Family

I hate Family Camp. I've been trying to think of a nicer way of phrasing it, but that's literally as gentle as I can put it. I really hate Family Camp. I like families. I particularly like my own family. But I hate Family Camp.

Last night at the campfire I got poked in the shoulder by a flaming marshmallow. I routinely roast marshmallows with 50-100 campers. I've never been poked. Kids were starting marshmallows on fire, flinging them around, poking their sticks into the fire with nothing on them, running around, jumping on the benches... And the parents were just sitting there. How much can I really yell and lay down the law when parents are sitting there, laughing at their adorable children playing? Answer- not at all. So I sat there, biting my tongue and promising that I would never complain again about making jello, cleaning up after kids and everything else, as long as the families would go away and the campers (and rules) would return.

We have families here until Sunday. So I will be hiding in my office until Sunday. And next year, I'm going on vacation during this time of the summer.