Not Beach Camping

Because we don't have enough end-of-school activities overwhelming us (yes, that's sarcasm), Mark and I went camping this weekend.

We went on the new Boy Scout beach camping trip. I was stoked, imagining quality time with the sand, surf, my beach chair, and my glossy gossip mags, but my enthusiasm dampened when I received directions to the campground.

Turns out our "beach" campground was actually SIX MILES from the beach. In a canyon, surrounded by hills, oak trees, and meadows.

But my disappointment was short-lived. I'd actually been to this campground before, and loved it. It's beautiful, scenic and serene--just not...beachy.

We arrived at camp early Friday evening. Mark was the senior scout for the night, which meant supervising the tent setup. This is akin to herding cats--if cats had opposable thumbs and could put up tents.

I only had to put up one tent (mine), so I returned to the boys' camp afterwards because it's always entertaining to watch them work.

As I sat watching in the dusk, a bird flew over my head, wobbling and flapping wildly.

"That's a weird bird," I mentioned.

"It's not a bird," a scout leader answered back. I smiled, not comprehending, then jumped, startled, when I realized what he meant.

"A bat?" I asked. I expected wildlife out here, but bats? It was Malibu--I expected deer, raccoons, coyotes maybe--but not bats.

Once the tents were up, the boys climbed inside, wrestling and acting crazy. This was my sign to leave, so I said my good nights, and went off to my tent.

The stars were out, and I was amazed at how many there were. And the moon was gorgeous, a little sliver shining between a couple trees.

The scouts woke bright and early Saturday morning. Mark emerged from his tent wearing someone else's shoes.

"I found my next pair of shoes!" said the child who treats every camp out like a shopping trip. He looked at my frowning face and said defensively,  "What? Brian let me wear them."

The first activity of the day was making breakfast. Watching the boys cook is almost as much fun as watching them set up tents.

"Look how thick my batter is!" One scout bragged, barely able to stir the floury pancake mixture.

"I'm hungry," another scout said, flipping a pancake two seconds after he'd poured it into the pan. "I'm cooking mine fast, so we can eat sooner."

"Remember, if you flip 'em before they're done, they'll be doughy inside," a group leader told him.

"I like 'em doughy," the kid answered.

"Try pouring them on the side of the pan," another dad pointed out to his son. "When you pour one in the middle like that, you don't leave room to cook any others. It'll take a long time to feed the troop if you cook them one at a time."

When they were done, they invited the parents to eat. Moms and dads eat first, partly as a gesture of respect from the scouts, and partly because the boys descend on the food like starving locusts, devouring everything in sight. You never wanna go after the scouts, or you'll go hungry.

"Oh, these look good!" I said, planting a fat pancake on my plate. Two seconds later, the cutest little freckle-faced scout appeared, heading straight for the pancake pile.

"I can't wait to eat my Mickey Mouse pancake!" he told his friend. He reached toward the pile, then gasped. 

"Where'd it go?" he cried, scanning all the plates, then stopping on mine, which---gulp--held a sort-of mouse-shaped pancake. Crap, I thought, watching his sweet little face turn into an angry scowl. I immediately ripped off part of an ear shape, stuffing it into my mouth, hoping he wouldn't notice (of course he did).

After the long and equally entertaining cleanup, the boys readied themselves for a hike. All the other parents joined in, but I politely deferred because a) those scouts (or rather, scout leaders) are hardcore about hiking, and I didn't want to lag behind, holding them up, and b) the thought of having the campground all to myself was heavenly.

It was a good 80 degrees already, and Mark was wearing jeans. I patiently explained that it was hot on the trail, and he should put on shorts. Then, when he shrugged, I not-so-patiently yelled at him to go change. He returned wearing a pair of green shorts that are NOT his.

"Brian let me wear them," he told me. I wondered if Brian regretted his choice of tent mate yet. But Brian was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, so probably not.

"When are we hiking to the beach?" asked one excited scout, who apparently didn't get the memo on the location change. An older scout explained there was no beach, that they were hiking to the site where the TV show M*A*S*H was filmed. These words meant nothing to a 10-year-old.

No one could really agree on how far the hike was--word around camp started out as a two-mile hike. The hike evolved into two and a HALF miles, which yielded further discussion.

Scout 1: "One way? Or both ways?"
Scout 2: "Yes."
Scout 1: "Yes, what?"
Scout 2: "Yes, both ways."
Scout 1: "So it's a five-mile hike?"
Scout 2: "No, it's a two and a half mile hike. Two and a half miles there, two and a half back."
Scout 1: "So a five-mile hike."
Scout 2: "No, the word hike just refers to your destination. Then you double the distance."
Scout 1: "WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME HOW LONG THE HIKE IS???"

And that is why I opted out. Scouts measure their hikes in distance; I measure their hikes in hours. And I've never known them to come back in less than three hours.

I left ten minutes after they did, but not on foot. I pointed my car toward civilization, heading to the nearest grocery store, ostensibly to buy paper plates and cups (Mark and I forgot our mess kits). I headed for Malibu, which is a city of extremes; I saw both a shiny new convertible Ferrari and a homeless guy taking sanitizing wipes from the cart area.

When I returned to camp, gale-force winds had replaced the scorching, still air. One of the leaders' tent was threatening to sail away, so I grabbed the scout bucket and staked it down. That's when I noticed a gap in the scout's tent line--and saw the tent that was formerly there at the end of the meadow, smashed into a bush. It was threatening to blow further.

I dragged it back, staked it down, and staked down another tent shaking wildly. A fourth tent blew back so hard the poles snapped, tearing the rain fly. I felt like a real mountain woman, fighting the elements.

