My husband went up to men's retreat this weekend. Even though they are staying in the same posh lodge that the women stay in, Troy kept referring to it as "men's camp". The Rock Star was devastated that he couldn't go. To try to keep him from bawling his eyes out, I promised him a camp out of our own. He ran outside to show me where we would pitch the tent. But, uh,
it was 28 degrees last night the baby monitor needs to be plugged in.
I pushed our love seat across the hardwood floor and draped a blanket over the top. In no time at all we had ourselves a tent or, as my brother and I used to call the ones we made, a fort.
I asked him what he wanted to do on our camp out. He wanted hot dogs and he wanted to roast marshmallows. This involved a trip to the store. When we returned we had hot dogs, pickles and potato chips. I certainly realize that this isn't a well balanced meal but it's not often that The Rock Star and I have camp outs while daddy is gone.
He requested marshmallows. But I decided to take it a step further.
We have a gas fireplace. We don't have a fire pit or any other good way to roast marshmallows. A candle had to suffice.
They didn't work quite as well as I'd hoped. Either they didn't brown or they caught on fire. I quickly learned that the best way to "roast" them was to let them burn for a very short amount of time. They were going inside of s'mores anyway so I wasn't terribly concerned. The only time I actually allowed him to hold the stick by himself was for the two seconds it took me to take this picture. I was slightly worried that the sugary puff would catch on fire and he'd shake it like mad and send it flying.
Nothing much better than when your brother goes to bed and you get to eat s'mores with mommy.
Yum. What's not to like? Graham crackers. Good. Chocolate. Good. Marshmallows. Good!
When the s'mores were gone and our tummies were full of sugar, we brushed our teeth and The Rock Star headed into the tent. I turned out the lights and read him books by flashlight. He was out cold by 8:45--over an hour after his bedtime. But sometimes--sometimes--bedtimes are meant to be broken.
Then I snuck out and watched TV with the volume turned way down low. I don't think he knew. ;-)