop in front of the campfire because the BIR (Big Internet Retailer) she works for is on the verge of launching her product. Thus we were subjected to much talk of "launch blockers" and such. It is the worst-kept secret since John Travolta was outed. (OK, I'm sure he's just a friendly bloke. Whatever.) However, I cannot tell you what it is or I would have to kill you or gouge your eyes out or something and frankly I just don't have the energy for that kind of mayhem. Besides, since you, dear reader, are but a figment of my imagination, I can't be bothered.

But still, a grand time was had by all. Today was a different story. The best part was my dentist's appointment. No, really. I'm not being sarcastic. How's that for scary? It started with my babysitting my grandnephew Marcus, who is 6 or 7 months old now (don't give me crap for not knowing), adorable and utterly demanding of my full attention. I swear, he could sense it if I looked at him and let my mind wander. It made me marvel at the thought that I actually handled two of them at one point. But then I had exersaucers, God's own gift to parents. Regardless, any scintilla of a thought that I might want another kid was crushed by this adorable baby. I damn near called the fertility clinic to demand that they incinerate any remaining totsicles they may still have.

Anyway, Eddie had gotten up out of our bed and crawled into his bed. I thought he was just pretty tired. Then he yelled, "I'm not feeling very well." Hmm. He told me it was his tummy. Then he asked for chocolate milk, so I thought he was full of it. I got him the chocolate milk and just as I was walking in the room with it, he started throwing up. He nearly made it to the bathroom. Nearly. Big old vomit pool in the doorway, with smaller ones on the carpet in the hallway. He had skipped dinner the night before, so there wasn't much there -- but I stepped in definite wet spots with my bare feet.

So sick-o almost immediately starts agitating for ice cream with whipped cream. Or chocolate milk. Not wanting to see these things in their recycled form, I refused and gave him a pediapop. But by the end of the day, I relented. He kept it down. But then refused to have dinner. Personally, I think he was just looking for a way to get me to let him veg out naked in front of the TV all day. It worked. (Though after the dinner he didn't eat, I insisted that both boys go outside to play. And get dressed. Not in that order.)

Oh, and I have a cavity. Or rather, "decay" underneath a filling that is failing. It's probably 20 years old or more, so I can't complain. The dentist asked if I wanted to get the metal out of my mouth, he could replace another one nearby with white while he's at it. Dear God. Why would I care about metal on my molars? I'm 60-70 pounds overweight, rarely bother with makeup anymore and I'm on the dark side of 40. And he wonders if I'm bothered by a metal filling in an upper molar that I'm fairly sure no one sees. Um, no.