The boys didn't return until 2 p.m. I knew they'd be ravenous, and it went against all of my motherly instincts to not set lunch out for their return. But the troop leaders frown on that kind of thing, too--interfering mothers do not encourage independence, and scouting is all about making the boys independent.

They were indeed hungry when they returned. They didn't even ask when they were gonna eat, they just asked how much they were allowed to eat.

"How many sandwiches can we have?" asked one young scout, a sandwich already in each hand.

"Until they're gone," was the answer. "After everyone gets a first serving."

After lunch and cleanup, the big boys returned to wrestling in the tents. The littler boys were still pretty squirrely, so a couple dads took them on another hike up to a water tower we could see in the distance. I sat around with the tired parents, talking and enjoying the afternoon.

Soon, it was time to eat again. Mark emerged from his tent, this time wearing two different shoes (neither his) and Brian's green shorts.

"Harrison let me wear his shoe," Mark said, by way of explanation. I'd actually stopped asking by that point.

The boys made chicken fajitas this time, which were fantastic. While they were cleaning up after, we had some visitors in the nearby meadow--a herd of grazing deer.

After dinner came the highlight of the trip for the boys--s'mores. Because of the fire danger level, we weren't allowed to build a wood fire--the boys had to settle for charcoal only.

Which was still enough heat to turn their skewered marshmallows into flaming torches. And that, along with devouring as much chocolate as possible, was really the whole point.

The sugar-fueled boys put on skits for our entertainment. They titled one "The Not-Beach Campout" and did a spot-on reenactment of the entire trip. I laughed so much, I couldn't stop.

The boys finally went to bed an hour later, not quite before their sugar buzzes wore off. I could still hear them laughing from my tent.

I was kidding myself if I thought there was any chance of sleeping in on Sunday morning. I heard the familiar call of "Troop 120, fall in!" at 7:06 a.m., and I knew I'd better get up and start packing. The boys may take forever to set up or clean, but they are highly efficient at breaking down camp.

They set a new record this time--we were in our cars, driving away, by 9 a.m. We left before the heat returned, tired but happy.

It was an awesome trip. Maybe not as close to the beach as we'd hoped, but great none the less. It was a fun group of boys, and I got to know a lot of parents I'd only known by name before.

And Mark got a brand new pair of green shorts out it.

"Brian gave them to me," he insisted. "He said he outgrew them."

I was tired from our fun weekend, so I just nodded. I made a mental note to wash and discreetly return them to Brian's mom next time I saw her.

And to remind Mark, prior to our next trip, that camping is really about the outdoors--and not so much about the clothes (especially other people's).

New Scout Outing

Mark went on a Scout camping trip this weekend, which he was not happy about.

"It's the new Scout outing," he whined. "I'm not a new Scout!"

"You're going as a leader," I said. "You'll teach the new Scouts."

"I don't wanna be a leader," he said, which is exactly why I sent him.

Mark needs the experience to rank up another level, but it's also good for him. He's great with little kids--babies and toddler boys LOVE Mark. He's also been a teacher aide for a kindergarten class the past couple years, so wherever we go in the neighborhood, five-year-olds yell out, "Hi, Mark!" He may not like it, but he's very popular with the little kid crowd.

I dropped him at the church before the camp out. Doesn't feel like he's been in the troop that long, but I guess it's been a while, because all the new Scouts were half his size. Seriously, they were tiny. And hyper. And moving non-stop.

What they weren't doing much was helping. They were supposed to load the trucks with camping gear, but two young boys passed by me, saying, "Come on, let's look busy so they don't yell at us." They shouted out "Who needs help?" then walked in the exact opposite direction of the trucks.

I noted proudly that Mark was actually helping. He carried some heavy boxes to the truck, then barked some orders at some smaller boys. Maybe he already does possess some leadership skills, I thought.

But that thought disappeared quickly as Mark and Sean drifted off toward the fence, searching for snacks.

"They ripped out all the raspberry bushes!" Mark yelled. "Why would they do that?"

"Maybe because the Scouts spent all their time eating raspberries instead of loading the trucks?" I yelled back.

"That's dumb," Mark scoffed. But he didn't give up--he and Sean walked the entire length of the fence searching for rogue raspberries.

Finally, the trucks were packed and the boys were ready. We loaded up the cars and headed off to camp--a regional park three minutes away. Hey, ya gotta break these new Scouts in easily!

The park is also about a mile from our house--Mark and I ride our bikes there all the time. I actually didn't worry once while he was gone--I knew in case of any diabetes emergencies, I could be there in a couple minutes (and there's even a fire station with paramedics across the street).

So off I went to spend the day with my friends and bottomless mimosas. I figured the Scouts weren't the only ones who deserved a fun day!

Mark did great. He managed his diabetes and the younger Scouts perfectly, but he was ready to come home first thing Sunday morning.

My phone rang just as I was leaving to pick him up.

"Come get me!" he yelled into the phone. "It's time to go."

He made it sound like the troop was leaving right then, but I knew better. When I got there, they were doing the "leave no trace" walk, where they clear the area in a line, picking up any trash. Of course, the Scout leaders keep on this all weekend, so there's never any trash left behind. Instead, the boys pick up way more interesting things, like giant sticks and rocks, which they toss or smack each other with. (I jokingly call it the "Leave No Sticks" philosophy.)

Mark was off on his own, not even pretending to pick up trash. He waved and ran over.

"Let's go!" he said.

"Not until you guys are done here," I said. "How was the camp out?"

"OK," he shrugged. "I'm hungry."

"Nice to see you too. How'd the new Scouts do?" I asked, nodding at the little guys.

"Terrible," Mark sighed. "They tried to get out of working the whole time. They didn't want to help out ever!"

