Camping In

Nothing says camping like the smell of smoke, a rock hard bed, mediocre food, and a few bug bites. Luckily, Big K was willing to experience them all solo so that the rest of the family, who stayed home from the ward camp out, could enjoy the one great upside of camping: smores. Of course, we weren't able to make a campfire at home. Trust me, I thought about chopping a few branches off our horse chestnut tree and laying them in a nice log cabin shape in the kids' sand box, stuffing it with newspaper, and building a big roaring bonfire 15 feet away from the back of our junkyard neighbor's house. It would have killed two birds with one stone. Especially if a few sparks accidentally flew into one of the abandoned cars a few feet away. But my killjoy husband nixed that plan. So we had to make due. And let me tell you, just like Tiburon said it would, my electric stove top did a stellar job of making absolutely perfect toasted marshmallows. Behold:

And have you ever seen such a well-dressed, CLEAN, camp-out? Me neither. No flannel or hiking boots in sight. I think we should make this a yearly or even bi-yearly tradition. The "Camp In." Only next year I think we'll get really crazy and sleep in sleeping bags in the playroom. I'm a wild one, I know.