Long gone are the days of throwing a few things in a backpack, picking up some friends and fluttering off to a campground for a music festival.  Though, Peter would say he has never fluttered off anywhere, you get my drift. The children, I call them that when I distance myself from them, can not be crammed in a backpack and tossed in the car. Trust me, I’ve tried.

I was feeling so proud of myself that I didn’t tell Ryan about Family Camp until today (I usually can’t keep a happy thing to myself for long). I have learned however that anticipation for a happy thing just kills Ryan. He can’t stand the joy I guess. He gets moody and whiny to say the least.

He was way too out-of-sorts today! Maybe something to do with staying up at friends house last night to watch the Olympics until 10:30! That’s my fault, yes, I know. So on to why this post is called Camily Famp.

I scolded him with all that was in my special forces inspired Mama Arsenal. But alas, I broke down and just started saying cliche parenting comments.

Me: You know Family Camp is a treat so start acting like it! (What that even means I’m not sure.)

Ryan: Camily Famp is NOT a treat! That’s icky it would taste like dirt. You don’t eat Camily Famp!

Me: Bust out laughing. (How could I resist?)

The tension broke and on he went helping me pack up his back pack with his CARS flashlight, sunscreen and Blue (his blanket).

So off we go to Camily Famp to bond together at the end of this glorious season, summer.