"A Scout who doesn't want to work? A kid who shirks all responsibility? Doesn't sound like anyone I know!" I said, rubbing his head. I love his righteous indignation, especially when it's over stuff he does all the time!

As we drove off, I grilled him a little more.

"What'd you do during the camp out?" I asked.

"I taught the new Scouts about first aid," he answered.

"Cool!" I said. Then I noticed a weird little circle on his wrist and asked what happened.

"Oh, I burned myself," he said.

"In the camp fire?" I asked, inspecting his wrist.

"No, with a magnifying glass," he said. "I was showing the new Scouts how to start a fire."

I stared at him, confused.

"I started a fire with the magnifying glass," he explained slowly, like I'm an idiot. "I started it on my arm."

I wondered who the real idiot was.

"Did it hurt?" I asked, because I had no other responses.

"Yeah, it hurt!" he said. "It was FIRE!" He shook his head at me.

"Then, uh..." I started. "Maybe you shouldn't start fires on your body."

"Sebastian said you can't burn yourself with a magnifying glass," he said. "But I told him you could." He smiled, happy to prove Sebastian wrong, even at his own expense.

"And how'd you sleep? Were you warm enough?"

"No!" he said, shivering. "My sleeping bag was freezing!"

I pointed out his tiny backpacking bag was rated to 40 degrees, and it was only 60 degrees that night. He scoffed at me. What did I know, I slept in a warm, comfy bed all night--not roughing it like the tough Scouts.

As we drove out of the park, we saw two great blue herons--they were gorgeous. Giant, gray, unmoving, standing about four feet tall in the fields. I stopped the car to watch them.

"Did you see any other wildlife?" I asked, hoping the local coyotes hadn't ventured in too close.

"Some squirrels," Mark said, shrugging. "Oh, and a chicken."

"A chicken?" I asked. I've seen tons of birds in the park, but never a chicken. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said. "It was outside my tent all night, clucking."

I looked at him doubtfully. "You sure it was a chicken?"

He rolled his eyes and said, "You don't think I know what a chicken sounds like?" And then he started clucking, to show me he did.

I still stared at him, silent.

"Fine, maybe it wasn't a chicken--maybe it was a rooster," he said, and then, I swear to God, he started clucking in a deeper voice!

I lost it, and started laughing. I hadn't realized how masculine roosters sound until just then.

"Whatever kind of chicken it was, it bugged me," Mark said. "It clucked outside the tent and kept me awake the whole night."

"Did Isaac hear it?" I asked. I figured it it bothered Mark, it bothered his tent mate, too.

"No, Isaac slept right through it. He said he was a light sleeper, but he slept through everything!"

"Huh," I said, pulling into the church parking lot. I really didn't know what else to say.

Soon enough, the boys had unpacked the trucks, and I was free to take my grubby young son.

"I can't wait to get home," he said. "And I can't wait to sleep in my own bed tonight!" He smiled, thinking of all his creature comforts.

I didn't remind him he'd been gone a mere 24 hours, not 24 weeks. I also didn't say that for all intents and purposes, he'd pretty much camped in his own backyard. He enjoyed acting like he'd spent weeks out in the wild, so I just let him.

Because hey, at the end of the day, he did go camping, and I did get a much-needed night off. I got to hang out with my friends, laugh, and even go to a movie. All this complaining was a small price to pay for that.

"I'm glad you had a good time, Mark," I said. "And I'm proud of your leadership skills."

He scoffed again. He couldn't answer me, because he was still thinking about something far more serious--the giant killer chickens (or roosters) outside his tent.

 

A dusty, dirty, awesome weekend in a ghost town

I spent the past weekend camping with the Scouts in Calico Ghost Town. Can't say that's something I would've ever done pre-kid, but turns out, I had a really great time.

Calico's out in the high desert, just past Barstow. The campground is not much to look at, mostly hard-packed dirt, rocks and a couple trees (not in our sites). But the mountains surrounding it are gorgeous, and the wildlife is pretty cool. (And once again, the foxes stole a loaf of bread!) 

 I thought these were really big quail--they were actually partridges. And there weren't even any pear trees around!

 
I was very excited to try out my new tent and double-high air mattress on this trip. 

Home sweet home.

Mark still worried that my tent has no rain fly, but I explained that I don't need a rain fly because if it's rains, I'M GOING HOME. To my warm, enclosed house. I have nothing to prove to Mother Nature--the first time she rains on me, I'm going home. End of story.

The tent was AWESOME! The description and accompanying video swear you can set the whole thing up in under a minute. Because I'm not the most advanced camper and because I'm bad at almost everything, I convinced myself I could probably pitch the tent in maybe 10 or 15 minutes. But the tent lived up to its hype--I honestly had the tent assembled and ready to go in less than a minute. BEST. TENT. EVER.

Not as impressive? The wimpy little tent stakes.

Yeah, those stakes and that little rock will keep this tent grounded.

I'm sure they work just fine in grass, but there's not one blade of grass in Calico. I wasn't even going to bother with the stakes, until I remembered the crazy wind that sent all the tents flying last year. So I improvised--Calico doesn't have grass but it has plenty of big boulders. I chucked the stakes, and carried in a bunch of giant rocks, distributing them around the tent floor.

Stop judging. My tent did NOT fly away, so this was brilliant.

The troop spent the afternoon hiking to some nearby caves, which meant all the boys and most of the adults were gone. I briefly thought about joining them, then laughed at that silly notion and set out my chair instead. I spent a quiet afternoon with a good friend I rarely see anymore because of my hectic schedule--my People magazine. I tore through four issues before the boys came back--it was an unexpected luxury.

