The day was supposed to end in a cousin sleepover: Sleeping bags, drooly pillows, tangled feet, snarled hair, open mouths ushering in and out child snores, and fun. Lots and lots of fun. Two thirds of the cousins followed suit on the living room floor.
The other third didn’t quite understand the concept of a “sleepover.”
At 9:37 pm: “Where Thumkin go?!”
At 9:39 pm: “What Waylon doing?!”
At 9:40 pm: “EB need PJs pulled up.”
At 9:40:33 pm: “EB need PJs pulled down.”
At 9:42 pm: “Hey! Where EB night light go?!”
At 9:54 pm: “Need Dora blanket.”
At 9:56 pm: “EB thirsty. Have some hot chocolate.”
At 10:02 pm: “Noooooo!!!!! EB not want go to Meme and Grandpa’s house.”
At 10:02:53 pm: “Hey Mom. What is quiet?”
Not Little Friend. So she got packed up with one blanket, one pillow, one sleeping bag, one Thumkin, and one weary Mama back to her crib at Meme and Grandpa’s house.
Lydia and Waylon wheezed audible sighs of relief as Little Miss Chatterbox exited the building.
The sleepover will wait until next year.
Day Two of Cousin Camp 2011: (Almost) A Roaring Success.
We adults have decided not to wash the Cousin Camp t-shirts. Not once all week. This decision would have nothing to do with the fact that the second little heads pop through the neck the shirts attract dribbles, drips, and drops like a magnet collecting metal filings. This decision would have nothing to do with the fact that we adults bear the burden of laundry duties. This decision would have nothing to do with the fact that we adults would have to perform laundry duties multiple times a day to keep the shirts worthy of a detergent commercial.
In addition to our hopes of being cast as the “before” pictures in the aforementioned detergent commercials, we want to see how bad bad can get after five days of Cousin Camp. It’s our little inside joke and our tally of fun. Here’s today’s tally:
(We’re going to ignore the ogling, judgmental looks we get when carting around our pig-sty brood in public.)
The second morning of Cousin Camp began with some serious crafting: Lightning Bug Night Lights. Cooperation was displayed all around as three little brains worked out who was to have the green, pink, and purple ribbons. Cousin camp craft? Check.
Off to feeding ducks and a picnic lunch at a playground.
It wasn’t just the pint-sized campers who enjoyed the outing:
Evening hours sifted out a breeze. Big and small mouths enjoyed slurps of ice cream. Big and small feet pounded the trampoline. Big hands helped small hands learn about campfire safety.
Small fingers learned the meaning “gooey.”
Prior to staking sleeping bag claim to living room floor space, cousins and aunts headed back into the twilit front yard to fill the Lightning Bug Night Lights. Two thirds of the jars were stuffed within minutes. One jar remained empty. This failure may be due to the fact that:
A) Little Friend is a stranger to floating night lights, thanks to the fact that her bedtime comes looong before lightning bugs awake.
B) Lightning bugs refuse to light up within ten attainable feet of Little Friend’s vicinity.
C) Little Friend’s mother had no depth perception thanks to one bloody scratch to the eye and only wearing one contact lens.
D) All of the above.
Any guesses to the correct answer?
The jars came inside. The lights went out. And stayed out. One lightning bug lit up halfway before all the other lightning bugs shunned it into compliance. I could hear some buggy shushing going on in that little jar. And we didn’t see another wink all night. Now honestly, have you ever known a lightning bug refuse to conform to its nature? How about 37 lightning bugs all pulling off a concerted display of passive resistance? Darn bugs. Making liars out of two aunts who huddled over them proclaiming anxiously, “Just give ‘em one more minute.”
Three cousins wandered away in disbelief. Boring, Mom.
Lessons Learned from Day Two:
Lightning bugs never go willingly to the jar.
You can bring a lightning bug to the jar, but you can’t make it blink.
“Sleep”overs are a misnomer.
Sleep is best in your own bed.
Fun, lots of lots of fun, can happen no matter what.