He went to Perris

When Mark first joined the Cub Scouts, I bought a tent and a couple sleeping bags. That was enough for a quick overnight camping trip.

But when he joined the Boy Scouts, I went a little crazy. I bought a whole mess of camping supplies, including an air mattress, tarp, chairs, cookware, mess kits, a Dutch oven, and various other gadgets.

So now I'm determined to get my money's worth out of all that gear. I pretty much sign us up for any camping trip that's offered.

A couple weeks ago, we headed out to Perris Lake which, it turns out, is pretty damn hot during the summer. I'd conveniently forgotten how far inland it is. That's probably a good thing, or I would've bailed on the trip (my hatred for hot weather cannot be underestimated).

But I'm glad I didn't. Mark was thrilled there was a lake, and immediately asked to bring his fishing pole. I said yes, and secretly hoped he'd catch something more than a tree this time.

We also purchased the fishing supplies we'd forgotten before--a bobber, weights to sink the line, extra hooks, and bait. (Yes, we bought bait last time. No, we did not bring it. And yes, fish are apparently smart enough to stay away from an unbaited hook.)

Mark was really excited about fishing.

"We can eat the fish for dinner tonight!" he said.

"OK," I answered. "But you have to clean any fish you catch."

"...or we can just release the fish," he said, visibly shuddering at the thought of gutting a fish. "Did you bring any pliers?"

I just stared at him.

"How are we gonna release it if we don't have any pliers to unhook it?" he demanded.

"We're going to ask some nice fisherman nearby," I told him. I know my kid well enough to know that even with pliers, he wasn't going to touch any live fish.

Turns out fishing wasn't our biggest challenge, however. Baiting the hook was. The stinky garlic marshmallows we'd purchased wouldn't stay on the hook. Every time Mark cast his line, we'd see a splash, followed by tiny  neon yellow marshmallows floating by.

I just sighed, but Mark seemed...relieved.

"It's fine," he said. "I'll just practice casting." Which suited us both fine.

On our way back to the campsite, a roadrunner ran right in front of us. I stopped the car so we could watch it flutter along beside us.

"Meep, meep," I said, and Mark giggled.

Upon returning to our site, I noticed the holy roller revival in the campsite next door was still going strong. They were yelling, screaming, and praising God quite loudly. They even had a full live band, complete with electric guitars and a full drum set. Mark wanted to go over and bang around on the drums, but I was afraid he'd end up getting baptized or born again, so I said no. 

Mark was thrilled to find other boys to play with (apparently I'm not an entertaining companion). As I was setting up the hibachi to make dinner, he whizzed by on a bike and called out, "Hi, mom!"

"Does the owner of that bike know you have it?" I called back.

I heard a faint "yes" trailing behind him, and hoped he was telling the truth.

As dusk neared, the heat dissipated. The sun began to set behind the hills, and cast a beautiful soft, glowing light all around us. It was gorgeous.

The campfire, while impressive, was not nearly as hot or large as a typical Boy Scout fire. I was actually glad for that--one time, the dads built the fire so big, you couldn't even roast marshmallows without crying. It was like walking up to a wall of fire to make s'mores, and to be honest, I don't think it should hurt to roast marshmallows.

Mark ate his share of s'mores, as well as my share, and the shares of the three kids sitting next to us. It took all my restraint not to say, "Bolus" each time he popped one in his mouth. I did refrain until about the 15th one, but when I spoke then, I just said, "Enough." He looked directly at me, popped a huge hunk of chocolate into his mouth and then said, "What?!?"

The sugar buzz finally wore off 30 minutes after bedtime. But I swear, that kid was still twitching in his sleep.

It was beautiful and sunny when we woke up, but I could tell it was gonna be a scorcher again. I'd promised Mark another shot at fishing, but he woke up grumpy, with a s'mores hangover. He was so snotty I finally just left him behind, and enjoyed my breakfast with the rest of the group.

We packed up and headed out by mid-morning. It was a short trip, but we still had a blast. I'm starting to get pretty good at this outdoor stuff--well, except for the potential fish gutting, anyway.

I have a feeling I still won't be any good at that, when the opportunity finally does present itself.