I ventured up to the boys' camp around dinner time to take some photos. 

Scout camp.

The Scouts were preparing their meals when I interrupted a discussion on hygiene.

"Use soap and water to wash your hands," one boy told another. "Don't use hand sanitizer!"

"It's all the same," the second boy retorted.

"No, it's not!" the first boy said. "Use soap and water. You're making burgers with your hands--we don't want them to taste like hand sanitizer!"

I was suddenly grateful we had our own cooks down at the adult camp. 

 

Young boys and a full-size propane tank. Nothing to worry about, here, right? 

Turns out the boys weren't making just any old burgers--they were making "manburgers." They distributed about a pound of beef to each boy, who then shaped it into a giant manburger. I wondered how long it takes to grill a manburger (hopefully not as long as a hobo packet--Mark once created a monstrous meatball that took over an hour to cook!).

After they ate, the boys cleaned up. They were trying to hurry, so they could go into town, but I watched as a steady stream of boys trickled past our camp. One unlucky guy, Dan, had a nosebleed, which traumatized him a bit. Another boy walked by carrying something long and heavy. An adult leader also saw him and immediately boomed, "What is that and why are you carrying it?"

"I dunno," the boy shrugged. "I just found it."

Turns out it was a thick metal pipe, as tall as the boy was, painted and filled with cement. It fit snugly into the ground by the bathrooms, a barricade to keep cars from backing into the building. I can't believe that kid carried that heavy thing as far as he did--and I have no idea what he was going to do with it if he'd gotten it up to camp!


The leader then decided to check on the boys, to make sure "no one was lighting anything on fire"--a very real concern. Always an adventure, Scout camping.

After dinner, we followed the boys into town. There weren't any of the crazy characters that usually roamed the town--no big tall guy, or sneaky chainsaw guy. I was a little bummed at that--my favorite Calico memory is of the chainsaw guy stalking and scaring my friend Karen. :-)

The boys skipped the dance this year, instead heading over to the saloon. It's a little unsettling to see them all in the saloon, moseying up to the bar and downing dark bottles of root beer, rubber band guns at their sides. It's what I imagine the Wild West would be like if had it been tamed by Boy Scouts.

I returned to camp exhausted, but got a great night's sleep on my new double-high air mattress. I felt like a bit of a diva, but since I woke up happy and well-rested, who cares. The only problem was that I put the tent and mattress up so quickly, it was on a bit of a slope, and I almost rolled off the bed at first. (I caught myself quickly since a double-high mattress + falling three feet onto rocky, hard dirt = PAIN.)

The next morning, the Scouts packed up their tents and cleaned the camp in record time. Seriously, I don't know what got in to them (maturity? experience? the lure of In N Out burgers for lunch?) but the whole place was packed and ready to go by 10 a.m., a new record. We ended the camping part with a group circle, where the boys and parents all named one thing they were grateful for. Food was a popular choice, as was the time spent with family and friends. One Scout looked pointedly (OK, accusingly) at the older Scouts, and said he was thankful the big boys didn't wander off trail this year, and that they actually finished their hike to the caves. But my favorite was Dan, who said he was thankful he didn't bleed out from his bloody nose.

After finishing the thankful circle with a laugh, it was on to rocket time!

We drove down to a nearby dry lake bed to shoot off the rockets. Mark broke off two of his rocket's wings when he packed for the trip. He then sat on the rocket, bending the nose and breaking off all the other wings. He also managed to glue the parachute into the nose, so by the time we got there, his rocket was both a mess and a danger. The troop leader refused to let him fly it.

Menace to society--the rocket, I mean.

"It's too dangerous," he told Mark. "It'll come down at us like a missile." That is, if the engine didn't burn through the parachute and rocket first...and come down at us as a flaming missile!

Since Mark had engines, the leader lent him another rocket, so the trip wasn't a total loss. Besides, it was fun to watch the other boys. They'd get the whole group to count down from 10, then they'd launch the rocket, while the younger boys raced down the lake bed to catch it. 

 Scouts warming up--they were ready to chase down those rockets.

 

 Lift off!

The race to catch it before it lands with a thud.

Dan and his brother realized a little late that the rockets don't come assembled. Poor kid sat on the cracked, dry dirt with a million little rocket pieces before him, looking kinda sad and lost.

But Scouts look out for each other. The older Scouts quickly assembled his rocket, forgetting only one minor piece--the parachute. We watched Dan's rocket soar straight up, and everyone cheered. Then they gasped, realizing the parachute didn't open, held their breath, and watched as the rocket turned down and shot back to the Earth even faster. I realized then what the troop leader meant about Mark's rocket turning in to a missile.

The rocket crashed into the ground at breakneck speed, and the boys cheered even louder. They ran to retrieve it, and brought back a dented, zig-zagged rocket. The nose had a new Z-shape, and looked a little like a lightning bolt. They boys excitedly asked if they could launch it again. One leader said no, the other said "Tape it up straight," and two minutes later, it soared into the air again, and then into oblivion somewhere out by the highway. No one could top that, so we decided to leave on a high note.

Mark and I returned home filthy and tired, but happy. Although we spent most of the trip in passing, we both had a blast. Mark got to be a grubby boy, playing in the dirt with his friends, and I got to hang out with the cool Scout parents. It was an altogether awesome trip.

The haunting begins...

I spent the past weekend in a ghost town, with a bunch of creepy ghouls skulking about. Oh yeah, the Boy Scouts were there, too.

It was the annual Boy Scout camping trip in Calico. Calico's an old desert mining town that's been transformed into a touristy ghost town. Usually, "ghost town" refers to the fact the mines were abandoned long ago, but during the two weekends before Halloween, it becomes a more literal description--it's a real ghost town, filled with monsters and other scary things!

