The Ant and His Poopoo

You may be wondering where the husband was during the exciting soccer game. Why didn't he stop me from becoming so crazed? Unless he went crazy too. Actually, he is pretty stoic during the games. Part of the ref training, I guess. During this weekend's game, he was camping with my son, as part of the YMCA's father/son group. We need another activity like we need another dirty sock on the floor, but every time his sister left for a camping trip last year, he begged,"I want to go, I want to go, I want to go,..."

This year, he finally reached the minimum age requirement, so of course out of fairness, because heaven forbid we do anything different for one child, we signed him up. Oh yeah, and it'll be good for him and his daddy.

I don't know what it is about men, but all their trips revolve around camping. While the mother/daughter groups do volunteer stuff and book clubs, all the father groups do is camp. Incidentally, I should point out that there is no mother/son group in our area. Who wants to spend an entire weekend one-on-one with their kid when it's like that the whole week? But hey, I looked.

So each month, the dads get together to eat junk food (chips is an entree there), steak, smores, soda, and beer, all without the ever-so-gentle prodding from their wives. Hmm...I can see why camping is their preferred outing.

My son had free rein to do whatever he wanted. Like play in sand and dig a hole to bury himself. And climb up a big dangerous tree.



At night, they sat around the fire, cooking smores and telling stories. When it came around to my son's turn, he began,"there once was an ant who went poopoo..."