George has Cub Scout Camp this week. (I wish it was longer than 2 days. For his sake, of coarse.)
I forgot to set my alarm. Fortunately, my kids have an inner excitement meter that conveniently acts as an internal alarm clock, and so I was awakened by my boy promptly at 7am wanting to know where his clothes were.
Upon rising I see that it is very clearly going to rain. (PRAISE THE LORD) This also means I need to find him rain gear of some sort. I know we have at least two rain ponchos we bought about ten years ago for a camping/fishing trip we took. Heck if I could find them. Naturally. The Kong was sure they'd have ponchos at our local Happy Dan's. They don't. "I know they carry them at Holiday," he said knowingly, since he goes there for work a lot. But of coarse there's only two Holiday's in town and neither of them are close or convenient.
Clearly there was some running around in my future so I packed all the kids in the car and off we went to drop the boy off at camp before heading out to search for rain gear. I was trying to avoid a trip clear across town (really, about the farthest possible point from where we were) to Menards or Wally World. Kwik Trip doesn't carry them either, in case you're wondering, but they do carry delicious donuts which sounded like a "good" breakfast for the kids. I got chocolate milks for them to wash it down with, too. I knew I'd hear some "you're the best mom ever's" with this.
At least that's what you'd think. When I got to the car and began handing out the sweets, Boots was very upset that I didn't get him Bug Juice (which is just koolaid in a squirt top bottle). "Sorry, that's your treat with daddy. But I got you yummy donuts and chocolate milk." I handed it to him, he took it, reluctantly. As we're driving down the road, he continues to protest that I didn't get Bug Juice. I tell him to stop drinking the milk. He doesn't.
And please tell me where kids come up with stuff because this next bit is too funny.
He's still bemoaning the Bug Juice and complaining about milk and donuts when he says, "This stuff is going to make me barf. It's destroying my stomach."
Really? Destroying my stomach? Okay, pal. Then you just hand that right over to mommy. I'll happily let it destroy my stomach. Wouldn't want a boy to suffer, now, would we?
Among the complaints about his breakfast, he's also crying about missing his brother (which is quite endearing when you take out the whining part), and how this is so not fair that he can't go to camp. I apologize but I don't make the rules, and he can go to camp when he's six. Doesn't help. Koko, sweetie that she can be, pipes in with, "would it make you feel better if I farted my armpit?" Slight pause, followed by a quiet, "Yeah," he says.
lol. I'm baffled. Kids. Nothing like a little armpit farting to raise your spirits.
Even more astounding, she gave him a very detailed explanation about how to do it, in case he wanted to make his own armpit farts. I think this girl could be a teacher. It was seriously amazing.
I'm not sure if I should be proud of that, or mortified.
Oh, and by the way, we did get a poncho, but unfortunately, they were out of our favorite tortilla chips (Chi-chi's brand). Bummer.
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