We got to town late Friday night. We had a few glitches--due to traffic, it took us four hours to get there (instead of two). Once there, we began setting up Martha's tent in the dark, only to realize she didn't have any tent poles. Luckily, I also had a tent, so I just offered to share. And then, approximately five minutes after handing Mark a walkie talkie in case of late-night low blood sugars (he was in a different camp), I lost my walkie talkie. I was super bummed, because it turns out they don't work so well as singular devices. But the worst part was explaining to Mark that I'd lost it (usually, he's the one who loses everything). His initial reaction of concern was quickly replaced by a smirk (and relief) he wasn't the loser.

The good news is, we got all the bad news out of the way that first night. Once the sun came up, we started a whole new day, and everything turned out much better.
The boys were chattering excitedly about a visitor. Apparently, somebody left a loaf of bread out, and a fox ate it. The story quickly changed as it passed through the group, from "There was a fox" to "I saw the fox!" It was alternately described as small and reddish, about the size of a dog, and big and brown, like a wolf.

I noticed in the daylight that the rock structure behind us resembled the top half of a skull. It was soooooo cool!

I met up with my friends Karen and Greg, who'd arrived while we were sleeping. They made a fantastic French toast breakfast, and I marveled at how much better food always tastes when you're camping. They joined the Scouts after breakfast for a hike in the hills, and I returned to my camp to enjoy the momentary peace and quiet.

Calico's in the high desert, so I'd mentally prepared myself to sweat in the projected 90 degree weather. But a nice little breeze rolled through the campground, and kept everything cool. While the Scouts were gone, I crept into the leaders' camp to sit under their tree and read in the shade. It was quiet, breezy, and I was completely happy.

As I was reading, a group of Scout parents passed by.

"Come on, Heather, we're going to town!" they shouted. How could I resist?

It's a short hike to town, maybe half a mile. It's easy during the day, but there's one section that's pitch black and pretty scary at night. I was glad it was daytime.

We passed through the campground, admiring all the sites decorated with Halloween gear. There were graveyards, cauldrons, inflatable pumpkins and all sorts of spooky stuff. Later on, at dusk, costumed trick or treaters ran wildly through the camp.

The town was already filled with scary people--we followed this group in.  

But the decorations weren't just limited to people. The buildings were decked out, too, all along main Street. This one even had a giant spider on it, who was about to eat an orange stuffed cat. The whole scene freaked me out, as the cat bore a striking resemblance to our beloved little kitten Fernando.

We wandered through town, drinking sarsaparillas and inching our way through the mystery house. The house, built at all different angles, severely messes with your head and your balance. At one point, I gripped a handrail tightly, convinced that gravity had failed me, and that I was about to fall down.

By the time we got back to camp that afternoon, the gentle breeze had grown into full-force hurricane winds. We rescued our neighbor's tent, which flew in to the mountain side, and then reinforced our own tent with as many big rocks as we could find. Our tent didn't blow away, but I spent the rest of the night tripping over rocks.

The Scouts went up to town, returning in a steady trickle over the next couple hours. They all returned carrying the same two things: brown sarsaparilla bottles (which looked like real beer bottles) and toy guns. Hey, what do you expect, it is the Wild West, after all! (Mark came back with candy cigarettes. Apparently, his vice is smoking, not drinking and shooting.)

After a nice dinner, we all walked back to town for the evening haunting and a comedy hypnosis show. (I'm not sure what hypnosis has to do with Halloween, I just went with it, but the boys loved it.)

I thought our boys went home after the show, but somehow, we beat them back. At one point, Martha and I went looking for them, but we stopped when we got to the super dark valley. I had a wimpy little lantern that did not shine light anywhere past three inches of my face, and Martha held only a wimpy little glow stick. We stood in the dark, contemplating our next move. All I could think about was last year, and how a coyote had walked this trail just moments before we did.

"Maybe I'll just pick up a rock," Martha said casually. Then she bent down and picked up another, and I couldn't blame her.

In what may not have been my proudest maternal moment, we decided not to go any further. We reasoned the boys would be much safer traveling through the darkness because A) they are loud, and would surely scare away any predators, B) they had much brighter flashlights than we did, and C) they were not scaredy cats like us. A and B turned out to be true, and C probably did, too, though no boy would admit to it.

When we woke up Sunday morning, the wind was in full force. It was whipping everything around, including us. We tried packing up the tent and tarp, but the winds were blowing them around so hard we just couldn't. I crammed them into my duffel bag to repack at home.

Martha and I broke down our camp fairly quickly, then wandered over to the Scout camp to see how they were faring.

Their tents were much bigger than ours, but the boys were much smaller. The wind was tossing them all around pretty good. I watched some older Scouts wrestle their tents. Then I turned to see how our boys were doing. Mark and his friend Sean were gripping the ends of the tent's rain cover. But instead of packing it away, they were running. The wind was blowing straight into the rain cover, puffing it up like a parachute, and the boys were cracking up.

Eventually, the Scout leaders gave up on the slacker boys and the gusty winds. They ordered the boys to do as we did, cramming the tents into the cars, to repack when we got home.

The trip always ends at a dry lake bed, shooting off rockets. Because of the weather, the troop decided to shoot off just a few token rockets, most of which broke or were carried off by the wind. We drove by the swirling dust storm over the lake bed, and decided to keep on driving--our teeth and skin were already gritty with sand, and we just wanted to go home to a hot shower.

The trip ended as it always does, with the exhausted Scouts unloading the trucks back at the church, and the parents yelling at them to hurry up. I'm glad we showed up, because it turns out one of the leaders found my walkie talkie and returned it. 

