June 10, 2011
We were only in Sports Authority for ten minutes. And one department for that matter. Yet, within this short period of time, one child managed to poke another in the face with the end of a fishing pole. Another child accidentally pulled down a display sleeping bag from the wall. A third couldn't stop looking at the shotguns.
"Please don't touch anything!" I cried.
"We forgot," they replied.
That's when I noticed that I had sweated my way through my shirt. This did not bode well.
By the time we reached the checkout line, one of my kids had wandered off. We found him hitting golf balls on the miniature putting green.
"Get over here!" I screeched.
As I was buying three 30-degree sleeping bags, I decided that I didn't want to take my kids camping this summer after all.
In fact, I realized that I never wanted to take them camping. The thought of my whole family inside a tent sends shivers down my spine. But like wearing a onesie with the phrase "Daddy's Little Slugger" plastered across the front, it's a right of passage for American boys. Cortlen and Kellen are beyond excited.
That's unfortunate for me because I like camping about as much as I like the male librarian in the children's department at the library. Which isn't all that much.
It's not happening for another month, but I already know that it's going to be amazing.