It was the perfect way to end the trip--definitely on a high note.

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.

Camping, schmamping, let's go to the beach!

The day after Mark got out of school, we hit the road. Our destination: a small beach campground just north of Santa Barbara.

I'd packed the car with so much gear, there was barely room for me or Mark. Which thrilled Mark, because he got to sit in front with me, fiddling endlessly with the radio, and telling me when I made a wrong turn. (New rule: Person sitting shotgun on roadtrips must offer up more helpful comments than "You're totally lost, aren't you?")

We took the scenic route up through Malibu, along PCH. It was a gorgeous drive, albeit a bit scary at one part, when we raced a semi-truck carrying half a house on the winding two-lane road.

Our camp was halfway set up when my brother Tim and his family arrived. Their mini-van was even MORE tightly packed than our car, and Tim proudly explained, "We brought everything in our house to live outdoors."

Seeing this scene reminded me I'd forgot to pack towels.

Tim wasn't kidding, especially when he unloaded his outdoor kitchen--a barbecue, camp grill, table, tablecloth, one million utensils, and even a coffee maker.

Yeah, when's the last time YOU brought Calphalon pans to cook with??

Dude likes to travel in style! But I'll say this--we never went hungry, and all the food was top-notch. If I had a bigger car, and/or any talent for cooking, I'd purchase everything Tim has!

I could tell Hannah and Nick have grown since we saw them at Christmas. Mark and Nick are six months apart in age, and very competitive about...well, everything, including their height. They both posed for the "who's taller" picture, where Mark was dismayed to learn it wasn't him (he'd been taller at Christmas).

Our site was four spots away from the ocean, which is what we love most about it. I walked with the boys along the beach in search of caves. We found them, but even better, Nick found a shark egg on the sand.

Because I'm not much of a cook, Tim only put me in charge of one meal, and was very specific as to what I should make (burgers). But I've been camping with the Boy Scouts, and was impressed with their amazing little Dutch ovens. I realized it's just a camping Crock Pot, and hey, I rock the slow cooker! So I volunteered to bring my new Dutch oven and try out some recipes. Since I didn't want the pressure of making inedible meals, we declared everything in the Dutch oven as "bonus food." If it came out good, great! If it came out terrible--well, hey, at least we weren't counting on it as our meals.

The first dish was rocking! I made and soaked French toast overnight, then cooked it Saturday morning. It was driving Tim crazy, because he likes to cook, and by cook, I mean fiddle with the food the whole time. He kept wanting to lift the lid, or check the coals, and I finally kicked him out of our camp.

But the French toast came out DELICIOUS! At one point, Nick and Tim both yelled, "It smells soooooo good!" And I pointed out to Mark they were, indeed, talking about my cooking.

The only downside was the mild sunscreen taste. Because the French toast was so fluffy, everyone wanted to touch it. Like phones in the car, I'd recommend going hands-free next time.

After (our second) breakfast, we dragged just about everything but our tents down to the beach. We even dragged down more family members, when my parents and my two San Diego nieces arrived just before lunch.

I love watching all the kids together. They get along really well, and instantly just melt into a giant roaming band of cousins. 

 

They're all teens and pre-teens now, and not only are they physically growing, they're also comedically growing, too. Their humor has evolved into biting, sharp-witted, and terribly funny insults. Hannah hacked in to her dad's Facebook account, and used it to insult me in all my status updates. I couldn't stop laughing with them (and at them) all weekend long.

The kids and Tim boogie boarded all day, and my parents, Kim and I relaxed on the beach. It was awesome.

Tim barbecued ribs for dinner, and I made cornbread in my Dutch oven. It was from a boxed mix, so it was good, but not great. Still, I was gaining confidence in my cooking skills and my Dutch oven.

Little Diva Gabi insisted on staying with my parents in the hotel--she's no dummy! Nathalie opted to camp with us, so she and Mark set up their tent. However, I forgot to bring an air mattress for that tent, but my dad solved the problem.

"Here," he said handing us the day's newspaper. "Put that in the tent, it'll be one more layer of protection from the ground."

"The rest of us just stood there, stunned and a little confused. But hey, it was my dad, so I silently handed the paper to Mark and Nathalie, who obediently lined the tent floor with it.

(When I asked Nat the next morning if she'd slept well, she answered, "Yes, except the newspaper rattled every time I moved in the tent...so that kept me awake." My brother Tim also noted that we'd intentionally added another layer of kindling to an already flammable tent, but I just ignored that observation.)

Since we were out in the wiled and without a TV, we did our best to entertain ourselves. Tim used the flaming logs to create fiery initials for our names. However, he only had three logs, so he made everyone's initials but Mark's, which needed four logs.

On Sunday, it was Kim's turn to use the Dutch oven. She made the most amazing cobbler with fresh-picked blueberries, and we dang near licked the oven clean. Which is saying a lot, since half the group doesn't even like blueberries! We voted Kim's dish the best all around bonus food of the trip.

The cobbler turned out teeth purple!

My mom and I decided to go wine tasting, and tried to talk Kim into joining us. She balked, saying she should really spend the day with Tim, since it was Father's Day. I pointed out that Tim wasn't her father, but she wasn't swayed. I also pointed out my dad was staying at camp to relax, and that he and Tim could handle the kids, but that didn't work either. Then I stopped trying because honestly, I just wanted to drink wine, and my mom was more than willing to join me.

We drove to Los Olivos and sampled some of the local wines, then headed out to the Bridlewood winery, which makes one of my favorites viogniers. It's also a gorgeous winery, with horses, a race track, and rolling hills covered in vines. Mom and I brought a picnic lunch and really enjoyed the view (and the wine).

Mark is trying to rank up in Boy Scouts, so he was in charge of making dinner that night. He barbecued burgers, and thought he dropped mine right into the charcoal, he did a great job otherwise (luckily, I brought extra turkey burgers!).

Monday was our last chance to use the Dutch oven. I baked breakfast in it, a hash brown-bacon-egg-and-cheese casserole. 

It was awesome! ("It smells like Carl's Jr.," Nick said, dreamily. "That's a compliment," Kim clarified.) Mark even ate two huge helpings, and he hates eggs. That recipe is definitely a keeper. (Unlike the broccoli and cheddar cheese quiche I was going to make, but didn't since Hannah and Nick hate broccoli. Or rather, as Nick told me, "I LIKE broccoli, I just don't like to eat it.")

The food was so hot, it looked like they were breathing smoke out.

The San Diego crew left Monday morning, and we were sad, until the sun came out and distracted us. Most of the campground had emptied out on Sunday, so we had the beach to ourselves. It was a beautiful day, and we spent it much as we had the past few days--Kim and I lolling on the beach with our books, everyone else in the water.

So it was bittersweet when we finally had to pack up our camps later that afternoon. I was sad to leave my family, and the beach, but I was really looking forward to a soft bed and a hot shower. (Even Mark was excited to shower--he never showered once while we were there. Boys are gross.) And I'll see Tim, Kim and the kids again in a couple weeks, so I wasn't that sad.

Ahhhh...summer vacation. It's seriously the best kind of vacation ever, even if it only lasts four days.

Family camp out

I went camping in Santa Barbara with most of my family this weekend (my parents camped out at a local hotel and visited us during the day). Here are just some of the things I learned about them:

The boys are all obsessed with fire. My brother Tim constantly stoked the camp fire, and my nephew Nicholas even sacrificed his favorite stick to the flames. Mark couldn't stay away, either--he was a little pyro, throwing anything flammable (and a few things that weren't) into the pit whenever he thought no one was watching.

Tim has a short attention span. He spent long hours prepping the fire, resurrecting it from smoldering ashes to a roaring blaze. And then he'd leave it. I watched him walk off to the beach, go ride bikes, or just mosey around the camp while the four-foot flames sent scorched ashes flying.

Tim and Mark were equally enamored of the shovel Tim brought to dig holes at the beach. I'm not talking cutesy little toy sand shovels, I'm talking about this:


That's right, Tim brought a full-size shovel to the beach. The first thing he did was dig a coffin-size hole, and then call his wife Kim over to look at it. I told Kim not to go to the beach alone with Tim; I'm worried he might give her a little nudge into the hole.

Mark shared an equal fascination with the shovel. Every time Tim put it down, Mark took off with it, digging deep trenches in the beach. I'm glad to know he has job security. (My brother Scott always says the world needs ditch diggers!) Before yesterday, I didn't even think my son knew what "manual labor" was.

I learned that yes, Grandma can ride a bike. She wheeled into camp on Mark's dirt bike. She also took a spin on mine later on. The kids thought the idea of a grandma riding a bike was hilarious.



Marshmallows are fun. Especially when your four-year-old nephew is around. And has eaten one s'more already. And the sugar has kicked in.

Here's a picture of Johnny right after Tim told him to sniff the marshmallow because marshmallows smell good.



Yup, Tim smushed it into his face. And the whole family laughed. (I know, we're not good people.) But Johnny loved the attention, so he moved the melted marshmallow to his cheek. Which amused everyone but Johnny's dad.

We also laughed when Tim tried to give Johnny this "s'more": it was really a hamburger patty between two graham crackers. Johnny refused it, proclaiming it (rightfully so!) disgusting.



Making s'mores is very dangerous--helmets required!




My niece Hannah spent most of her time in the ocean; she only came out when she turned blue. My sister-in-law Kim found that building sand castles was super relaxing. I'm sure it had nothing to do with her just getting out of school after having a particularly rowdy class this year. My dad's favorite thing about the campground was that it was right next to the railroad tracks; he loved watching the trains roll by.

And what did I learn about myself? I learned that I'm a bit jumpy. Every time Nick wanted to hug me, I tensed up, and took a defensive stand. It wasn't until Kim said, "Aww, Nick is a hugger," that I realized he had no ulterior motives. He really just wanted to hug me, not sneak in and punch me. A lifetime of brothers has made me paranoid. It's nice (if unnerving) to have an affectionate family member!



I also learned that the scent of campfire smoke lingers long after it should...I've already showered twice since I've been home, and I still get a waft of smoke every once in a while.

But hey, that's all part of the fun, right?

Did I earn a merit badge, too?

This weekend, Mark went on his first Boy Scout camping trip. Which meant I also went on my first Boy Scout camping trip.

I was a little nervous. First of all, I've only camped once since college. I am old now, and less inclined to think of sleeping on the ground as an adventure.

Secondly, when camping in college, we always packed beer first. Anything after that was incidental or a nice surprise ("Oh, sleeping bags! That was a good idea! Who packed those?"). I'm an adult now, so alcohol is no longer the number-one priority like it was for my college self. But now I'd have to actually learn how to pack for a real camping trip.

I packed, all right. And wondered if maybe I'd overpacked. Because this was how many bags I had, and only two of them were Mark's:





Mind you, this was an overnight camping trip. Here in the city, close to provisions. We weren't even in the desert or mountains, or some other remote location. I have no idea how we'll pack any more gear in my little car for an extended trip.

We arrived at the Boy Scout camp, and the boys went to work setting up. I went to lunch with my friend Liz (I told you, this was city camping!).

I returned to set up my tent, and immediately ran into problems. The little O rings with the tent stakes wouldn't stick in the mud. The stakes were only about an inch long, which didn't seem to work. My tent also wouldn't stand up after I threaded the poles through, so I jammed the pole ends into the dirt for stability. It didn't work.

The troop leader sent over four Scouts, who figured out what was wrong in about 30 seconds.

"You put these little rings into the tent poles," one boy told me. "But they're all full of dirt--that's weird."

It wasn't the last time that weekend a Boy Scout would prove smarter than me.

"Um...well, that's my fault," I stammered. "I...kinda...shoved the poles into the mud." God bless those Scouts, not one of them laughed. They patiently dug the caked-in dirt out.

They got my tent all set up. My home-away-from home looked pretty good.




"Did you bring a mat?" the troop leader asked, and I nodded. I didn't tell him it was actually a queen-size air mattress.

Unfortunately, my air pump was powered by the cigarette lighter in my car. Which was parked about 300 yards away. I'd have to pump it up in the parking lot and sneak it back to my tent. I inflated the mattress, and realized there was no way I could discreetly deliver it to the tent. I slung it on my back, and refused to make eye contact with any Scouts. I didn't fool anyone.

"Roughing it tonight, huh?" one of the Scout leaders asked with a smile on his face.

"I'm still new to this," I answered. I was making quite the impression on the Scouts.

The boys spent the afternoon completing activities. I took advantage of our location and the busy schedule and went to get a haircut. When I came back, I asked if I could help out. The troop master shook his head, and told me the boys run the camp, so they'd be cooking. I was beginning to like Scout camp.

The boys did, in fact, run the camp and meals, and did a great job at both. The new Scouts learned a lot, and the older Scouts were very patient teaching them.

Dinner time rolled around. The Scouts cut up potatoes, onions, carrots, and bell peppers. Then they put them in a foil packet, slopped on some raw hamburger, and folded them up into "hobo pockets." The name seemed especially fitting, since we were camping right next to the railroad tracks.

Mark made the newbie mistake of putting too much hamburger in, shaped like a big meatball. He added his pocket to the others balanced precariously over the fire, but it took almost an hour for his pocket to fully cook. .

"It's like food Jenga!" one Scout observed, as he carefully pulled a pocket from the bottom of the pile. Everyone groaned as another pocket fell into the fire.

Next up was the campfire. We were treated to Dutch-oven cobbler (fantastic!) and skits that went on forever, and sometimes ended without a punchline. We solemnly retired a few old flags, which flamed up pretty high and freaked us out a bit.

Finally, we retired to our tents. I slept great on my air mattress.

I awoke early the next morning to boys yelling, "Wake up, Scouts! Time to get up!"

I waited a few minutes for Mark to call me on the walkie-talkie and tell me his blood sugar number, but he never did. I got up to find him.

I approached the group, and was greeted by the Troop leaders. One offered me a cup of espresso (ooh, fancy camping!), which I gladly accepted. I looked around for Mark, and another leader told me to put my blinders on.

I didn't understand at first, until I saw this:




That's right, s'mores for breakfast! Breakfast of champions. I just smiled. I wasn't going to be the buzzkill mom who ruined the camping trip by lecturing them about nutrition.

I still didn't see Mark, and I had my suspicions on why not. I approached his tent, and saw this:



That's right, my slacker kid was still in bed. I told him to check his blood sugar and get up. Then I told him he was missing out on s'mores for breakfast, and how often does he get those?

Even that didn't motivate him. I sent a couple of his friends to wake him up. Jonah stood at the tent and politely tried to convince him out of bed. Sean handed me his marshmallow skewer and ran to jump on Mark. I could see the tent shaking from the commotion, but still no Mark.

I went to the tent and dragged Mark out. I dumped him out of his sleeping bag, and we were laughing uncontrollably...until the Troop leader appeared, and quietly but firmly told Mark his mother shouldn't have to drag him out of bed. He told Mark to get up and get dressed, which Mark did immediately. I mumbled "Sorry," and went back to my side of camp, where I wouldn't be a bad influence any more.

The boys made a second breakfast of pancakes and Dutch-oven french toast. (I got a Dutch oven for Christmas, and can't wait to try out some of these recipes!) The boys broke down camp afterwards, and although the Troop leaders offered up volunteers to break down my tent, I did it myself. I like a challenge, and putting the tent back into its tiny little bag was a good one. It beat me last time we went camping, but I wasn't going to let it beat me this time--I made it fit!





All in all, I have to say Scout camping was pretty fun. I'm looking at it as a dry-run, a chance to see what I need or don't need for next time. Here's what I came up with:

• More blankets/jackets. The wind was chilling, and I will remember next time that the outdoors are cold.
• I need a mess kit for myself. Mark did not want to share his with me, and only lent me a spoon and bowl when I threatened him with cleaning the cat litter box for he next six months.
• Mark needs a metal mess kit. Putting a flaming hot hobo pocket on a plastic plate--not a good idea.

• I may need a smaller sleeping bag, since my warm, fluffy one filled half the gigantic duffel bag above.
• I definitely need a battery-operated air mattress pump so I can discreetly inflate my mattress inside my tent. I'm glad the Scouts enjoy roughing it, but this Diva needs her beauty rest.

All in all, it was a blast. The Troop leaders were so friendly, and really welcomed me. They were as patient with me as the older Scouts were of the younger Scouts.

As the lone female, I tried my best to stay out of the activity and just be an observer, not an intrusive mom. And even though I offered to help, the leaders made it clear the boys were to do all the work. So I got to spend the afternoon reading, relaxing, and enjoying the camp. I could definitely get used to that!

I'm actually kinda looking forward to the next trip...